Page 20 of Prince of Flowers
My lips closed again. Sylvain was more experienced in identifying spellwork than I’d expected. I shuffled my feet, clearing my throat as I rearranged my grimoire’s position in my arms, which had already been fine to begin with. Why was Sylvain’s competence and power so damn hot? Such an inconvenient time to get turned on, too.
Evander stretched out his arm, then dropped his hand. The butterflies sped forth. As ancient as the structure was, the seemingly fragile stonework of the Wispwood was hardly at risk. Something about the Wispwell kept both the stone and the trees exceptionally strong. Even without the barrier Bruna had erected, everything would be perfectly fine.
What we needed to worry about was getting our limbs and entrails scattered by these beautiful flying bombs.
But again my freshly bonded eidolon proved his worth. Sylvain slashed his arm through the air, leaves launching from his hand like a fan of knives, each zinging at deadly speed toward a separate butterfly. The little explosions were glorious, as long as I reminded myself that the butterflies were simply crossing back to where Evander had summoned them from, and not actually dying.
What was even more satisfying, though, was the look of shock on Evander’s face. He composed himself quickly enough, his features shifting back to a place somewhere between anger and determination, but that moment of vulnerability had been worth it. Maybe Sylvain really was a blessing in disguise, after all.
And then Evander snickered. He snapped his fingers and one last butterfly dropped from above us, somewhere close to the ceiling. How did we miss that one? My heart jumped as it sped toward Sylvain, burning, fiery wings prepared to welcome him in their explosive embrace. Sylvain’s mouth fell open, too surprised to react. I stepped in, my body between the butterfly and the prince as I held out my grimoire.
The nice thing about a summoner’s grimoire was how it served as much more than a combination journal, sketchpad, and textbook. In a pinch, a summoner’s arcane essence could be expended to reinforce it, much in the same way that it could reinforce an eidolon. Funny how the damn thing got weathered over time anyway, the parchment yellowing, the cover going dry, when just the right amount of essence could make it nigh indestructible.
Energy pulsed from within my soul and out through the palms of my hands, encasing the grimoire in its own personal barrier. The butterfly collided with its cover, my magic absorbing the force of the blow, my fingers feeling the residual heat of the enchantment, and nothing more. From across the hallway, Evander cursed again.
Sylvain’s chuckle was throaty, bemused. “Impressive. I didn’t think you could do that.”
“There’s plenty you don’t know about me.” I gave him a wink, surprised to see a twitch in the corner of his eye, a faint blush in the apples of his cheeks. “But there’s time for that later. Let’s end this.”
“Agreed.”
Sylvain composed himself, holding his hand aloft. This time the leaves whirled and reformed into a blade, a sword crafted out of hundreds of individual parts. Now that was impressive.
We rushed as one toward Evander, Sylvain with his sword, and me prepared to deliver an almighty thrashing with my reinforced book. Gods, but this felt incredible, swooping into the fray alongside my eidolon, fighting shoulder to shoulder. I wondered if this was how Grand Summoner Dorian felt as he rode his dragons into battle, an entire flock of them blackening the sky.
I wondered if this was how Father felt.
“Stay back,” Evander shouted, his hand held up in front of him, his supply of butterflies dwindling. “No. Stay back.”
Evander was too good for tomes and grimoires, thinking himself above them, relying only on wings and butterflies. I’d never really seen him fight up close, his magic more suited for ranged combat. But something was wrong. That look in his eyes wasn’t one of anger, or even confusion. It was fear.
Sylvain slashed his sword in a vicious diagonal, a strike that would have cut Evander’s chest open. He danced away, as graceful as his butterflies, but his eyes huge as he watched the edge of Sylvain’s blade.
“Sylvain, stop,” I said.
His teeth bared, his eyes burning, Sylvain lunged forward, slicing this time in a wide, horizontal arc. Evander dodged again, but his step faltered. Sylvain raised his sword a third time. I couldn’t take it. I sprang forward, my grimoire held up. The collision clanged like metal, the strength of Sylvain’s blow vibrating down my arms.
And then Bruna’s voice called for the end of the duel.
“First blood. Evander Skink wins.”
I felt at my cheek, wiping away the trail of blood. Fuck. I’d barely felt the butterfly’s wing grazing my skin. Defeat and Evander’s cowardly betrayal hurt much more. From somewhere behind me, he had the nerve to chuckle.
Sylvain threw his arm out and curled his fingers. At once the blade in his hand and the leaves adorning his body fell away, swirling in impossible curves and patterns back toward the trees around the academy, his borrowed implements returned to nature. The sight of this man standing in a silent whirlwind of emerald green could have been so tranquil, except for the part where he was openly glaring at me.
He stalked toward me, hands clenched into fists. I stood my ground, lifting my nose, my chin. This was part of the summoner’s song and dance, after all, understanding the temperaments of our eidolons, the push and pull of their whims and fancies. Those who worked with creatures of fire, for example, might need to prepare for explosive outbursts. Creatures of elemental air were literally flighty themselves, their moods liable to shift like the wind.
But this beautiful man and his curious talents were an unprecedented mystery. A challenge, exactly like Dr. Fang had warned.
“I could have ended it,” he snarled. “If you’d just allowed me to strike him, we could have won.”
“You’re forgetting everything we discussed,” I said, struggling to keep my tone calm. “Dr. Fang said that you couldn’t harm other students because of the terms of our pact, but now I have my doubts. You’re too wild, Sylvain. It still falls on me to rein you in.”
Oops. Maybe I could have phrased that differently. Sylvain’s lips drew back, his bared teeth wet and sharp.
“You compare me to a common carthorse. A beast of burden. I’m beginning to think that you’re confused about your position in this arrangement.”
The blood rushed to my cheeks, both from anger and from the fact that the onlookers around us were now watching a different sort of fight. A summoner and his eidolon, bickering out in the open. Oh, and Dr. Fang was there, too. Great.
