Mother always told me that power blinds a person. That is can be either a blessing or a curse.
What she didn't tell me that often times, the two are the same.
--
For this year's first class at Ruxnorth Academy, it's abundantly clear that this year w...
Owain stares at himself in the mirror, scrunching his nose. Derald takes a step back, observing Owain from the back.
"I think you look great!" exclaims Derald, dusting his hands off proudly.
"At least one of us thinks so," grumbles Owain, plucking his cufflinks broodingly.
"You look dapper, Snagsnout. Nothing like your scrawny, shrimpy self."
"Thanks?" He couldn't tell whether it's an insult or a compliment. With Derald, Owain had learned early on, it's often both.
The first year dorms pulse with excitement. The boys are less eager to attend, but the girls have been practically buzzing. Now, with the Midwinter Ball 30 minutes away, the dorm has reached new levels of adrenaline and panic to finish getting ready.
"Why are we even dressing up for this?" Owain attempts to loosen the collar of his starched shirt. Ever since his mother had gotten wind of the Midwinter Ball, she had sent him pressed and new clothes. Owain couldn't refuse, knowing that his mother most likely worked tirelessly to get his outfit made. Nice linen like this isn't cheap, and as much as he wanted to refuse the clothes, he couldn't bear to let his mother's hard work go to waste.
"No way are we going to miss our first party!" Derald pins him with a look. "And don't even think about ducking out. You're going to be my wingman."
This evening's look better and better.
Owain's not a good dancer. Saying he has two left feet is an understatement at best. Why would he want to take any more chances to embarrass himself? Not that you have any trouble doing that on your own, Owain.
"How long is this thing, anyway?" Owain calls over his shoulder just as some girls shriek with laughter outside their door.
Derald turns, stuffing his dress shirt into his pants. He grabs his jacket.
"I think it goes for about 5 hours."
Owain groans.
"Oh, shut up, Snagsnout. This will be good for you."
"But what about the timing?"
Derald sighs patiently. "What about it?"
"Doesn't it strike you as odd that the Warlord sent us a message a week before the Midwinter Ball? And in a dress shop, no less."
A grim look settles on his roommate's face. Vieva, Lysabel, and Xara had come back bearing a strange black box, with a message from the Warlord himself inside. Every time he thinks about it, he shivers.
"I'm definitely sure that the timing is intentional."
"Then why are we going?" Owain's voice rises to a squeak.
"Because we can't let the Warlord ruin our life," says Derald determinedly. "Don't give him what he wants. And what he wants is for us to be cowering with fear." With that, Derald replaces his frown with a grin. "Now let's go. I don't want to be late."
Ignoring Owain's protests, Derald takes his arm and drags him out the door. The halls are filled with students flitting here and there. Girls dart past, holding bottles and equipment and whatever else they need. Derald and Owain shoulder their way to the Vieva, Lysabel, and Xara's dorm room, the only one who's door is still closed.
Derald knocks then leans to him. "Smile," he hisses from the corner of his mouth. The door opens a crack.
Vieva pops her head out, glaring at them. "We aren't ready yet."
Derald drops his smile for his scowl. "How long does it take?"
Minutes later, the door opens. Vieva cups her mouth. "Xara, I swear to God, if you ruin my shoes I will flay you alive."
"Noted," says Xara cheerfully. Then she promptly shuts the door. Derald's lips quirk to the side.
"Couldn't have said it better myself." He dramatically holds out an arm to Xara, adapting a low, drawling voice. "Shall we go, my lady?"
"Only if you never call me that again," says Xara, breezing past him. Derald winks at Owain, pointing very obviously at Lysabel before scampering after Xara.
When Owain realizes that his roommate has very conveniently left Owain alone with Lysabel, he nearly whimpers.
"I'm taking care of it, don't worry." Lysabel says beside him. Owain starts at the sound of her voice.
"What?"
Lysabel appears to not have heard him. "You need to stop worrying so much. I'm more than capable."
Owain does a 360, and realizes Lysabel must be talking to herself. He gulps. "Um, Lysa? Are you ready to go?"
Lysabel whips towards him, plastering an easy smile on her face. Something darkens her emerald eyes for a second before it clears.
"Of course." She smiles graciously. "Sorry, I like to talk to myself sometimes. I'm a terrible dancer so I just had to reassure myself that I won't crash on my face when we get there." She laughs.
Owain smiles nervously. "I understand."
Lysabel smiles back, but something in it makes him falter. He's always loved her sweet smile, but this one is different. Sharper. Like a dagger dipped in honey.
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>>AUTHOR'S NOTES:
hey lovelies! here's the next chapter~ I'm really excited to be wrapping the first draft up! i hope you've enjoyed the story so far...
