CHAPTER 12
’ve been summoned to see Raphael. My nerves flutter as I stand outside the aged oak door to his office. It’s true that I have magicalI skills MI-13 needs, but for the past week, something has become clear: I don’t have the knack for almost any of the spycraft skills.
I’m only good at one thing: languages. Everything else is a disaster. I can’t follow someone without him noticing, or pay attention to specific signals, or plan complex subterfuge missions. When physical strength is required, I get crushed. After every self-defense class, bruises cover my ribs and thighs. During obstacle course training, I almost broke my leg. By this point, most of the cadets are wondering what I’m doing here.
So, the moment Raphael summoned me, I knew what it was about.
Standing outside his door, I’m gripped by a growing certainty that I’m about to be kicked out of the academy.
I hadn’t wanted to join the academy at first. And I’ve spent the past week getting screamed at by Viviane every morning at six. Tarquin and his band of Pendragon bootlickers make a point to leer and mock me at every chance.
There goes the transportation, everyone gets a ride… And now that I’ve proven myself bad at everything, everyone agrees I don’t belong here.
I should be delighted at the prospect of getting out of this place.
But honestly? I like it here. I have new friends, plural. Not only that, but I have the chance to be someone important, to change the world for the better.
And besides that, I get to live in a literal castle.
Here, I’m not just Nia Melisende the lonely, broke bookseller anymore. I
have the chance to become a godsdamned Sentinel.
And now, standing outside the door, I imagine leaving. Returning to a one-bedroom apartment to live with Mom, lacerating, soul-destroying loneliness my only companion as I watch her pass out every day and take drugs all night, then get sick in the living room.
I really need to knock on his door at this point, because I’ve been standing here like a weirdo for ten minutes.
Even the entrance to his workspace seems intimidating. Leering gargoyles are carved over the gothic arch, and a metal knocker in the shape of a hand hangs on the door. I force myself to grab the knocker and bang it against the wood.
“Come in.” His deep voice penetrates the door.
When I step inside, I find him sitting in a leather chair before his mahogany desk. A fire crackles on the hearth, and light slants through the narrow windows in the stone wall. It’s cozy in here, with the warmth from the fireplace and candles burning in a candelabra. The light seems to caress him, highlighting his muscular form and rolled-up sleeves.
I absolutely will not think about what he looked like without a shirt.
He’s frowning at a paper on his desk.
“You wanted to see me?” I ask.
There’s a strange hum in the room, a ringing in my ears that sets my teeth on edge and prickles my skin with goosebumps.
He looks up, and the firelight flickers in his pale eyes. “My favorite pixie princess, have a seat.” He gestures at a high-backed wooden chair across from his desk, and I drop into it. My muscles ache, and I can feel them melting, even against the hard oak.
“I really think I can do better,” I blurt. “I know what you think of me. I know I haven’t done the best. And I know everyone reckons I shouldn’t be here. But I actually believe it’s my calling now to help MI-13—”
“What are you talking about?” Raphael stares at me. “Why are you hitting me with this wall of anxiety?”
“I thought you were going to tell me to leave.”
He shakes his head. “Not yet.”
I swallow hard. “Good. Because I could actually be quite good at this, you know.” I say this with much more confidence than I feel.
“I know. That’s why I want you here. I’m not shocked you’re behind the others. You’ve only just joined and already missed two weeks of training. I
didn’t recruit you because I thought you’d be an amazing fighter. You’re here because you’re a Sentinel. But we only have a few months before the Culling.
And while you have teachers who will teach you to master the basics of fighting, spycraft, and Fey lore, there’s no one to teach you how to use your magical powers. Nivene, the only other Sentinel, is too busy in the field to
offer you instruction.”
I swallow. “So, what will I do?”
“I’m going to teach you.”
“You?”
His expression is impossible to decipher. “Our personal feelings toward each other are irrelevant. As a spy, your feelings in general are irrelevant, and you should ignore them. Only facts matter.”
I nod. “You’re lucky not to be cursed with feelings.”
“We need a Sentinel, and you need training,” he goes on. “And I’m the best person to do it.”
I take a deep breath. It’s a relief to know he’ll be able to ignore his hatred of me. “Fine.”
Leaning down, he lifts a wooden box off the floor. He places it on the desk, and the hum I’d been hearing grows louder. He tips the box so that its contents face me. A shimmering mist whorls inside the box, its colors constantly shifting. Within, I can barely glimpse the silhouette of something
spherical. A ball, perhaps.
I frown at it. “That’s the veil.”
“It’s a very weak imitation of the veil. It won’t kill you if you touch it, but it will hurt. Can you hear it?”
“As soon as I came in,” I say with a nod. “There’s a hum and a slight prickle on the back of my arms.”
“Good. Now you need to take the ball out of the box. You’ll need to use your magic.”
I take a deep breath. “I’m not sure how I did it before.”
“Summon your power to disable the veil and grab the ball. Focus on the feeling of the magic. The sensations. Think about the noise and the prickle on your skin.”
