Veridia

Chapter 23

Aethiria, present

Geneva had never felt more terrified in her life. The pieces of a plan were set in her head, but the odds were against them at best.

There was a high chance that she was going to die. And everyone she cared about. And hundreds of innocent people, from both sides.

What am I doing?

There was no time, never enough time.

Geneva paced the floors of her hastily-appointed chamber until she felt like the wood was worn underneath her feet. A nightglobe was lit in her room, and it was a piece of magic that made a glass ball glow with warm fire. It never went out, and the only way to shut it off was to throw a piece of cloth over it.

She was supposed to go to sleep an hour ago, but how could she? She had already broadcasted her plans to the military generals. They had more than enough information to keep the organization through the night. Still, everything in her itched with charged adrenaline.

Flashes of ocean-blue and gold didn't help at all.

I can't believe I kissed him.

Geneva knew she was wrong. Aleksander was engaged, and this would make everything worse for him. All her life, she was taught that affection was weakness. And yet, part of her wanted to giggle like an infatuated child.

The worst part? Geneva was 99% sure that he kissed her back. He didn't break away, he didn't refuse her. Aleksander didn't push it beyond what she started, he didn't shy from where she let it go.

He let their kiss go where she wanted.

And that meant no matter how hard Geneva tried to deny it, this wasn't a one-sided conversation.

I'll... think about it once I'm not fighting for my life.

Speaking of which, Geneva needed her robes for tomorrow.

To her relief, it was in her armoire.

Normal assassin's garb was all-black, with many hidden pockets and belts to stash weapons.

On the battlefield, however, it was the opposite. Blue tower students wore robes of bright, glimmering white. One reason was that it was a show of skill. Assassins could dive into battle and come out just as pristine as they went in, showing that not a single blow had been landed on them.

Geneva's robes were that of the highest-ranking officer. Not only were they white, they also had golden thread embroidered into the hems, a single blue thread weaving its way around the collar. The robes were made of fine cotton, thick and extravagant. It had loser sleeves than the typical robes, and the pants' legs were also slightly wider. Normally, a ranking officer would have a golden brooch that displayed their family's insignia, but Geneva never had one of those.

Based on her judgment, King Romanov would not be on the battlefield. He wouldn't risk it. Instead, he might send...

Sergei.

That was the only logical conclusion. Unless it was Madame Cheng, but that was highly unlikely. Despite how the Swordsmaster was one of the best warriors in, well, ever, but she was old. And worth a lot more than a student.

Sergei would be a wiser choice.

Geneva's fingers found their way to the hilt of her sword. There were so many unsolved questions about Sergei Morozov. It would be a pity to kill him.

Geneva surveyed her room for a second, before noticing the small box that was left on the bedside table.

"FLARES," it read.