Page 40 of Phixmery

The others finally notice what has me laughing. And it may make me likethemfor instigating this, but it’s just shit, nothing a really, really long shower won’t fix.

Their laughter joins mine as the two females huff and cry.

Cresida manages to get to her feet and promptly slips again, causing the laughter to drown out their screams. No one rushes to help them other than Bracken and Zoela who are struggling because they don’t want to touch them. It’s honestly just what I needed. They say laughter is good for the soul—well watching your bullies roll around in poop must be a miracle tonic.

“Alright everyone, back inside and get to work,” the officer who manages the stalls bellows. “And you two, get up and get back to work. You can clean up after you’re done here. Maybe next time you’ll be more careful.”

Ember nudges me. “How did that happen?” She points her thumb behind us at the Banshees.

I laugh, shaking my head. “The wind was really strong today. They slipped.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

THIS MORNING IS DIFFERENT FROM every other because all lessons have been canceled for the next couple days for our second trial. All I can do is just hope I’ve trained enough, because none of us know what to expect—other than Evera, who claims that Craven told her everything she will need to know about the trials, and then refuses to tell us until it’s already underway. So she’s either selfish or doesn’t know, which with her previous actions could point in either direction.

“Come on, we need to finish breakfast and be in formation in the training yard before the hour is up,” Evera snaps at us as we rush to eat breakfast. Meanwhile, she’s still nibbling on her toast and fruit, casually sniffing her clothing to see if the gryphon shit smell still lingers—it does. I smother a grin that wants to escape and focus back on my own meal.

“No one is going to be late,” Melissandre says smoothly as she carves up her breakfast sausage. “Just take a breath. If we eat too fast the chances of someone getting sick are higher. You know this.”

Evera narrows her gaze on her but opts to ignore what she says, turning to speak to Cresida next to her.

The twins have taken to hanging out with our group lately, especially since the gryphon stall debacle. In fact, most of our squad has been more relaxed. No more harsh glares of whispers—well other than from Cresida and Evera when they’re together.

So every meal and lesson.

But outside of that, I’ve enjoyed being a part of this squad and making friends. It’s given me a confidence in myself I didn’t know I needed. I’ll never forget what these fae have done for me when I leave at the end of the year.

Breakfast goes by quickly, and the dining hall begins to slowly empty, other years heading out to their lessons, wishing us luck, while us first years make our way out into the frigid morning air. The sun is just peaking over the mountain tops, giving just enough light to not need the torches that line the pathways.

We swiftly fall into formation, other squads from our year surrounding us as we wait for Major General Rune and Captain Reiner to inform us of what’s happening for our trial today.

There’s not a noise to be heard but soft breaths that follow with puffs of foggy air. No one shuffles their feet as we stand with our boots firmly next to each other and our fists straightened at our sides. Nothing but the perfection that has been drilled into us these past six months.

The sweet and sour tang of nerves and excitement laces the air as the two officers we were waiting on join us in the yard, followed by a bunch of fourth years—the same groups that trained us these past months—holding vials of some kind.

Major General Rune clears his throat before projecting his voice. “Good morning, cadets. Today is the day of your second trial. If you survive these next couple days, the training will only get more rigorous in preparation for the final trial: the Choosing. The Damorleia Military deserves the best of the best, especially since the war with the Skuggi is at its peak. Things may be changing soon, and we need to make sure you all are prepared for the upcoming challenges.” He gestures with his fingers for the fourth years to step forward. “To keep things fair, you will all be given a sleeping tonic that will last until you’re dropped off at the undisclosed location. Your objective is to make it back to Phixmery within three days. Supplies will be there when you awaken. Good luck.”

I blink in shock. They didn’t tell us anymore than what we were already told. The urge to break my stance to fiddle with my necklace is strong, but since it’s not part of the dress code and stays firmly under my tunic, I don’t dare in fear that it will be confiscated.

Wing One strides over to us, each of them holding a few light blue vials—eleven of them to be exact.

Sergeant Verlice grins knowingly at me in a way that twists my stomach, like he’s trying to get inside my head to pry out all my secrets. He hands me two of the vials and nods to Nero who’s perched on my shoulder as usual. “Little birdie gets one too. Can’t have him spillingsecrets, now can we?”

The cool glass bottles clink together in my hand, one much smaller than the other. “Is this even safe for him?” I can’t help but snark, raising my brow at him.

A brightness enters his gaze, glinting with mischievous authority. “I’m sure they won’t kill off the only known familiar in all of Damorleia. It doesn’t matter anyway. You and your little bird are going to take a long nap while we take you to your possible doom.” He leans in and whispers. “Don’t worry though, I won’t let you die without prying those pretty secrets out of your head, CadetSolace.”

Panic tries to claw its way up my throat, so I don’t respond. Instead, I take a page from the Banshees and just narrow my eyes at him. There’s no way he knows anything. But he is a Szellemi—maybe my mental barriers aren’t strong enough… maybe he’s seen something. Fucking fates. Do I need to run now? Maybe I can ditch my squad and head somewhere they won’t find me… No, there’s too many risks. I won’t even know where we are in regards to anything else. I won’t have enough supplies.

“Bottoms up, Little Mouse.” He winks before moving down the line, handing out more vials.

“Breathe Rav,” Nero chants softly until I expel the air in my lungs and suck in some crisp winter breeze. “He’s probably just trying to get in your head. You know how unhinged that one can be. Don’t let him derail your plan.” I think back to Jesper licking the flat part of his blade during our last lesson with wild eyes that scream to something inside of me. He’s just a bit crazy, that’s all. I ignore the other feeling that threatens to push through.

I nod, letting his words bring me a bit of comfort as I rub my stomach. Jesper Verlice is the most unstable of Wing One, with the amount of times I’d catch him watching me out of lessons, in the dining hall, library, corridors. I swear I’ve even seen him lingering near the South Tower. But he hasn’t said a word to me since before Craven took over training me—until now.

Something in my gut tells me that I’m going to need to be more careful around him, but that also excites me. Maybe I’m more messed up than I thought.

Around me, cadets slowly settle down on the ground, passing out as they down the contents of the vial, slumping together in piles with their squads. Nerves begin to crawl back up my throat. The idea of being forced to sleep and not knowing what’s happening with your body is terrifying. What if they do something to Nero?

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