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Suddenly, memories of sitting in the hot springs at Hotel Zulmara with Atlas flood my mind.
"You're a terrible liar, Princess."
It feels like it happened so long ago. My heartbeat quickens thinking of him planting his hands on either side of the pavement behind me, leaning close, his lips hovering just above my own. Watching the droplets of water streak down his scarred chest and sculpted arms, wishing I could run my fingers through his soaked hair just to see what he'd do in response.
When he left the dinner table last night, he didn't come back. At least, I never heard him come back and if he did, he left before I woke up. How strange it is to go from foe to friend, and yet, still want more.
"Kitarni?"
"Yes?" I glance up at him.
"Are your hands glowing?"
I lift my hands and they are indeed glowing.
He gently tucks his fingers under my chin to turn me to face him. "Your eyes are gold, too."
"I'm not sure why it happens."
"I suppose we should wait to go inside until you stop."
"Why?" I ask when he retracts his hand from my face. "You think the others would be afraid of me?"
"It's against school policy to use magic outside of an instructed classroom. Believe me, I was reminded many times."
"But your magic doesn't harm anyone," I reiterate.
When he doesn't say anything, my blood begins to boil. How many times had Nyx been attacked in school because others wanted to see his magic in action? How many injuries did he have to heal from because no one treated him kindly? Why did no one help him? He was a child. A child excited to have magic. A child willing to serve his king and country as an anomaly, bearing the weight of a kingdom on his little shoulders. How much of Nyx's pain is unseen? Can his power mend a broken soul? A shattered heart?
I glare at the large door in front of us, the door that would open my eyes to a new world of magic and elemental affinities, and the thought of marching into the office of whoever is in charge and threatening to burn every inch of their skin for failing to help Nyx all those years ago rages deep within my soul.
How many scars would Nyx actually have on his body, if he could mend his wounds, but not erase the trace of injury?
Nyx slides his thumb across my cheek and it's only then I notice that I'm crying. "It's alright, Kitarni," he whispers.
"It's not alright, Nyx." I shake my head. "You were a child. They should have protected you."
He nods in agreement. "They should have, but people often fall short when they're afraid."
"I'm sorry, Nyx." I bury my face in his chest, wrapping my arms around his torso and squeeze as tightly as I dare. I release a deep breath when he drapes his arms over me. "Give me a name and I'll make sure they suffer."
He laughs and the rumble in his chest echoes in my ear. "I appreciate the offer, but my brothers and I dealt with the professors and students that gave me the most trouble. They aren't here anymore. Even the Headmistress is new."
I don't move or respond. I'm grateful Nyx won't be interacting with those who bullied him through his school years, but the thought of Atlas and Finn possibly using their magic against other students to protect their youngest brother fills my heart with a dull ache. I don't have a sibling. I never had someone willing to go to battle with me against those who attempted to harm me, but then again, I had no idea that the ones lying to me, and holding an invisible knife to my throat, were the ones I trusted and loved most.
Nyx pulls away first. "We should go inside. We wouldn't want to be late on your first day, would we?" The twinkle of mischief is back in his eyes, and it gives me the boost of confidence I need to agree to walk through that door.
I bob my head, straighten my outfit, and throw my braided ponytail over my shoulder so it dangles along my spine. "I'm ready."
Five
Shaye
The only thing I'm actually ready to do is throw up. My stomach bubbles the second Nyx pushes the creaky, ancient door open revealing a vibrant foyer, humming with the unmistakable feeling of power. Quite possibly larger than King Soren's foyer, the School of Magic has a dome ceiling four stories above us. The stained-glass windows allow colorful light to streak through to the stone-tile floor. Bright and lively, the halls are filled with Tronovians ranging from youngsters, no older than five or six years old, all the way up to men and women in their late twenties. From watching people, I immediately spot eight similarly styled but different colored uniforms.
"Welcome to Magikos Grammata," Nyx whispers behind me. "School of Magic."
Completely entranced by the sights and sounds around me, I fail to turn to look at him when I ask, "What do the uniform colors mean?"
