Page 33 of Feathers of Ash and Hope

Jaredand I lean against the wall in the sparring hall and watch our runners face off against the eastern division. The sparring hall is a big, open room with hardwood flooring. Tall windows run down one side, making it look even larger, giving us an overview of the atrium, a story below. Mirrors cover the opposite wall of the room. Twelve square mats in dark gray are spaced evenly throughout the room, currently occupied by twelve pairs of runners, one of them Summer and another runner about the same height.

“Why did you put Summer in our division?” I look at Jared, who stands next to me.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Jared tries to keep a straight face, but the corner of his mouth twitches.

“Don’t play stupid. The second I saw you up on that stage reading off names, I knew you had a hand in selecting them,” I reply.

He chuckles before shrugging.

“Be grateful, or we would have had her,” he says, inclining his head toward a tall, blond girl who is seemingly agitated and talking to Professor Arkwright. I have heard other riders complain about Livia Vaccari all week. Her daddy seems to be someone important in Telos, and she acts the part.

I snort. “Okay, thanks for that. But why did you pick him?” I look over at Summer, who stops and seems to follow whatever is going on between the bossy blonde and the prof.

“I like Summer’s humor, and he practically flew through the mountain run.” He shrugs.

I watched our runners on the obstacle course yesterday. While Summer took the course with ease, he was far from flying.

“You sure about that?” I look at him skeptically.

“Yeah, I’m sure. Boko couldn’t shut up about it. He was the one stopping the time. He said he had never seen anyone go through that course so fast.”

“He is one odd duck, that’s for sure, but I’m not so sure about the flying,” I say, looking at the boy we’re talking about.

Arkwright, a fair but demanding man responsible for the physical training of the recruits, is calling him over.

“She’s right,” Arkwright says, “and you don’t do yourself a favor either by going easy on your hands. I want the gloves off for all fighting.” Summer grumbles but removes his gloves.

Now that I think about it, I’ve never seen him without them before, even during lunch or dinner. Strange.

I decide to keep an eye on him. He lied about his name, after all. I let it slide because I’ve done the same, and frankly, he looks harmless, but now I wonder if I should have said something.

“Why do you think he’s odd?” Jared sounds curious, and I can’t believe he asks that.

“We haven’t been around much the last two weeks, but this guy”—I nod toward Grayson Summer, who is getting intoposition against another first year—“was hiding behind his buddy for the first few days. But he didn’t seem shy or scared when you signed him up.” Jared shrugs, so I continue, “He wears those gloves all the time, and if it’s true what Boko told you, he dragged his feet in the obstacle course deliberately because his time was mediocre at best.” I raise an eyebrow at Jared.

He shrugs again. “I like him,” he states. I shake my head. That is typical Jared. He makes such decisions in the blink of an eye as easily as ordering a beer.

“Not everyone shares your affection,” I reply dryly, eyeing the runners in front of us. Vaccari is openly gloating about her win with the gloves, and a brown-haired brutish guy glares at Summer, who doesn’t seem to notice, fully engaged in his sparring.

“Who is he?” I point him out to Jared.

“That’s Gorgon Foley,” he says.

“Deputy Commander Foley’s son?” I ask and whistle quietly when Jared confirms. I’m not surprised Jared knows their names already. He seems to know everyone. Summer, on the other hand, has a knack for making influential enemies.

I learn something else about Summer that afternoon. He’s good with a sword and knives but awful without a weapon. He’s fast, aggressive, and a bit reckless in his swordsmanship, but his technique is solid. Despite looking like a child, I would bet he has years of training under his belt. The incongruence is intriguing.

Maybe I was too quick to tag him as harmless. After all, big eyes and a sunny personality are no proof of good intentions.

He smiles and laughs a lot, and the professors and first years seem to like him. Frankly, he would be the center of attention if he did not always keep to himself. But he does, and I can’t help but wonder why.

The more I watch him over the next few days, the more I get the impression that he tries to go unnoticed, not that he is very good at it since he draws attention like a flame in the dark.

During the next strategy meeting, Summer sits on his hands, like he tries to make sure he doesn’t raise them on accident. I often see him early in the mornings while most others are still sleeping. He never ends up at the weight room or sparring hall, though, and he is scarily chipper for the time of day, which is suspicious all on its own.

His smile never falters despite my scowl. It seems as if nothing can spoil his good mood.

Nothing but Joel Cassius. Summer seems a little cool around him—another puzzle. Cassius is his squadron leader, and I have never seen him being unfair or unreasonable and not hotheaded, either, so what is Summer’s problem?

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