For an all too brief moment, my tension waned, and my smile didn’t feel as false, as forced. “I love them. Thank you.”
“Are you okay?” He flicked a nervous glance about the room before returning his eyes to me. “About…about today, I mean.”
“Fine. I’m fine.” But I wasn’t fine. I wasn’t even in the same hemisphere as fine. My legs were wobbly and my heart was racing. I felt sick to my stomach and so very sad. All I could think about were my mom and dad and how my binding would save them from the wrath of the Barrons, from the twisted, vengeful actions of the headmaster.
I stepped back, my thoughts shadowed, my eyes on the floor. It wasn’t Trayton’s fault. None of it was. But that didn’t change the fact that I was being forced into this.
Without saying a word, Maddox crossed my room to the door that led to the hall. She opened it and caught my eye, a fierce protectiveness washing over her features.
Maddox got it. Maddox knew exactly what was going on and exactly how fakked up it was.
That lightened my mood some, but it still didn’t change things.
Silently, like monks on a journey to someone’s funeral, the three of us made our way across campus to a small stone building near the north gate. Trayton took the initiative and knocked on the wooden door using the large iron knocker. None of us spoke.
After several seconds, the door opened to reveal a tall man with stark black hair and a pointed black beard. He was dressed in navy blue robes that hung to the floor, a hood on his back. Though there was no familiarity in Trayton’s eyes, the man barked, “Trayton, come inside. Bring Kaya with you. The guard remains outside.”
The strange man disappeared inside once again and Maddox met my eyes. “I’ll be right here, okay? You need me, you scream.”
Nodding, I fought back a chuckle at how serious we were all acting, like I was going to my death or something instead of being Bound to a really sweet, really good-looking guy like Trayton. “Should I scream anything in particular, or will wordless noise attract your attention?”
Maddox grinned. “Depends on what they’re serving in the dining hall, but you might try yelling help.”
That brought a smile to my face—but it faded quickly once I laid eyes on Trayton, who looked like he’d just had his heart stomped on. I didn’t have to say anything to Maddox; she took a few steps back to give us some space. Then I met Trayton’s eyes and said, “I’m sorry. It’s just that I’m still getting used to this whole arrangement. It’s…it’s not easy.”
“You think it’s easy for me?” His eyes were full of hurt. Somehow, I’d forgotten that Trayton didn’t have much of a choice in this either.
“No. I don’t, Trayton.”
He was quiet for a while, before lightening his tone, the corners of his lips curling into that irresistible shy-boy smile. “We could always run. Fight off the gate guards, climb the north gate, take off for parts unseen.”
I nodded sagely. “Not to mention become a Graplar’s midday snack. That is, if we survive the Barron hunting parties.”
He shrugged, a chuckle escaping his lips. “It’s an option.”
And that’s when my stress level dropped. Because even though this was a no-choice situation, even though we barely knew one another, we were in this together. Until the bitter end. A smile touched my lips and I reached for the door. “Come on, Trayton. Let’s get started on that whole forever thing already.”
The sadness left his eyes then, and it was replaced by something that resembled what I was feeling. Then he smiled too, and together we walked forward, entering the temple of our own accord.
The inside of the small building was lined with wood stained so dark it looked like night. For a moment, my vision wavered, as if the adjustment from the outside morning sun to the stark blackness of the temple were too much to bear. But they adjusted after a moment and Trayton and I moved forward. He looked around in wonder, which made me think that not many people were allowed to enter this place—maybe only those who were being Bound.
Candles lit our short walk to the center of the room, where the black-haired nameless man was waiting. Behind him, at the far end of the room, was a long altar, covered with a plain white cloth, atop which were an incense censer, an open, ancient-looking book, and a black dagger. In front of the man was the most bizarre piece of furniture I had ever encountered. All black leather and dark wood, it appeared to be a chair of the worst sort, with leather straps and silver buckles that screamed containment. My eyes found Trayton’s—he looked as worried as I felt. My imagination was flooded with horrible visions of what was to come, but before I could get too carried away, the man with the pointed beard spoke.
“Trayton, if you will take your place in the chair, please, we can begin.”
