The Culling Trials 3 (Shadowspell Academy #3)(26)

“Regardless.” The word barely made a sound. My shoulder blades itched, like someone was watching from the many shadows. “The director at this school should know of this place.”

“The director of the elite graduate academy probably does. But if it is top secret, or a school secret, he wouldn’t pass that info on to a bunch of low hanging fruit, like Director Frost or the staff for the trials.”

Derision dripped off of every word. Clearly, he thought the trials were run by a bunch of lackeys. That didn’t make me feel any safer.

Your number is up, and your protection is dead. Best thing you can do is run. Get out of the trials and don’t come back. Run.

I pushed Adam’s voice out of my head.

“Well then, wouldn’t the elite director check it out if he heard about the disappearances?” I asked.

Ethan snorted. “The graduate director is on vacation. He takes one every year during the Culling Trials.”

I pressed my lips closed. There was no point in arguing further. It wasn’t going to get us anywhere.

At the end of the corridor, more shadows cut across stone, almost making another corridor. Warning blared at me from all around. I clutched Ethan’s sleeve. Gregory was down here somewhere, I could feel it, like a direct connection to him.

“Get ready for defensive spells,” I murmured, steeling my courage and stepping forward. “Maybe strap on Captain Entitlement’s cape too. Couldn’t hurt.”

A glint made my heart lurch, and I was twisting and then bending to the side before it registered as a throwing star. The metal flashed as it sailed past my face and clinked against stone at my back. A flurry of movement caught my attention from the way we’d just come. A man running at us.

“Move!” Ethan shoved me aside and blasted a stream of red from his wand.

The man, dressed in black and blending with the shadows, turned his shoulders just enough that the flare of magic zipped harmlessly by. His movements, lithe and graceful, barely hitched as he righted himself and kept on coming.

In the gap we’d been facing, light bent and pulled away as a face inched into view. Sweat glistened within overgrown sideburns. My heart lodged in my throat.

“The Sandman,” I uttered through numb lips. His hand came up, another throwing star between his fingers.

Adrenaline flooded me as Ethan got off another shot at the guy creeping at us. New Guy dove gracefully to the side, Ethan barely missing him that time.

“Come on!” I yanked Ethan toward me, bent, and snatched up the throwing star that had tinkled to a stop five feet away. I spun and threw it at the Sandman. The weapon flew through the air, smoothly as though I’d been doing it all my life.

The Sandman batted it away lazily, close enough now that I could see the two pricks of blood welling up against his skin. He stepped out of the gap.

Ethan zapped off two more spells, one for each man. Both men moved like they were on liquid joints, making me feel like a rusty tin man in comparison. New Guy pulled a knife out of nowhere and sent it flying from his gloved hand.

The Sandman—crap, when had he reached us, I hadn’t even seen him move—shoved at Ethan to further expose me. Thankfully, it also cut me off from the airborne knife. Unfortunately for Ethan, the knife dug into his shoulder.

He cried out, clutching at it. A throwing star zipped by my head, slicing my earlobe.

I gritted my teeth and spun away, pain flaring from the wound. A touch said my ear was still there, so I ignored the throbbing as another knife appeared between New Guy’s fingers. The Sandman pivoted, throwing star in hand one moment, launched the next. The man moved like a striking cobra. The star caught the light as it flew at New Guy, who pivoted on a dime to twist away.

New Guy’s next knife wasn’t aimed at us.

They probably both wanted me dead, but it seemed they weren’t on the same side. I’d take it as a win.

“Come on, Ethan.” He grunted when I grabbed him, his fist around the knife hilt, ready to pull it out. “No.” I stopped him. “Leave it in. It’s plugging up the hole—”

The stranger reached the Sandman and warning prickled every inch of my body, raising the small hairs on my arms and back of my neck. I couldn’t move, I had to watch the two masters meet. The Sandman threw a punch he didn’t seem to think would land, because he was prepared when it didn’t—the second the stranger blocked him, the Sandman jabbed forward with a knife in his other hand. The stranger blocked that with two arms before flourishing a knife he seemed to have grabbed from empty air. He struck to the side, but the Sandman was already moving, their dance as beautiful as it was lethal. These guys were unbelievably skilled.

I snapped out of it. “Hurry, hurry, hurry.” I dragged Ethan to the end of the corridor, ignoring his pained protests. Flickering light played across the cracked and scarred ground, as though centuries of moving heavy things through here had taken its toll on the stone. Or maybe it had been a lifetime of duels like the one behind us. Warning still bled through my body, but it felt nothing like what was going on behind me, so I pressed on, eyes peeled.

“Did your dad teach you to cheat while injured?” I asked in a hush, turning right with the corridor.

“No,” he ground out, his voice soaked with pain.

“And now we know the limits of entitlement, eh?”

“Stop. Saying. That. Word.”