◢✥◣
PREVIOUSLY...
◥✥◤

As Azura integrated more into the Order, she clung to her goal to kill Jile, knowing otherwise she would consider running. Azura was introduced to the twin of Suri—Lilja—and struggled to acclimate to the tamed society of the school, knowing she needed to fit in if she had any hope of surviving.

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

My first class is the next morning and I walk behind Lilja and Suri with narrowed eyes and knots in my stomach. My black hair drapes around my face and I hope to escape some notice by melting into the back.

"Azura."

My hope is dashed as I lift my head to find Erasmus approaching me, the fighting leathers and rich cloak that I first saw him in now swapped for a loose-fitting white shirt that contrasts his dark brown skin.

"Erasmus," I greet, my voice rough with unease.

"I hope you find your first class enlightening," he says, standing before me with his hands clasped behind his back, displaying his wide shoulders and broad chest. "I also look forward to seeing what you can do."

I lower my gaze and flex my fingers. "I know a little fighting," I murmur, my gaze moving to the other students that mill about the wide, domed room, dressed in comfortable clothing of matching navy and moss green.

Erasmus lets out a laugh, short and clipped, but my eyes dart to him, blinking at the abrupt sound. He grins down at me. "I'm certain that's an understatement, but I guess we'll see."

"Right," I say, a bitter taste in my mouth as I watch him turn and approach the other students, calling out for them to fall into line on the marble floor. The place was perhaps once a ballroom with its array of windows allowing the sun to stream through, lined with gold, the glass stained with depictions of the gods and their varied, fabled wars. The marble floor is scuffed from use, its shine dulled. Racks of weaponry litter the walls and wicked metal gleams in the sunlight.

I rush over to Lilja and Suri to stand beside them as I let out a breath. Few glances are spared towards me, just another body amongst the crowd, and I'm thankful for that small mercy.

"Nothing too extravagant today," Erasmus is saying, his russet eyes roving over the group. "Just some sparring with partners. You'll be having lessons on magic with Master Quade later today and they want you sharp."

My teeth sink into my lower lip. Magic. It was something my brother never taught as he was un-gifted with the ability, but something about magic calls to me. Or maybe that's just the markings on my hand.

Suri and Lilja are quick to partner up and move to retrieve a wooden sword each. I'm left alone and my gut lurches.

I can see it already. If Dax had lived then he'd be right here beside me, jumping from foot to foot, urging me to teach him to fight with an eager glint in his gaze. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to dispel the image of him from my mind.

Do you want my food? You look hungry.

Dax, you fool. You were more starved than me and I was a stranger. I could have killed you, but you offered your hand and a smile like those two things meant so little to you.

Weak. He was weak.

My teeth split the skin of my lip and the metallic taste of blood bursts in my mouth. My eyes fly open and I expel a breath, still standing alone and unmoving though people around me have already begun sparring.

I didn't want to garner any notice and standing alone in the middle of a crowded room certainly isn't the way to do that. But there's no one to partner with, and even if there were then they certainly wouldn't want to approach me, the girl with the hollow cheeks and half-moons under her eyes.

No one wants you. Always alone.

"You can partner with me."

My head whips around at the soft voice and my black gaze clashes with light brown eyes. Amber flecks shine within them as the boy tilts his head and the sunlight catches them. If my eyes have the sheen of death within them, then his eyes are the complete opposite. Eyes of life, of things that grow within rich dirt and sprout with conviction and determination to breathe and live.

He looks soft.

He tosses something to me and I catch it with ease, my gloved fingers curling around the hilt of the wooden sword.

He looks dangerous.

"Do you lack friends too?" I enquire, wary of the boy that twirls the training sword with a lazy flick of his wrist.

He tilts his head, silky strands of dark blond hair brushing his narrow jaw. Something within me does a somersault as his defined lips quirk in a smile. "No, I just usually train alone."

"Then why are you partnering with me?" I question, circling him as I assess him, sizing up my opponent.

He turns his head, his eyes of soil after a summer rain following my every shift. "Sometimes we have to take pity on the new kids, this school has a tendency to chew them up and spit them out."

I hum as a smirk curls my lips. "Sounds appealing."

"So, what do you say?"

I stop stalking him, plant one foot behind the other and raise my wooden sword. "Very well." But as my gaze flickers to where Erasmus watches me, I know I have to let this stranger win. If they knew everything... Well, I'm not too fond of the idea of being dissected.

They want what you're hiding, little flame.

How long will I have to hide, brother?

The boy swings his practice sword and I dart back, barely avoiding his strike. He follows the manoeuvre through with a jab that I hit away, the clack of the wooden swords making me blink.

I press my lips together as I straighten, watching him again as he raises a brow. He's fast, I'll give him that. Perhaps losing won't be so hard after all.

It's time to end this before Erasmus notices I'm holding back.

I raise the sword above my head and slash down, aiming for his sword as I once did when my brother was first teaching me. It took a lot of scars to make me unafraid of trying to hit him.

Even though I hold back my strength, bury it down, the boy still tightens his grip on his wooden sword as the weapons collide. He loses an inch of ground and I ease off, my body screaming for me to press on, to show him what I can really do, to show them all.

Pretend you're weak.

I'm trying, brother, but this guy is about to—

I grunt as his training sword flips mine from my hands then slams into my cheek. Blood fills my mouth and I drop to my knees as the world swirls around me.

