Chapter Ten: Under | Part 4
Thirtyx wrenched his gaze away from the ring. It fell on the seal skin tied around Professor C’s waist. Selkie charm. She’d tried to disarm him just enough to fall into the trance. And it had very nearly worked.
Something the headmistress seemed to notice. Her expression had grown almost hungry as she watched Thirtyx’s face for signs of slipping. “Keep going, Cerre.”
Professor C sighed heavily. Her brows knitted into a very genuine-seeming look of concern. Those round, full Selkie eyes were designed to catch people unawares. He would only look at them for three fracs. One, two, three.
“Thirtyx, don’t you want to know for sure that they’re safe? If you tell us where you think they are, we can check, and everyone will feel much better.”
“I don’t know where they are,” he said through gritted teeth. He looked back to the headmistress, who had returned to hair twirling. One, two, three.
“Shh, it’s alright,” Professor C continued. “You don’t have to betray them. You just have to relax. You deserve to relax. The burden of their safety isn’t on you—it’s on us. So, just relax.”
It would be so nice to relax…
No! One, two, three—
“Pfah, Venmagalion! Where in the universe did you learn to shake trances like that?” The headmistress pounded both of her fists on her desk, nostrils flared, jaw set in a rage that brought Thirtyx’s fear back in a tidal wave.
Professor Dexerro grunted his disapproval. “Did you have to give up so soon? You almost had him.”
“She really didn’t, though,” Bavarren said. His claws made a horrific scraping noise as they slid off the back of Thirtyx’s chair before he paced it to join the headmistress and Professor C. “The subtle approach won’t work with his guard up like this. We need heavier ammunition.”
Thirtyx had no idea what that meant, but the glorious knowledge that they’d underestimated him evoked a giddy, unhinged laughter. He had to laugh, surely, or he would crumble. As the adults embarked on what appeared to be another mental conversation, Thirtyx flashed a toothy grimace. “It’s your own fault, you know—why I’m so good at breaking trances.”
“Excuse me?” Azirenne hissed.
“Every professor here with an ounce of magical training has rifled through my head—including you, Headmistress. And when you did it, you sure as the twin hells made it acceptable for your students to do it, too.”
Azirenne inhaled to speak, but Thirtyx’s rising rage propelled him onward. “How many times have my private feelings and memories been blurted out for entire classes to hear? How many times have you and your staff silenced my complaints by twisting the code of conduct? ‘Wydewood policy does not prohibit magical or nonmagical conflict unless it causes physical harm, in order to promote the development of robust defenses,’” he quoted with a sneer. “You and I both know that doesn’t apply to professors attacking students, but whatever. It gave me those ‘robust defenses’ you want your students to have. So sure. Keep trying to break me. And when Rhea and Benn find out what lengths you went to, you’d better hope that the man who raised them to defend all of Lamiakk’s citizens has a sliver of mercy.”
The headmistress’ entire body heaved with the effort of her next two breaths. Thirtyx’s face and extremities felt numb. She could kill him for that sort of statement, and not a soul would question it. Still, he maintained eye contact. He’d meant every word—wanted to say them all for so long—and if he was going down, at least he’d gotten them off of his chest.
While he was watching Azirenne’s eyes, her barbed tail lashed out and tore across his arm.
Thirtyx clenched his teeth to keep his moan of pain from coming out as a scream. His skin burned like it had been set on fire. The muscle beneath throbbed. “Now, everyone,” Azirenne said evenly as if discussing the weather. “Give him everything you’ve got.”
Calley Jones 