Page 68 of A Touch of Stars and Stones
Micah jumps up from his table and brings me to his, and I smile at Raiden and Ascella. Their easy smiles from the last few weeks fade as I sit, and I see an edge of something else as both their eyes dip to the necklace now resting at the base of my throat.
“Hey,” I offer and study my plate, my appetite shrivelling by the second.
“I have to tell you. I thoroughly enjoyed your little fight earlier. Who knew you’d be so good? Those training sessions must have been effective.”
“She’s a Fifth, Micah. You think she’s not going to kick our ass now?” Ascella says from the other side of Micah.
“You know what a Fifth is?” I look at them all, reading their weary faces, but they remain quiet. I just purse my lips and dig into my food.
The first bite tastes of bitterness and frustration, memories of what I first felt here sparking to life and burning under my skin as I realise nothing has changed.
They told me to wait.
To wait until my Transference.
And like a gullible fool, I accepted what they said, not knowing what else to believe, as if my Transference might be a magic cure for everything that has happened to me. I’d be accepted, and things would even out.
It seems that all I’ve been is wrong since setting foot over the border.
The girls all finish up their food—I arrived late anyway—and leave.
Micah stays, and I can hear the apology in his silence.
It’s too quiet. “You’ve told me so much since being here. But you don’t want to tell me what I am?” I ask and study his face for the truth of his response.
“There are no Fifths here, Ever.” He shakes his head. “It’s not that we don’t want to tell you. It’s that we’re not really sure ourselves. We’ve only been told that it’s extremely rare, and there isn’t even much information in the books. And it’s dangerous. Someone should have realised with all your leaks of magic and confusion around your power.” He hunches forward and rests his forearms on the table. “Zuns, someone should have thought it possible. Maybe you should speak to the Orders. Or the Maker?” He turns his head to me, and there’s worry in his eyes.
“I’d rather take my chances alone than speak to that witch.” My voice is tight, stilting Micah’s conversation. I notice his empty plate. “You don’t have to wait for me. I’m fine,” I lie.
He seems to weigh up the decision, whether he should leave or not, but I guess I’m not the best company tonight. He stands. “See you at training.” His voice is a reflection of my mood, and I regret that I’ve dampened his general enthusiasm.
I push the food around on my plate as my appetite vanishes. The roll is still tempting, and I pick at the bread, tearing little bites off.
“You look like you could use some company.” I peer up and see Ten standing next to me, a small plate in his hand. A quick glance tells me the rest of the hall has cleared, and we’re alone.
“Be my guest. Unless you’ve come to take back your offer of help, and then maybe you could just leave me to myself.” I get the defence in quickly and keep my eyes on my plate.
“I told you I’d help. That hasn’t changed.” He drops down, straddling his strong thighs on either side of the wooden bench and putting the plate on the wooden table. My eyes look him over and trail up his chest to the grin on his lips.
I weigh his words or try to. “Thank you.”
He nods.
“And for earlier. The knife. Thank you. I wouldn’t have been able to fight without you.”
His smile grows, and he reaches his hand around his back and brings the knife out between us. “It wouldn’t hurt to get one made, that’s more… appropriate.”
“What’s wrong with this one?” I nod to the blade between us. Ten just twists his hand back and forth, the metal gleaming, but I see that there’s something else on the blade, etched into the metal that I didn’t notice earlier. The gleaming red stones in the hilt were hard to miss next to the grip of my hand.
“This is the Ciro knife. Handed to me by my father, although I do wonder…” he trails off.
“What?” The thought of getting information from Ten was akin to finding a new object to collect. Special.
“Why he bothered if he wasn’t going to ever be my Advocate. This is a Warrior knife.”
“So?” I ask as if that were an important thing. “Do Orders have different types of weapons?”
“I’m not a Warrior.”
