Page 38 of Wings of Ash & Flame
“Going up for seconds?” Kaia teased, resting her arm on the table.
She wasn’t sure when she’d stop filling her plate to the brim. In good conscience, she didn’t want to let any of it go to waste. She told herself she ate to keep herself strong, but part of her worried that a time would come when food would not be this accessible again. For now, she planned to savor every bite.
“I should, but if I have one more bite, you’ll have to roll me out of here.” Alaire pushed the plate away with a groan.
“I wasn’t talking about the food.” Kaia winked.
“Ugh, gross, Kaia.” Alaire dragged a hand down her face. “When will you let that go?”
“When you tell me what happened between you two.” Kaia planted her elbows on the table, leaning forward.
“Nothing happened,” Alaire muttered, grabbing her fork and stabbing a piece of fruit with more force than necessary.
Kaia arched a brow. “Right. Neither of you returned to class. Everyone kept sneaking looks at the door the entire time.”
“Please.” She swallowed a piece of watermelon. “The prince can do whatever he likes. I bet they all fawn over him like a newborn babe.”
“None of them seems to get under his skin the way you do.”
“Like I care.” Alaire rolled her eyes, setting the fork down.
Kaia bit her lip as her shoulders started shaking lightly.
“What?” Alaire’s hands gripped her thighs under the table.
“All I’m saying is, for someone who claims he wants nothing to do with you, his eyes never leave you when you’re in the room.”
Alaire threw her arms into the air. “Because he’s plotting ways to remove me from his precious academy. All death stares and scowls.”
“Or maybe he’s wondering how much longer he can deny what he wants.”
“Ew, Kaia. Be serious.”
Kaia’s gaze sharpened. “Come on. You can’t tell me Dawson Knox doesn’t affect you.”
Alaire groaned. “I can appreciate his exterior and general attractiveness, but his insides are as twisted and gnarled as the trees in the Woods of Whispers. It’s that condescension inside that poisons any above-average physical pleasantness—including the tattoos.”
“Sure, Alaire. Whatever you say.”
Blood pumped in her ears, and the faint scent of ivy and damp air that clung to Aeris Academy filled her nostrils. Here in the Crux, she could forget the prying eyes and hushed judgments. She could lose herself in the simple, lethal beauty of the bow.
Professor Hawthorne moved along the field’s edge—a short, stalky man with a beard that hung past his neck—scrutinizing the novices’ form and offering suggestions on stance and technique.
The Crux was an enclosed building except for the circular skylight in the center of the ceiling. One entire wall was glass, revealing a devastating view where sky and sea melted into each other.
Several targets dotted the training field. A towering structure displayed an arsenal of weapons mounted on an intricate wrought-iron lattice designed to mimic intertwined branches.
Magic was prohibited in the Crux.
Alaire ached to hold a dagger or sword, to feel the metal’s finesse as she swung the blade. But archery required a differentkind of precision and patience—one Blake had insisted she master despite her preference for steel weapons. Daggers were easier to conceal, accurate, and convenient, but the reach and range of a bow offered advantages no blade could match.
She lifted the bow, feeling its familiar weight in her hands. She nocked an arrow, her movements smooth and practiced.
“Remember, it’s not just about hitting the target,” Professor Hawthorne said as he came up behind her to assess her stance. “It’s about concentrating on your target amid chaos. Your movements must be quick, precise, and deadly.”
“I know.” The bowstring kissed the corner of her mouth—a featherlight touch, like a whisper of silk.
Drawing the string back, she let her surroundings fade, her world narrowing to the eye of the target fifty paces away. The arrow struck its center with athudas satisfying as any blade finding its mark.
