The Chronicles Of Ixia. Books 1-6. Maria Snyder V.

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ injuries takes immense effort. Enough for today. I’ll see you tonight at the feast.”

      The feast! I had forgotten. Again. “What should I …” I stopped, feeling awkward and silly to be asking about clothing.

      Bain smiled in sympathy. “No expertise in that matter,” he said, seeming to read my mind. “Zitora will enjoy helping you. She’s at loose ends this year and will welcome some company.”

      “I thought she was busy with Council business.”

      “She is, but she’s transitioning from five years of being a student to being on her own. Having no time to be a mentor doesn’t mean she won’t have time to make a friend.”

      I left Bain’s tower and headed toward Zitora’s in the northeast corner of the Keep. Lively groups filled the campus walkways and people hurried past me in every direction. My quiet walks through the Keep were at an end, yet I felt energized by all the activity.

      Zitora greeted me with a bright smile that only dimmed when we discussed Tula’s condition. Talk eventually turned to the upcoming festivities, and I inquired about appropriate dress.

      “The formal robes are only for the boring school functions,” Zitora said. “Do tell me you have something pretty to wear.”

      When I shook my head, she transformed into a mother hen and set about finding me some clothes.

      “Thank fate you’re my size,” Zitora said with glee.

      Despite my protests, she dragged me up two flights to her bedroom and loaded my arms with dresses, skirts and lacy blouses. Zitora propped her hands on her hips, considering my boots. “Those will not do.”

      “They’re comfortable and I can move easily in them,” I said.

      “A challenge then. Mmm. I’ll be right back.”

      She disappeared into another room, while I waited in her bedroom on the third floor of her tower. Soft pastel paintings of flowers hung on the walls. Oversize pillows graced her canopy bed. The room oozed comfort like open arms wrapping me in a hug.

      With a triumphant shout, Zitora sauntered into the room, a pair of black sandals raised high for admiration.

      “Rubber soles, soft leather and a small heel. Perfect for dancing all night long.” She laughed.

      “I don’t know how to dance,” I said.

      “Doesn’t matter. You have a natural grace. Watch the others and follow.” Zitora added the sandals to the top of my pile.

      “I really can’t take all of this.” I tried to give the clothes back. “I came for advice, not your entire wardrobe.” I planned to go to the market. With the return of the Citadel’s residents, the shops remained open every day.

      She shooed me away. “Hardly made a dent in my armoire. I’m a collector of clothes. I can’t pass a dress shop without finding something I must have.”

      “At least let me pay—”

      “Stop.” She raised her hand. “I’ll make it easier for you. Tomorrow I’m leaving on a mission for the Council, and—much to my chagrin—I will have an escort of four soldiers. Irys and Roze can gallivant all over Sitia by themselves, and they’re assigned all the fun, secret missions. But the Council worries about me. So I’m limited to escorted missions.” She huffed with frustration. “I’ve seen you practicing with your bow near the stable. How about I exchange my clothes for some lessons in self-defense?”

      “Okay. But why didn’t you learn how to defend yourself while a student here?”

      “I hated the Master of Arms,” she said with a deep frown. “A bully who turned the teaching sessions into torture sessions. He enjoyed inflicting pain. I avoided him at all costs. When the Masters realized I had strong powers, they focused more on my learning.”

      “Who’s the Arms Master?”

      “One of the northerners with Cahil. Goel’s his name.” Zitora shuddered with revulsion. “Although he wasn’t as bad as the Master test …” She paused as a cringe of horror crossed her face. Then she jerked her head as if dislodging unwanted memories.

      “Anyway, Roze offered to teach me, but I’d rather have you as my instructor.” She flashed me a conspiratorial smirk.

      Having agreed to the exchange, I maneuvered down Zitora’s tower steps with the bundle of her clothes heaped in my arms. So burdened, I headed toward my rooms. On the way, I wondered about the Master test. Fisk, the beggar boy had also mentioned it. I would have to ask Irys.

      The courtyard across from my quarters buzzed with students. A few boys tossed a ball, while others lounged on the grass or talked in groups. Hampered by Zitora’s clothes, I fumbled at my door.

      “Hey, you!” someone called.

      I looked around and spotted a group of girls gesturing at me.

      “The first year barracks are that way.” One of the girls with long blond hair pointed. “This is for apprentices only.”

      “Thanks, but this is my room,” I called, turning back.

      I managed to get the door open before I felt a prickle of power along my spine. Tossing the clothing on to the floor, I spun around. A group of students stood mere inches from me.

      “You don’t belong here,” said the long-haired girl. A dangerous shine lit her violet eyes. “You’re new. I know everybody, and new students go to the first-year barracks. You have to earn a room here.”

      Persuasive magic emanated from her. A strong desire to pack my belongings and move to the first-year dorms coursed through my mind and pressed against my body. I deflected her magical command by strengthening my mental defenses.

      She grunted in outrage. A look passed among her companions. Power built as they readied to join in. I braced for another attack, but before they could use their combined power, another voice cut through the throng.

      “What’s going on here?”

      The power dissipated in a stiff wave as Dax Greenblade pushed his lean muscular body through the group, staring down at the others with his bottle-green eyes. In the sunlight, his honey-brown skin made his face appear older.

      “She doesn’t belong here,” the girl repeated.

      “Yelena is Fourth Magician’s student,” Dax said. “She’s been assigned to this wing.”

      “But that’s not fair,” the girl whined. “You have to earn the right to be here.”

      “And who’s to say she hasn’t?” Dax asked. “If you believe Fourth Magician is in error, I suggest you take it up with her.”

      An uncomfortable silence followed before the group returned to the courtyard. Dax stayed beside me.

      “Thanks,” I said. The group huddled in a tight pack, casting nasty looks my way as they talked. “Guess I haven’t made any friends.”

      “Three СКАЧАТЬ