Page 83 of Wings of Ash & Flame
Alaire’s eyes widened. At times like this, she cursed her lack of fae hearing. She’d give anything to know what in the seven hells was being said.
“Do they usually fight like that?” Archer’s voice was laced with concern.
“I’ve never seen them interact like this before.”
“Should I intervene?” he asked, the pulse in his neck visibly pounding.
Alaire shook her head. “Best let them sort that out themselves. Kaia can handle her own battles.”
Relief flickered across his face.
Then Kaia’s voice cracked through the dining hall like a whip. “You never listen, Caius! You always act like you’re the only one who matters—guess what? You aren’t. We’re supposed to be a team. So you’d better figure your shit out!”
Alaire froze. She had never heard Kaia yell before. Not once. Her eyes snapped to Caius, searching his expression. What in the seven hells had he done to push her that far?
Holding her breath, Alaire waited for Caius to explode—surely he’d meet fire with fire.
But he didn’t yell. He didn’t move at all. His posture stayed rigid, fists curling at his sides, a muscle feathering in his jaw. Kaia stood her ground, waiting. He met her stare for one taut, silent moment, then turned and walked away, his footsteps deliberate, each one echoing in the hall.
Alaire frowned. The Caius she knew—the cruel, arrogant brute—would never let a challenge slide.
Kaia spun on her heel, curls bouncing as she strode to the table. Without looking at either of them, she dropped into the seat and pushed a bowl of mixed watermelon, pineapple, and mango toward Alaire.
“Thanks,” Alaire muttered, wary of poking the beast.
Kaia grunted.
Archer’s gaze flicked between them and Caius’s retreating figure. His brows rose, lips pursing as if calculating the odds of getting answers. “I’m going to give you ladies some space,” he said, rising. He paused beside Kaia, his expression softening. “Take a moment. Just breathe.”
She didn’t reply. Archer lingered a beat, then left.
Alaire chewed slowly, stealing sidelong glances at Kaia’s rigid posture and restless fingers drumming against the table.
“What was that about?” she finally asked, waving her spoon toward the door.
Kaia’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “Nothing that matters.”
Alaire arched a brow but let it go, shoveling another bite into her mouth.
Then Kaia stood abruptly, grabbed her elbow, tugging her to her feet. “Come on. I need to punch something.”
“More like someone,” Alaire muttered. She cast one longing glance at her fruit bowl before letting herself be dragged away.
In the hallway, Caius lingered with his head bowed, hands still clenched. When Kaia appeared, he looked up. Whether she didn’t see him or deliberately ignored him, Alaire couldn’t tell. But she caught the flicker of emotions that crossed his face—pain, regret, maybe even guilt—before he vanished into the crowd.
She almost felt sorry for him.
The Crux buzzed with energy. Arrows thudded into targets, sparring students exchanged grunts and sharp cries, and above it all, Professor Hawthorne’s booming voice cut through the noise with commands and corrections.
His gaze swept over the room, pausing on Kaia and Alaire as they approached. “You’re both late,” he barked, his voice carrying easily over the clamor. “You’re next up on the mats. Move it.”
Kaia had forgotten her things for their next class and had to double back to the dining hall. Now Professor Hawthorne was going to make them pay for it.
Alaire groaned, shooting Kaia a sidelong glance. “Oh joy.”
Kaia opened her mouth to respond, but her words were drowned out by the sharp, deliberate sound of slow clapping cutting through the training hall.
“Still content watching from the sidelines, or do you plan on proving you belong here?”
