The Devoted: A Reverse Harem Omnibus (The Devoted Season Book 1)(8)

“I am Battle Instructor Caterina,” she introduces herself halfway into her lecture, “and for the remainder of your ten day trial, I will make sure you won’t be this poorly prepared pikeman,” A morning wind rifles through the group, swirling through my hair, “Partner up!” she calls.

Scanning up and down the three rows of students, my stomach clenches like it’s trying to eat itself. People are already partnering up, smiling at each other as they exchange places in line and begin chatting. I meet the haggard eyes of one of my dormmates, Iris. She’s in the row behind me about five students down. As more and more students begin partnering off, I guess that maybe I should save her the trouble of going to look for someone whose partnerless. But, then again, she probably saw the fiasco in the hall yesterday and is terrified at the idea of being turned into a chicken by mistake. Or worse. There’s always worse.

“You,” Instructor Caterina appears by my side as if by magic, “and you,” she points, her finger stabbing at Iris. “Partner up, come on!”

I shift through the row of students toward Iris and take my place beside her. My shoulder touches hers and Iris stiffens. She moves away as far as she can, which isn’t much, giving us about an inch of distance between each other.

“If you are incapable of producing the basic forms of magic, kindly step to the side.” Instructor Caterina says, her body disappearing into the crowd, but not her voice.

“It’s a wonder you’ve made it this far,” she remarks. Everyone swivels to watch her. Two new joins, heads hanging low, approach her and the crowd parts to let everyone see the show. “By basic, you understand that I do not mean conjuration or illusion magic?” she peers from the male new join to the female new join that have followed her. Two more peel away from the crowd and line up behind the first two, “Seriously?” she hisses, scanning the crowd now, “Offensive Elemental magic, new joins! Who else cannot produce even that?”

Wait—are we starting off with offensive magic? Why would an academy need to concentrate on something like that? This is definitely not what I signed up for.

I grit my teeth. I don’t want to use my magic period. I step forward—

“Understand that this is a one-way street, new joins. You do not come to Firedrake expecting to learn the basics. Your local schools and tutors should have already taught you this. Firedrake does not teach you to crawl, we teach you to sprint.” Her eyes rove up and down the crowd. “We will be forced to send you back.” She says, “Immediately.”

That stops me. I can’t go back. Not with dad needing me to get certified. I step back into line.

Instructor Caterina looks down at the four that have come to her, “Thank you for your honesty. Go.” She snaps, pointing at the academy. The crowd closes against the spectacle, buzzing like a kicked emerald wasp hive.

“Iris,” I turn to her, “I won’t hurt you, I promise,”

Iris nods, but her features are tight. Like she doesn’t believe me and certainly doesn’t want to hear more.

“I’m serious,” I tell her.

She gives me a side-eye, “Yeah?” she forces out, “Then swear it. Swear on someone important to you...like,” she lowers her head, “Your mother,”

I press my lips into a firm line.

“Stagger yourselves!” Instructor Caterina calls, “Give yourselves enough room for elemental backfire!”

The rows begin shifting and moving. Iris and I move toward the raised white arena behind us, boots padding through the grass. We get within arms distance of the arena centered within the field and stop.

“Being that many of you will be going home in the next couple of days, it would be a waste to actually teach you new abilities. Instead, you will teach me. What are you capable of?” Instructor Caterina shouts, scouring through the new joins, a vein throbbing on the right side of her head. Bringing her hands high above her head, she claps them together, “Begin!”

Iris pins me with a glare as red rises on her cheeks. Steam hisses from her open palms. I let out a heavy sigh as a cool wind slithers across my clammy palms.

“Swear,” Iris grits out, “Go on,”

“On my mother’s life?”

“Don’t understand Common?”

Iris has no way of knowing the truth. It’s not like she can read minds. Or body language.

I’ve met her. Once. Silver touches my breastbone. My necklace. It burns cool against my bare skin as I meet Iris’s shuttered eyes and shake my head. I know too little about her to swear on her life. What if I mess up?

Iris’s nostrils flare, “Fine,” fire explodes around her palms, “Shouldn’t spit against the wind, right?” and she levels her fist with my face. Her knuckles explode forward and I dodge the blow. Barely. Fire singes past my face, close enough to make my eyes water, and I do everything in my power not to lose my balance and go tumbling.

But she’s not done.

Another fist comes, this one a left hook that glides toward my belly. Swaying away won’t work this time. I could call my magic, but I don’t know if it will listen to me. Mishaps, like the one from yesterday, usually aren’t quite so comical. Mistakes lead to uncontrollable magic that always injures.

I meet her eyes and grab her wrist, but I’m too late. Her fist connects with my gut and air explodes from my lips. I flop to the ground and groan, hand pressed against my stomach.