Trayton straightened his shoulders, and after casting me a less than convincing reassuring glance, he sat down, matching up his arms and legs with the strange bends of the chair. By the time he was settled, he looked fine, like he wasn’t at all worried about what was about to occur.
The man moved around Trayton then, strapping his limbs in tightly. With each tug, Trayton looked a little less confident. When the man drew a thick leather strap across his stomach and buckled it snugly, Trayton released a small sigh, as if resigning himself to his fate.
I could only watch. And wonder.
Our ceremony master turned to the book on the table and began reading from it in a strange singsong tone, chanting words that I didn’t understand from a language I didn’t know. He raised up the lit censer and swung it toward the back corners of the room, then moved around to the front corners and swung it toward them, chanting all the while. Returning to Trayton, he swung the censer over him three times, then once over me. I tried catching Trayton’s eye, to silently reassure him or even just raise my eyebrows at the weird chanting, but Trayton’s eyes were closed, as if he were concentrating, or maybe falling asleep. When I looked back at the ceremony master, he was returning the censer to its spot on the altar. He picked up the dagger and turned to Trayton.
My heart raced at the horrible thoughts running through my mind.
Late last night, Maddox had shared the rumors with me about what a binding included. She’d spoken of daggers. She’d spoken of pain. She’d spoken of blood.
I moved forward, protectively standing between Trayton and the man who hadn’t even shared his name with us. Parting my lips, I readied barbs on my tongue.
But then I felt the soft brush of Trayton’s fingers on mine. I looked back at him and he whispered, “It’s okay, Kaya. Trust me.”
Tearing my gaze from the ceremony master, I searched Trayton’s eyes, finally relenting to his will and stepping out of the way. But rules be damned, I squeezed his hand in mine, refusing to let him go through whatever was coming without me by his side.
The ceremony master moved closer, clutching the blade in his hand, and all I could do was hold my breath and squeeze Trayton’s hand even harder. The man chanted, raising the dagger, while his chants became louder. Repeating words over and over again that I couldn’t understand, he brought the weapon down. It sliced through the flesh of Trayton’s biceps, and Trayton groaned but held fast. His fingers were crushing my hand for a moment, but after taking some quick, shallow breaths, he relaxed again and met my eyes.
What I saw in his expression was nothing short of a nightmare—confirmation that the worst of this experience wasn’t over.
The smoke from the incense was drying my throat. It smelled sweet, but tasted rancid, and felt as if it were burning my lungs away. I held back my urge to cough, but it wasn’t easy. Blood gushed from Trayton’s open wound, dripping onto the floor. To my astonishment, the man cut Trayton again, this time across his thigh. Trayton—despite his tough-guy Barron training—howled in pain as the blade cut deeply into his leg. His face blanched and I gasped, glaring at the ceremony master, ready to snatch the dagger from his cruel hands. But before I could, he returned the weapon to its spot on the altar. Trayton’s blood stained
the white cloth.
The man turned back to me, silent now, and moved my right hand to the cut on Trayton’s arm and my left to the one on his thigh. Then he started chanting again, this time loudly and more meaningful than ever before. Worried tears welled in my eyes, and all I could do was whisper to Trayton that it would be okay, somehow it would be okay.
My palms grew warm and a strange tingling crawled up my arms—as if tiny bolts of lightning were making their way slowly through my veins. Despite the sound of chanting and the noise of my coughing, which I could no longer hold back, I noticed something had changed. That steady drip, drip, drip of Trayton’s blood on the dark wood floor had ceased. Something else, too. The blood on my palms had grown sticky, no longer fresh. Marveling, I looked down at Trayton’s wounds, and they were gone. Completely healed. As if he’d never been injured at all.
Pulling my hands back with a gasp, I looked from Trayton’s drying blood to Trayton himself, who weakly smiled up at me, something like relief flitting across his expression.
We’d done it. We’d been Bound. I’d healed Trayton with only a touch of my hand.
My fingers trembled slightly. Even though I knew that I was a Healer, even though I’d heard my entire life that I was capable of this act, I was filled with shock. I’d healed him. Just by pressing my hands to his wounds.