He makes it sound so simple. Closing my eyes, I focus on the hum in my ears and try to clear my mind.
The vibration fills my body, and the hair rises on my arms. I open my eyes and relax my muscles, trying to channel all of my thoughts into that
small swirling surface, to the feel of the magic thrumming over my skin. The world fades around me. Is it working? When I reach for the ball, my skin buzzes, and the magic seems to slide toward me. As I stare, I can see how it all ties together, strands of magic woven into a net. A web of delicate strands that could be untangled. And if I just lean forward— As soon as my fingers touch it, an explosion of agony runs up my arm. I scream and pull back.
Raphael watches me, a line between his eyebrows. He stands and moves closer to me, sitting on the edge of the desk. “Give me your hand,” he commands.
I comply, and he traces the skin on my fingers, then brushes his fingers over my wrist. “Does this help?”
Sparks trail in the wake of his touch, and heat pulses through my muscles, making my breath catch.
“Healing magic,” I whisper, flushing. His magic feels disturbingly pleasurable, radiating through my body. I like the way his hand feels against mine more than I should. I want to close my eyes and lean back in the chair. I want his hands— I stop the thought before it goes any further.
I glance up at his silver eyes, and for a moment, it feels like he can read every one of my secrets.
I yank my arm away. “I’m fine. I don’t need your magic.”
“Your expression says otherwise.” He draws back.
“Okay.”
“You’re obviously in pain. I can read it easily in your grimace. Are you aware that your words are often at odds with your body language?”
I tense. “What are you talking about?”
“And now you look like you want to kill me.”
“I’m perfectly calm,” I say through clenched teeth.
“You tell everyone what they want to hear. It’s not the worst skill for a spy. You’re good at knowing what people want you to say. Your language is curious and relaxed with Tana. You reassure Serana and help her stay organized. With Darius, you flatter him because his insecurity demands it.
You interpret what people need, and you give it to them. That’s good. But you will need to control your facial expressions in order to be convincing, be aware of your emotions and master them.”
Surprise flickers through me. “You’ve been watching me awful closely, it
seems.”
“It’s my job to watch my cadets. I’d imagine that when you’re with your mother, there was yet another version of Nia, wasn’t there?”
My nostrils flare. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“With your mother, you are more accommodating. You assure her that you’ll take care of her. You’re the parent. You never argue, but can she see how much you resent her deep down? That you’re tired of being someone who picks up the pieces of her chaotic life and tries to put them back together?”
“Can we go back to training?” I say acidly.
He leans back in his chair. “This is training. Emotions get in the way of your concentration and disrupt your magic. Besides, in any situation undercover, you will need to understand yourself and control your emotions.
You don’t want the Fey to know what you’re thinking. You need to be aware of what you’re conveying to people. Understand your true self, then hide it from the world so it can’t be used against you. And once you understand yourself, you can also master your emotions.” He sighs. “Okay. Let’s back up. When you entered the veil with the fugitives, what were you thinking?
“I was scared.”
“Okay, but it seems like you were able to suppress your fear enough to summon your magic. Try to close your eyes and remember that moment. Did you sense your magic as you went into the veil?”
I shut my eyes and try to remember, recalling the fear and sorrow. My chest tightens. “No. I mostly felt fear. And regret. I was trying to look after the fugitives, and I missed Vena running away. The patrol was about to grab us, and I already saw what they’d do if they caught us. They were so brutal, and I was frightened of them.”
“And you don’t remember feeling a connection to magic?”
“Not at that moment.”
Rage—when I think of the Fey hunting down little barefoot Malo, I feel a stab of rage.
When I open my eyes, the hum is gone, the prickling on my arms has faded, and my chest is flushed.
I stare at the box. The veil is still there, but its power is gone. I lean forward, bracing myself for pain, but my fingers easily pass through the mist.
I grab the ball.
My hand still in the box, I look up at Raphael for his reaction.
Just as a smile ghosts over his lips, a torrent of agony blazes through me.
I yell, releasing my grip, and drop the ball. It crashes to the floor. In the next heartbeat, my hands are in his, and his magic is whispering over my skin, sending heat pulsing through my muscles. My heart races, and I let out a long, shaky breath. “Thanks.”
His eyebrows lift. “It was a good start.”
I pull my hands free and hug myself. I shiver, chilled to the bone, and my teeth start to chatter. It feels as if the cold is biting at my skin. “Why is it so cold here?” I glance at the fireplace, where the flames are still blazing.
“Using your magic drains energy from your body very rapidly,” Raphael says. “That means it steals your body heat. Didn’t it happen last time you used your powers?”
Thinking back, I vaguely remember the icy wind, the sharp drop in temperature. “Yes, it did, actually.”
“It was a good first try,” Raphael says. “Your powers are unstable, but we’ll work on that. Any idea why it stopped working?”
“No.”
It’s a lie. It stopped working the second I looked at him. My power worked through fear and anger, and when I looked at him, I felt something else. As much as I hate to admit it to myself, I wanted to impress him. Long ago, he dismissed me. And now, I only want to prove him wrong.
