Page 21 of Prince of Flowers
“My position? It’s your fault that we’re in this position to begin with, you and your big, stupid mouth. You didn’t have to seal the pact, and yet you did, all because you couldn’t control yourself. Words have meaning in this world, Sylvain. They can bind you, destroy you.”
“You want words?” A cruel smile played on his lips. He raised his hand, one finger pointed at my chest. “I have words for you, little human. You are a conniving, sniveling, unbearable piece of — ”
His finger connected with my body. The pact took over. A pulse of light flashed between us, hurtling him across the hallway with massive force. Sylvain yelped as he flew, as fast and as hard as if he’d been kicked in the stomach by a giant. He slammed into the wall with a meaty thud and a pained grunt. Scratch that — as if he’d been kicked in the stomach by a giant wearing steel-toe boots.
“Sorry?” I called out. “I’m a piece of what? I didn’t catch that.”
Sylvain groaned. Namirah clucked her tongue as she approached him, presumably to help snap his bones back into place. Bruna sifted through the pouches and phials attached to the leather belt she wore, looking for a healing potion. I stood sulking with my arms crossed, my grimoire across my chest like a shield, or a security blanket.
And Dr. Fang shook her head, pushed her door open, and disappeared into her office. Great. Just great.
Between the compliments and congratulations going Evander’s way, he still found the time to sidle up to me and offer one last taunt.
“Trouble in paradise, Locke? If it doesn’t work out — and it looks like it won’t — be sure to send him my way. Perhaps I can tame him.”
I stared at Sylvain as he guzzled a crimson-colored potion, as he stared sullenly back at me with eyes brimming with anger and hurt.
I wondered if anyone could tame him.
9
I really did havethe best friends in the world. Namirah and Bruna helped Sylvain up the steps to my bedchambers, which was just as well since he didn’t seem to want me anywhere near him. I kept my eyes on the back of his head, imagining I could bore holes through his skull with the force of my annoyance.
Dr. Fang had warned him about harming the other residents of the Wispwood, and he’d seen firsthand how the pact would react to any sign of physical threat to a summoner’s person. Not my problem. Was I really the bad guy for making sure that Evander Skink walked out of our duel in one piece? I mean, Skink was a walking pile of human garbage, but no one deserved to be bisected at the torso like that.
Sylvain could grouse all he wanted. And grouse he did, all the way up the stairs, through the door to my room. The ladies tried to help him onto a chair, but he insisted on sitting on the floor. Bruna was kind enough to lay down a couple of throw pillows for him, his butt and his thighs lovingly cushioned on embroidered emerald and gold.
Personally, I would have liked to lay down a thrashing, but never mind that. This was supposed to be a place of peace. My room was my sanctuary away from the rest of the academy, nothing too shabby, but nothing too flashy, either.
A nice four-poster bed, courtesy of the academy itself, the same as the rest of the mostly mahogany furniture like the dresser and the end table. A couple of matching clawfoot sofas upholstered in emerald green and gold, the colors of Wispwood — kind of old-fashioned, but very comfy.
We could decorate however we liked, but the academy’s colors would always find their way into a student’s room. In my case, the colors appeared in the form of the college-style pennant that hung above my writing desk, or the coffee mug sitting on that same writing desk, right next to my laptop.
Over there was my flatscreen TV, with a couple of game consoles, and next to it, a small personal refrigerator. It would have been an odd sight for the more magically-inclined students, seeing the Wispwood’s ancient furnishings next to mundane, almost vulgar human technology. But all put together, it spelled comfort for me.
And apparently for my irritating new roommate, as well.
“Thank you very much,” Sylvain said, his voice hoarse, his eyes half-lidded, like he was exhausted. “I never thought that humans could be so helpful, so kind.”
“It’s only regular human decency,” Namirah said. “Really not a big deal at all, Sylvain. No worries.”
Her eyes locked with mine for the briefest second, a flash of hardness in her stare. I flinched. What? Like it was my fault? Sylvain was the one who poked me while gearing up to say something very unpleasant. The melodramatic bastard. He was milking this for all it was worth. And worse? He was winning my friends over, too.
Bruna pulled another phial from her belt, the crimson liquid sloshing around within the glass. “I’ll brew up some more healing potion, just in case,” she told me. “If he’s in any pain whatsoever, come see me and I’ll have it ready for him.”
I narrowed my eyes at Sylvain. “I’m sure Prince Sylvain over here is still strong enough to crawl his way to your office and uncork a bottle with his teeth. He’ll be fine.”
Sylvain clutched his stomach and doubled over, his lashes fluttering as he gasped. “Your kindness is exemplary, Bruna. I thank you again.”
This fucking guy. Not once over the course of our duel did anything strike him in the stomach. Just another excuse to draw attention to his abs. All eight of them. I clenched my fingers, curled my toes.
“You know, you were really quick to declare Evander the winner back there,” I told Bruna, eyes still narrowed.
She placed her hands on her hips, frowning. “Locke, you know how it works. All those terms are binding. The Wispwood would know if I played favorites. Even worse, the headmasters would know.”
The Wispwood was watched over by three separate headmasters, all working as a triumvirate. Why we needed three of them I would never know. I suspected it had to do with all the various arcane tracks the academy offered, many of which might have conflicting ideologies.
More importantly, in most any situation, it was best not to draw their attention. Even the friendliest of the three could be difficult to deal with. Unpredictable, to say the least.