The ceremony master remained all business as he gathered his tools. “You can wash the blood away in the basin near the door. There are clean rags there as well.”
I helped Trayton with the leather straps and washed my hands in the basin of warm water before emptying the basin out the front door—pausing a moment to breathe in some fresh air—and refilling it with the pitcher from atop the table. After dunking one of the rags into the clean water, I moved back to Trayton, who was sitting up and marveling at his lack of injuries. I handed him the moist cloth and watched as he wiped as much of the blood away as he could. His clothes were stained, and the holes in the fabric were gaping. His uniform was ruined, but that seemed to be of little consequence. Trayton stood and turned to the man who’d caused him such horrendous pain with hardly an introduction. “Thank you, Elder Barron.”
The man nodded and turned back to his cleaning duties.
With a smile, Trayton gestured toward the door and I led the way, relieved that he was all right, but still very shaken about the bizarre ritual.
As we stepped outside, Trayton’s hand found mine and squeezed. A peculiar warmth spread through my hand and up my arm—a wonderful tingling sensation. I glanced at Trayton—at my Barron—and couldn’t help but grin. Trayton was blushing and grinning too. I squeezed his hand back, a surge of excited hope filling my soul. A connection was there—a real, strong, certain connection, like nothing we’d ever shared before.
For the first time since setting foot on academy grounds, I found myself ready and anxious for what the future might bring.
I’d expected Maddox to be waiting for us when we got outside, but she was nowhere to be found. She’d been replaced, momentarily, by a quiet, standoffish guard whose name I didn’t have a chance to catch before Trayton pulled me in the direction of the rose gardens. After a while, we passed the gardens and then we walked east along the perimeter wall. For the first hundred yards, neither of us spoke a word. Our nameless shadow hung back, always present, but not invading our moment semi-alone together. After all, we weren’t allowed to be alone together for the first year of our bond. By the time we reached the rose gardens, I’d grown used to the feel of Trayton’s hand in mine. It felt right. Like two puzzle pieces that fit perfectly against one another.
The scent of roses reached my nose and I watched the flowers as we walked in comfortable silence, keeping my eyes away from the enormous stone wall. The wall was a heavy, unbearable symbol. It meant to protect us from all that lurked outside of it, but all I could think was that it was keeping me inside, away from my parents, away from the life I had known and loved. The wall was oppressive and symbolized everything that the headmaster stood for. It was here to control me, here to keep me in my place. I hated it with every fiber of my being.
Trayton’s steps slowed as we reached the midpoint of the rose garden. “The roses look especially lovely, don’t you think? Mr. Gareth must be working overtime.”
I didn’t say what I was thinking—that Mr. Gareth wasn’t the only one hard at work on the roses; that I and who knows how many other delinquents had been busy grooming the blooms to the magnificence they were now, all because we’d stepped out of line in this way or that. Instead, I made a sound that sounded vaguely like “mm-hmm” and tried like hell to ignore the wall, even though it was barely three feet to my right.
Trayton stopped short. “You’re awfully quiet. Is everything okay?”
I shook my head, wanting to put him at ease. It wasn’t his fault I was distracted. It was the headmaster’s. And the wall’s. “Everything’s fine. I just—”
A sound thundered through the wall and my entire body jolted. I’d know that high-pitched shriek anywhere, but recognized it mostly from my nightmares. Accompanying its sound was a flash of enormous teeth in my twisted imagination.
Trayton squeezed my hand, drawing my attention for the moment. “Hey. It’s okay. They can’t get through the wall. As long as you’re inside, you’re safe. And when you aren’t, I’ll protect you.”
His words should have been comforting to me, but while they might have been well intended, they sounded too similar to what the headmaster had said—I wasn’t allowed to learn how to defend myself. I was expected to behave like a damsel in distress and just wait for my Barron savior to protect me. My cheeks flushed warm as I pulled my hand away from Trayton’s, but my palm cooled instantly, as did my demeanor. “I can protect myself.”
Doubt filled Trayton’s eyes, but to his credit, he didn’t give voice to it. He turned to the wall and gazed up at it for a moment before looking back at me. “Their cries are unnerving, but you shouldn’t let it worry you. There are worse things in the world.”
