Every year, hundreds die within the walls of Basgiath War College. It's no surprise that many are those who choose the Riders Quadrant. Dragons do not tolerate much, but neither do the ruthless gryphons on the outside of the wards.
At least...
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"I don't know what you're talking about," was the only thing I could think to say. "You told someone this was a Poromish metal," Violet elaborates, throwing my glaive forward enough to let it slide across the floor. I practically drop to snatch it up, like letting it stay close to her for any longer means she'll know anything more. "But it's not, is it? Because Tyrrendor is our biggest source of specialty daggers—the black-bladed ones Mom would never let us touch—and Riorson got it for you."
"It could easily be Poromish," I defend. Even I know how stupid of a sentence it sounds, especially when she crosses her arms. "That black metal is only found across the Dunness River, in the Barrens. No one's going over there to get it." Shit, is it? I can't seem to recall the specifics, just that it's eastern and hard to get ahold of. And that it can't hold magic, but maybe that's backwards; maybe all of it has been drained of its magic.
"You still didn't answer my first question. Truthfully, at least." Violet tosses the notebook at my feet, and I lean down to scoop it up again. "Nor did you tell us how you walked through the wall," Ridoc pipes up. "Or whatever is at the back of that closet," Rhiannon adds. My brows furrow, and I turn to look, but I can see down the stairs just fine. Then, I drag in a breath, and sigh.
I never believed him, so maybe they won't believe me either. "Venin are real, the black metal can kill them, and I don't know what the language is. There."
A bout of confusion strikes all of them, making their faces twist. "Huh?" Violet hums. Rhiannon almost laughs. "What are venin?" Ridoc whispers to himself. To answer, Sawyer shrugs. And I duck back into the closet before they can all catch me.
Their shouts of surprise cut out the moment my head is through the ward. I have to grab onto the handrail so I don't go flying down the stairs, then shut and lock the door, even though it doesn't mean much of anything. My chest burns with an odd feeling of guilt. Still, I trek downward and force myself to focus on the books.
The first one I'd picked up, left open on the desk closer to the door, is strangely difficult for me to read. I'm not fluent in whatever this language is, but even this is notable. After picking up a few words and sentences on the first page, none of which mention anything about magic or venin, only islands and water and something that I think was about a snake, I carefully put it back.
This time, I go to the other row of shelves, parallel to the first and perfectly perpendicular to the desks, and grab the book on the far left side at the very top shelf. Grandpa's mystery language always read left to right. Lucerish is the only language from Amaralys that doesn't, instead reading right to left, but I think one or two of the Isle Kingdom's have languages that don't either. I don't know the word scrawled across the middle of the third page, but I do recognize enough words in the scribbled passage I find almost a third of the way through to pause.