"Shit," the boy hisses, his weapon clattering to the ground as he kneels before me.

My eyes go to Erasmus to see the man turn his back on us and focus on the other students. I spit blood to hide my smile.

"I seriously thought you'd dodge that," the boy is saying, raising his hand to my face.

I jerk back, wiping my bloodied mouth with the back of my hand. "My bad," I mutter, wincing with pain. I clench my hand into a fist. "Guess I just need more practice."

"Right," the boy says, a crease forming between his brown brows. "Let's get you to the healer."

"I'm fine," I protest, struggling to my feet. The boy grips my elbow to help me and everything within me stiffens. I look down at his bare hand, his skin creamy against the darkness of my clothes.

"Sorry." He drops his hand, sensing my unease.

"Stop worrying," I tell him, then walk away, rubbing my jaw, glad that it's over but knowing I'll have to suffer more injuries.

I can already tell that Palmira wants my markings, the light in her eyes as she talked about them was evidence enough. But if she knew about... everything else, then I have no idea what she'll do. I shudder to think, remembering the warnings my brother gave me about people wanting to use me, to dissect me, to see what makes me what I am.

Making myself as invisible as possible is my only option until I know exactly what I am and what I'm capable of.

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

Master Quade is very passionate about magic. I can't help but track every one of their actions as they swirl their hands about in adamant movements to drive their point home about how the sygil they're showing us can heat water. I've never been so fascinated by water in my life.

I look down at the paper before me and the pencil beside it, my teeth sinking into my lower lip, causing the cut there to sting. My fingers wrap around the pencil, a heavy weight settling in my stomach.

My brother once tried to teach me to read but it was like the blind leading the blind. He was better at wielding a sword than wielding a pencil. Every time he tried, the letters would all meld together, the order not coherent. I never even bothered trying to write. Eventually he gave up on me, instead simply reading to me the stories I longed for.

I drop the pencil, frustration pricking at the back of my throat. It's no use, I tried for so long when I was younger before I turned to what I knew better; hurting.

"Now," Master Quade says, clapping their hands together, sapphire eyes sparkling. "I'm sure I can leave you all to practice this sygil on your own. I trust you won't set anything on fire."

My throat closes as the students around me pick up their pencils and begin tracing the sygil onto their paper, bowls of water waiting before them. I glance at Suri by my side as she skips practising on the paper to etch the sygil onto the wooden bowl, the water bubbling and steam rises from it.

"Azura, is it?"

I jump at the voice beside me, turning to see Master Quade dragging a stool to sit beside me at the desk. I nod, my lips pressed together.

"You don't have to look so terrified," they say, their voice light and their smile bright. "I'm going to go over the basics with you and we'll see if you have the magic in your blood to wield sygils. If not, no harm done, there are plenty of students here who can't use magic."

I glance at the students with us, focused on their sygils, and notice that the boy who gave me this bruise on my jaw isn't amongst them. Some of the tension in my chest unravels to know that it's okay not to be able to do magic. I've never been able to before though it does fascinate me.

"Magic is simple," Quade says and I already want to disagree. They prop their chin up with their palm, blowing a strand of their long, brunette hair from their face. "It's like a flower. Those with magic in their blood act as the seed." They swipe up my pencil and sketch a stick person with a big smile on its face. "Then the sygil acts as the root." They then draw a sygil. "And magic is the flower that grows from such a thing." A stalk sprouts from the page and my eyes widen as a flower blooms from the sygil. "Witches can use as well as sygils."

I brush the lilac petals of the flower and my breath hitches to feel the life of it.

"Magic can only be used if it comes from somewhere. We can't simply pull it from ourselves." Quade's thin lips stretch in a smile. "Unless you're a god, then you're made up of magic and power and have no use for sygils or incantations." Quade leans back and stretches their arms above their head. "Us mere mortals require a certain recipe to use magic."

"How do I tell if I can do it?" I ask, my throat tight with nerves.

Quade lowers their arms and hands me the pencil. "You give it a try."

My hand trembles as I take the pencil and I grip my wrist to stop it.

"I'll teach you something simple," Quade says, placing a fresh piece of paper before me. "Light." Quade pulls a card from their draping robes and slides it next to my paper, a sygil already etched into it. "Copy this."

My eyes dart to Suri beside me who sketches a number of sygils onto her paper, laughing with Lilja as she does it. Light bursts from a sygil on her paper resembling the one on the card, the glow of it a hazy blue. I copy how she's holding her pencil with gritted teeth, sweat sliding down my spine. I lower my head to my paper and copy the lines of the sygil, knowing I can do this.

"Take that line a little higher," Quade directs, peering at my work.

I do as they say until I have a replica of the jagged and swirled lines of the sygil, the last sweep of my pencil adding another knot to my stomach.

Quade hums. "You did well."

"What now?" I question and glance at them.

Quade's smile is a little sad. "Now you accept that you weren't born with magic in your blood."

I blink at them, my lips parted. "Oh," I breathe and disappointment floods through me, cold and shocking. "I thought..." I stop talking and frown. I thought I was special, like I was meant for more just because my brother told me so.

Pathetic. Can't do anything right.

"Don't fret, my dear," Quade reassures me. "It just means you have more time to suffer through Master Erasmus' lessons."

I let out a snort as I place my pencil on the table. "I'm already looking forward to it."