23

They made their way back to Aethoria as the sun rose high in the sky, and when Ryska stepped through the gate this time, it felt less like a place still proving itself to her and more like something closer to shelter.

The last lecture was the theory of war, it was taught in Ashwing Hall, to all first-year students of five academies, for it belonged to anyone who fought, no matter how they fought.

“You shoot well for a Draconian," Nord stopped by Ryska's desk.

“I shoot well," Ryska looked at him. "That is all you needed to say.”

“One ought to speak what is upon one’s mind," he looked her over from head to foot.

"And what is upon your mind?"

"I am trying to understand," said Nord. "How does it feels to take what was never yours to take. I confess I cannot imagine it because I've never had cause to but you would know."

"What chances?"

"Patronage," he said. "Earned through years of blood and sweat by better men and handed instead to a sad little princess of a fallen empire."

"If better men had truly been sweating blood for years," she said, "we would not be having this conversation at all."

Nord held her gaze a moment longer, his jaw tightened before he gave her one last glare and turned on his heel.

"They exist everywhere," Valere took a look at his back as he walked away.

"Who?" Ryska turned to him.

"Degenerates," said he.

A small laugh slipped out of her mouth.

Valere caught it before it faded, the small, genuine curve of her lips and he found himself staring, then his eyes dropped to the scales at her neck without his permission.

"I was born with them," Ryska turned to him. "The scale lines."

"They are charming on you," his eyes found hers.

Ryska stared at him, no instinct rose to meet him, no old lesson stirred awake to tell her careful, be careful Ryska, this is how it starts.

He was still looking at her, not at the scales this time but at her. "Strange human," she said more to herself than him.

"Strange how?" He tilted his head.

Because you should feel like the others and you don't. She couldn't say that he felt familiar in a way that had no business being familiar, as if she'd known him before in some life she couldn't remember living, as if her body recognized him before her mind gave permission.

The bell rang out across the courtyard in the afternoon; a low brass note rolled over the ancient stones.

"Lunch bell," he said. "Let us go back to Abbys."

They fell into step together and the walk back passed easily between them, filled with the ordinary noise of students streaming toward the same destination and by the time they reached the dining hall, the tables had already begun filling fast, the clatter of plates and cups mingled with the low hum of a hundred separate conversations, and Ryska found herself, for the first time in longer than she cared to admit, simply following him toward a seat without once glancing behind her to check who might be watching.

Valere led her toward their usual table, ninth from the entrance on the right, he pulled out the seat for her and settled into his own across from her. A tray dropped onto the table with more force than necessary, and Bram folded himself onto the bench beside Valere.

"There you are," Bram gave smile to Valere and then to Ryska.

Kohl trailed in behind him and settled beside Bram, then came Erynae, Nehara and Cyren, then lastly came Rhovyn.

Rhovyn’s eyes as he dropped down found her, and something in his chest eased as he watched her sink into the lightness she’d discovered and he’d long since stopped pretending the interest wasn’t there.

Erynae followed his gaze, found Ryska at the end of it and leaned toward Rhovyn. "You like her."

Rhovyn startled and turned to look at her sharply. Erynae only narrowed her eyes at him, she already knew the answer. He reached over and pushed her face toward her plate instead, and she laughed despite herself, swatting his hand away.

Across the hall, Daevosky's jaw tightened at the sight of it, his spoon froze against his plate.

Beside him, Maendon noticed Daevosky's hand mid-motion, his spoon was hanging over his plate as though he'd forgotten it was there. Curious, he followed his gaze and found Erynae and Rhovyn a few seats down, and both of them were staring off toward something across the hall while they talked.

He traced the line of it further, and there she was, Ryska, smiling softly at whatever Faelen had just said, in a way that seemed to have caught more than one person's attention tonight.

"Ryska," Maendon said softly, almost to himself.

Beside him, Nord caught the name and glanced over. "Why are you saying her name?"

"Why not?" Maendon said.

"Because she's an arrogant bitch, that's why." Nord's mouth twisted.

The whole table turned toward Nord in surprise. Rhavy, Cynae, and Myvae exchanged a glance before all three turned to look at him with disgust. Jiyasu and Maendon shook their heads in near unison and said nothing.

Daevosky's gaze flicked once toward Ryska across the hall, then back to Nord. "I had no idea," he said, "that we kept company of such fine manners at this table."

Nord looked caught off guard for a moment. "You shouldn't have a problem with what I said," he said, recovering. "She's your enemy, isn't she?"

"Aye, she is," Daevosky said. "And a rather interesting one, at that," he added. "Interesting enough that I don't much care to hear her spoken of that way at my table."

What could she possibly have done to earn such venom from him? Though Daevosky did not truly need to know, men like Nord found fault enough on their own, without any real provocation required but he found himself wondering regardless.

"What did she do?" Cynae asked.

Nord's jaw tightened further still before he finally answered, how he'd meant only to make some passing remark about her aim, and she'd looked him over once and told him plain that at least her arrows knew where they were going, unlike whatever half-formed thought had wandered its way out of his mouth.

Half the table burst into laughter at once and Daevosky watched Ryska with amusement for she had given at least fun afternoon.

You have not changed at all, princess, he thought, still carrying that same tongue, sharp enough to cut pride cleanly.