Red Queen
Page 62

“You may start now,” the instructor says, and the telky behind him tenses.
On cue, one of the ball targets flies into the air, faster than I thought possible.
Control, I tell myself, repeating Julian’s words. Focus.
This time, I can feel the pull as I suck the electricity from the air—and from somewhere inside myself. It manifests in my hands, shining to life in little sparks. But the ball smacks the floor before I can throw it, its sparks bleeding into the floor and disappearing. Evangeline snickers behind me, but when I turn to glare at her, my eyes find Maven instead. He barely nods, urging me to try again. And next to him, Cal crosses his arms, his face dark with an emotion I can’t place.
Another target rockets up, turning over in the air. The sparks come sooner now, alive and bright as the target reaches its zenith. Like before in Julian’s classroom, I ball my fist and, feeling the power rage through me, I throw.
It arcs in a beautiful display of destructive light, clipping the side of the falling target. It shatters under my power, smoking and sparking as it hits the floor with a crash.
I can’t help but grin, pleased with myself. Behind me, Maven and Cal clap, as do a few of the other kids. Evangeline and her friends certainly do not—they look almost insulted by my victory.
But Instructor Arven doesn’t say anything, not bothering to congratulate me. He simply looks over me, to the rest of the unit. “Next.”
The instructor runs the class ragged, forcing us through round after round of exercises meant to fine-tune our abilities. Of course, I fall behind in all of them, but I can also feel myself improving. By the time the session ends, I’m dripping sweat and sore all over. Julian’s lesson is a blessing, allowing me to sit and recover my strength. But even the session that morning cannot entirely drain me—midnight is coming. The faster time passes, the closer to midnight I get. The closer to taking the next step, to taking control of my fate.
Julian doesn’t notice my unease, probably because he’s elbow deep in a pile of newly bound books. Each one is about an inch thick and neatly labeled with a year, but nothing else. What they could possibly be, I don’t know.
“What are these?” I ask, picking up one. Inside it’s a mess of lists: names, dates, locations—and causes of death. Most just say blood loss, but there’s also disease, suffocation, drowning, and some more specific and gruesome details. My blood runs cold in my veins as I realize exactly what I’m reading. “A death list.”
Julian nods. “Every person who ever died fighting in the Lakelander War.”
Shade, I think, feeling my meal churn in my stomach. Something tells me he won’t get his name in one of these. Deserters don’t get the honor of a line of ink. Angry, I let my mind reach out to the desk lamp illuminating my reading. The electricity in it calls to me, as familiar as my own pulse. With nothing more than my brain, I turn it on and off, blinking in time with my ragged heartbeat.
Julian notes the flashing light, lips pursed. “Something wrong, Mare?” he asks dryly.
Everything is wrong.
“I’m not a fan of the schedule change,” I say instead, letting the lamp be. It’s not a lie, but it’s not the truth either. “We won’t be able to train.”
He only shrugs, his parchment-colored clothes shifting with the motion. They look dirtier somehow, like he’s turning into the pages of his books. “From what I hear, you need more guidance than I can give you.”
My teeth grind together, chewing on the words before I can spit them out. “Did Cal tell you what happened?”
“He did,” Julian replies evenly. “And he’s right. Don’t fault him for it.”
“I can fault him for whatever I want,” I snort, remembering the war books and death guides all over his room. “He’s just like all the others.”
Julian opens his mouth to say something, but thinks better of it at the last moment and turns back to his books. “Mare, I wouldn’t exactly call what we do training. Besides, you looked very good in your session today.”
“You saw that? How?”
“I asked to watch.”
“Wha—?”
“It doesn’t matter,” he says, looking straight through me. His voice is suddenly melodic, humming with deep, soothing vibrations. Exhaling, I realize he’s right.
“It doesn’t matter,” I repeat. Even though he isn’t speaking, the echo of Julian’s voice still hangs in the air like a calming breeze. “So, what are we working on today?”