Worse than Graplars? I somehow doubted that.
To my left came the sound of feet moving over grass, and I turned my head to see Instructor Baak leaving one of the rows of rosebushes, a straw basket, piled high with red and pink blooms, looped over her arm. She nodded a hello to Trayton, but didn’t even look my way. A small part of me was grateful. Better to be invisible than the object of her disgust. After she’d gone, I shook my head, hoping to ease the strange tension that was now between Trayton and me. “That woman hates me.”
“She doesn’t hate you. She’s just been through some rough times.” Trayton plucked a leaf from one of the many vines that had grown over the wall and tossed it carelessly on the ground as he turned and continued his—once our—trek along the perimeter. After a heartbeat, I followed, knowing that I’d ruined our moment, even if I had done so for a very good reason. Something told me that while Trayton was sweet, he was also used to things going exactly as he planned. I kept my thoughts to myself for the moment and quickened my pace so that we were once again walking side by side, though our hands didn’t touch.
As if I’d voiced my curiosity, he said, “Instructor Baak lost her daughter at the second battle of Wood’s Cross. It must have been pretty brutal, as there was an inquiry and shortly after, the records of the event were sealed. That’s when she came to Shadow Academy to teach. They say she couldn’t face the battlefield after that. Her heart just wasn’t in it. So you shouldn’t be too quick to judge someone.”
Stinging from his obvious snap, I slowed my steps and bit back the words that were building up in my mind. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll head back to the dorms and get a head start on this paper that Mr. Ross assigned.”
Trayton hung his head, sighing. When he met my eyes, he looked remorseful. “I’m sorry, Kaya. I just wanted today to be perfect and I’m fakking it up fabulously. Can you forgive me?”
He hadn’t done anything that awful, so I nodded and smiled. “Of course I
do. But I do have that paper to finish.”
“I’ll walk you back and you can get started. Then maybe later you’d go to a party with me?” He smiled sheepishly and once again, I found myself entangled in his charm. It was a wonder that any girl could resist him.
Smiling, I said, “Sounds fun.”
“Great.” He clapped his hands together once in satisfaction. “I’ll pick you up at eight and we’ll head over to Melanie’s.”
My heart all but stopped before it sank into my stomach. “Melanie’s?”
“It’s her party.” He shrugged casually, obviously blissfully unaware that Melanie and I weren’t exactly the best of friends.
Breathing out a sigh, I took another step forward, trying desperately to ignore what my evening would be like. “Wonderful.”
I was sure it would be anything but.
C H A P T E R
Nine
Let’s just get this over with.”
Maddox wasn’t exactly what I’d refer to as excited about the prospect of attending a party hosted by Melanie—neither was I—but Trayton had asked me to go, and she could’ve been at least a little more supportive. The last thing in the world I wanted was to hang out in Melanie’s dorm room with a bunch of people I didn’t know, especially if Maddox was going to be complaining about it all night.
She opened the door to the hall, where Trayton was waiting. He was still wearing his school uniform, as was expected by the headmaster’s rules, but something about the way the light hit him made it seem different, more casual. It took me a moment to speak. “You look nice.”
Immediately after the words had left my lips, I wanted to reach out and snatch them from the air between us. Nice? I sounded like his grandmother, rather than the girl he was Bound to. I should have said something impressive like “debonair.” But no. “Nice” was all I had.
The corners of his mouth lifted into a pleased smile, his cheeks blushing somewhat. “Thank you. You look lovely.”
Maddox snorted. Not because she didn’t like the way I looked or anything. But because it had taken me exactly three hours and twenty-three minutes to stop complaining about my school uniform. Not that there was anything wrong with the white wrap top and roomy white leggings. But I would have given anything for some color options. Back home, I’d helped my mother dye bolts of fabric with various flowers. The smell filled the cabin and had forced my father outside on more than one occasion, but the vibrant colors that were a result of our efforts were stunning. I missed wearing my own clothes already. I missed wearing pretty colors. They reminded me of freedom and joy, rather than rules and institution.