1
Arlon was no stranger to feeling out of place, but standing in front of the entire population of the Crux made him want to sink into the fucking floor.
“I’m pleased to formally introduce you all to Arlon Kalisson.” The Grandmaster’s voice carried across the silent room, and if she hadn’t been standing right beside him, he might have walked off.
“You likely will recognize him,” Fawn continued. “Arlon was previously a member of our staff, but after displaying magical aptitude, he will now be joining our ranks as a wizard of the Crux.”
Calling him one of the staff was a kind lie, but some of the wizards in the crowd before him knew the truth. A little over a year ago, they’d been at Fawn’s side when she arrested him. In the ripple of murmurs, Arlon already felt the rumor mill starting to churn.
“Regardless of his nontraditional start at the Crux, I expect everyone to extend him the same welcome and respect youwould give every new adept that comes through our doors.” Her voice carried an edge that cut through the chatter.
Yet nothing Fawn said could erase who he had been. For a moment, Arlon saw himself as the wizards in front of him did; his towering height, his intimidating build. Every scar crossing his swarthy skin made him stick out among these soft and beautiful highborns like a thorn. A Wolf in wizard’s robes.
Fawn’s announcements turned to other things, new assignments, an update about one of the hard points in the abjuration tower, and Arlon took that as permission to step away from the front of the room. Eyes still followed him, but that wasn’t unusual. His size had always caught stares, but there was something behind the looks of the Crux wizards that made him uneasy. Like they were trying to figure out where to put a blade to drop him.
He passed the gawking wizards without making eye contact, intent on the breakfast spread across the far table. Yet as he filled two cups, one with kaffa and the other with tea, he couldn’t help but overhear some whispers.
“He was really a bandit?”
“Heard he was part of Vian’s Wolves, up in the Hobokins.”
“Gods, he’s built like a brick house.”
“Think he’s ever killed someone?”
Arlon’s hands tightened around the mugs, and he left the mess hall without grabbing anything else. He walked the familiar path across the atrium and headed down the hall towards the Grandmaster’s office. The door was unlocked, and though the room belonged to Fawn, it was the one place in the Crux that didn’t make him feel like a stray sneaking into a rubbage pile. Like he was intruding someplace he shouldn’t be.
Arlon closed the door behind him, glad to shut the rest of the Crux away. A few moments later, Fawn entered, carryingtwo bowls of the breakfast he had failed to gather. He wordlessly traded her for the cup of tea he’d brought, sighing as he looked down at the spiced oats topped with spring berries.
“That was painful,” Arlon murmured as Fawn circled him to take a seat behind her desk.
“That was necessary.” Eyes as calm and blue as a glacial lake studied his face. “You’ve been a free man for two months, Arlon. People have noticed you, but you haven’t so much as introduced yourself to the rest of the Crux.”
He set the bowl down, his appetite suddenly gone, and picked up his kaffa instead. He’d been in such a hurry to leave the mess hall that he hadn’t added anything to it, but the bitterness suited his mood this morning.
Fawn read his silence as she brushed a wayward strand of black hair over the short knifepoint of her ear. “Arlon, do you really want to make magic?”
“Of course I do, I just…”
“Just what?”
He answered with a half shrug before he took another sip of kaffa. It was hot enough to burn his tongue, but the discomfort was easier to bear than Fawn’s scrutiny.
“To make magic, you have to at leasttalkto other wizards,” she pressed gently.
“I talk to you, don’t I?”
“You know what I mean.” Fawn always seemed to have an inherent smile on her lips, which made the frown she directed at him now seem even more out of place. He didn’t like seeing it, let alone being the cause of it, so he chose to look at the dark kaffa in his mug rather than her.
“What’s stopping you?” she asked at last.
Silence had always been her greatest weapon, and she used it now, letting the quiet stretch until Arlon squirmed. He sunkdown petulantly into the chair before he finally spoke. “I don’t like the way they look at me.”
Fawn considered him before she set her mug on the desk and rose to her feet. Her silver dress swept along the floor as she circled around and came to stand behind his chair. Her long-fingered hands rested on his shoulders, squeezing gently. “Why?”
Arlon gave another half shrug, but over the past two months, her touch had become a conditioned thing, easing the tension from his body. It was as if her calming presence seeped into him through the simple contact. It took a moment for him to find the answer, but even before she’d granted him his freedom, she had given him the tools to better sort through his own emotions.
“I was indentured two months ago,” he said. “Just because you’ve given me robes doesn’t change the fact that I started here in chains.”
