Page 12 of The Curse of Golden Blood
Maybe he did. Or maybe he was here now, standing somewhere in this court, unrecognizable behind a polite smile and a pair of clean robes.
“As of today, these five serve as your appointed mentors,” Gryven announced. “They will guide you through your first weeks in the Thunder Court. You will address them as Master or Mistress. Disrespect them, and you answer to me.”
He gestured to the first of the robed Vessels, a dark-haired boy with sharp features and a cruel smile.
“Master Calen,” Gryven called. “Terys. Iri. Velna. Daryn. Keely.”
It was odd. We were to be trained by the other Vessels. But they didn’t look like us anymore. They stood too straight, their gazes too calm, too obedient. It unsettled me.
They must have been brainwashed. That was the only explanation. Tools. Weapons.
The thought of becoming one of them—of speaking like them, moving like them, wearing that same obedient mask—turned my stomach.
Next, Brond stepped forward.
“Master Brond. Vara. Pelbie. Marn. Halmar. Edes.”
I cursed under my breath. I didn't get to have the same mentor as Pelbie. At least Brond didn’t seem cruel by nature. Pelbie though—I wasn't sure she could keep up. She nodded back with a determined look on her face, as if reassuring me that she would survive.
One by one, names were called, groups assembled. The robed Vessels barely looked at us as we were sorted like tools into hands that may or may not know how to wield us.
Five groups. Five mentors. Five students each.
It was only me who remained by the end.
The other Vessels turned to stare. I swallowed hard and continued to try not to squirm, even though I could hear the whispers, see the smirks, and smell the stench of speculation.
"And you, Miralyte." Gryven stepped closer to me. I involuntarily stepped backwards and immediately cursed myself for showing weakness. "Master Zydar is training you personally."
Pure hate surged through my veins, igniting something deep inside me. I wanted to scream, to run, to attack. But I could not. Not yet.
I doubted it was out of kindness. More likely, it had something to do with the mark that never took. I’d seen the way he looked at me after it failed.
"Where is he?" I demanded, looking around the courtyard, expecting to see the Warlord.
"Right here," a low, husky voice answered.
I whirled around.
And there he was, as if he had stepped from the shadows themselves, watching me like he'd been there all along.
Tall, broad and terrifying, his chin lifted arrogantly, his red eyes narrowed. His dark hair was pulled back, exposing sharp, smooth features, a strong jaw, and full lips that were currently twisted up into a smirk.
"Dismissed." I heard him tell the others, his voice commanding and clear.
At once, they dispersed. Pelbie gave me a worried glance before heading back inside. Soon, there was nothing but silence and the two of us.
His cruel smile stayed in place as his gaze fell on me. "You seem displeased."
I knew better than to answer.
He stepped closer, invading the space between us. He was close enough to touch, his very presence warming the air around me. Every nerve in my body screamed at me to move, but I willed myself to remain still. I saw the tiny smile that twitched on his lips and I glared back at him in defiance. His gaze traced the line of my face, lingering just a bit too long on my mouth. Something sharp and predatory passed over his gaze, like that of a lion measuring a wayward gazelle.
"You're hardly the mentoring sort," I said finally.
His teeth were blindingly white and sharp as they flashed in a wicked grin. "I possess many talents that you know nothing of, mortal."
"How fortunate for me." I simpered sarcastically, giving him a threatening smile of my own.
