Page 20 of Sons of Sorrow
I could envision sparks flying between their gazes, tiny daggers launching from their eyes. If looks could kill, indeed.
“Luna,” said Bruna. “Surely you could find your way from our bedchambers down to the dining hall. Are they too busy training you to be murderers at the Iron College? Too busy to teach you about common sense?”
My nails dug into the palms of my hands, my fists balled up so tight. I couldn’t take it. I was dying to say something. Bruna had a sister named Luna,andshe went to the Iron College? Holy hell.
Luna crossed her arms, rolled her eyes, and smirked. “You have to admit, this place is enormous. Sprawling, like it doesn’t know what it wants to be. Confused and disorganized, just like the hippies who live here.” Her eyes trailed down, then up my body, appraising, judging. “No offense meant, whoever you are.”
“Oh, uh, hi,” I said, unsure of how to respond. “I’m Locke. Your sister’s friend.”
This was a different flavor of wickedness, even compared to the evil twink shenanigans of one Evander Skink. Something in Luna’s eyes suggested an even more elevated sense of superiority, and more than a touch of malice.
She blinked, then gave me a brilliant smile. “Charmed. I’m Luna. Any friend of my sister’s is — oh, I can’t even say it to be polite.”
I nodded and scratched the back of my neck, muttering nothing at the ground. It wasn’t usually within my nature to let people walk all over me, but what else was I supposed to do? This was Bruna’s sister, after all. I didn’t even know she had one, much less one who was so damn snappy. Rude, even.
Luna’s superiority complex didn’t come out of nowhere, of course. Just like in the real world, the academies of the arcane underground all had their own rivalries. There were exceptions, naturally, but prejudice and preconceived notions were so common.
A mage’s educational background could be so ingrained as to be divisive, tribalistic. It was true for even those of us who’d graduated long ago, entire families, even dynasties making their arcane academy a part of their personality. A “My team is better than yours!” sort of thing.
The boys of Grayhaven were spoiled silly by both their parents and professors, told from an early age that they were the very best elementalists on the planet. The absolute elites, the cream of the crop. All that buttering-up went straight to their heads, too. I went on a date with a Grayhaven guy, once. Cute as hell, but insufferable.
And the annoying part about being told that they were geniuses, savants, complete kings of magic? It was all true. Every Grayhaven graduate was a master of the elements, many of them excelling in professions that valued skill in magical combat. Bodyguards for the very wealthiest, for example, or bounty hunters, or mercenaries for hire.
We of the Wispwood believed in the power of nature, the power of community, how asking for help and offering it in turn were ways for our magic to flourish. To the rest of the arcane underground, we were considered granola-swilling hippies, vegan tree-hugging potheads. Just like Luna said.
But even the Wispwood’s loudest critics tended to shut the hell up after witnessing the true talents of our alumni. Wispwood mages could bring vegetation to life to strangle and dismember their enemies. Little is more dazzling than the sight of a grand summoner unleashing the greatest of their eidolons.
As for the Iron College? Most people tried not to talk about the Iron College, about the brutal, inhumane treatment of their own students, their philosophy of learning through inflicting and experiencing pain. It was a place of darkest magic, its ancient halls filled with the whispers of fallen initiates, with the screams of those who had come for the enlightenment of agony.
The Iron College and its strange methods originated from a time when the world’s mages still waged open war on each other, whether for disputes over territory, rare artifacts, or imagined slights. The products of the Iron College would always be the last ones standing on the battlefield, bloodied and burned, but still hungry for more violence.
It always sounded like an academy for masochists to me, but that was the rationale. Suffer enough damage, endure enough pain, and the calluses would build over time. Their graduates were tough as nails, almost inhumanly so, shrugging off the gravest of injuries in their singular pursuit of wreaking maximum havoc.
And here was one of them now, supposedly a raging, bloodthirsty monster wrapped in a pretty, perfumed package. In the arcane underground, in a world where illusions were commonplace and the veneer of magic could hide even the darkest of secrets? It was best not to judge a book by its cover.
Bruna cleared her throat. “My sister is here on a special visit from her academy. She’s in her third year at the Iron College, and apparently needs some Heart of the Flame for a project. Since I teach here, I pulled some strings to grant her access to the Oriel of Fire, and, well — here we are.”
Luna chuckled and tilted her head, hands primly clasped behind her back. “So kind of you to oblige me, big sister. This place might be overgrown with weeds and toadstools, but it’s still one of the most convenient sources for elemental essence.”
“Right,” Bruna said, her lips pursed with distaste. “Except for the part where I’m supposed to accompany you, of course.”
A lightbulb switched on in my head. “Oh. Wait. You have to go into the oriel, too?”
Bruna crossed her arms and sighed. “Headmasters wouldn’t allow it to happen otherwise. And it would be so much easier if I had some frostfeather — any frostfeather whatsoever to use in a potion of fire resistance.” She clenched her teeth, narrowing her eyes at me. “I wonder why there isn’t any left.”
“Hey,” I protested. “Don’t look at me. Not my fault. It’s that evil twink again, I’m sure of it.”
Luna cocked her eyebrow questioningly, then rolled her eyes, like she was too good or too busy to ask who or what an evil twink was. Which was all fine by me. I wasn’t exactly looking to make conversation with her, anyway.
It was funny to think that she and Evander would either hate each other’s guts or get along divinely. An image of them holding hands and laughing as they strolled through the Wispwood hallways flashed in my mind’s eye. I shuddered.
“Pitiful, really,” Luna said, flipping her hair. I noticed the gleam of her earrings, a silver crescent moon in each ear. How appropriate, and a little on the nose. “We have no use for potions of any sort of resistance at the Iron College. Our flesh is forged in fire, our skin tempered in flame.”
“Give me a break,” Bruna grumbled. “Sounds like a cult.”
Anger flashed in Luna’s eyes. “Or a vastly superior system of training. Take your pick.”
I could feel the words bubbling up inside me. They catapulted out of my mouth before I could stop myself.
