Ember raised her fist, rapping on the door twice. An annoyed huff came from inside, and a moment later, Marcus opened the door, dressed in grey loungewear and a heavy wool robe. He folded his arms over his chest, his biceps bulging. “What are you doing here? You look like hell.”
Ember scowled. In the last four days, she had pushed her body to its limit. Other than the stiffness that constricted her every movement, her right eye was a comprehensive display of the various shades of purple. Today, of all days, she was not in the mood for his faux bravado.
She brushed past the python, ignoring his half-hearted protests. Inside, his room was small but tidy, with a mattress, a bookshelf, and a desk tucked against the walls. A candle was lit at the desk, illuminating an open tome. “I didn’t take you for a reader,” Ember commented.
Marcus shrugged, watching her from the doorway. “There’s not much else to do this time of year. I’m surprised you’re still around.”
“I have nowhere else to go,” Ember pointed out.
“Why not join your friend in the city?”
Ember’s eyebrows knit together. “How do you know that?”
“The fish sent a message for you yesterday, but you were out. She said she’s going home to her father.”
Ember folded her arms over her chest. “Why would you take my message?”
When Marcus shot her a skeptical look, Ember brought a hand to her forehead, rolling her eyes. She had forgotten that he was the acting prefect in Elliot’s absence—not that it mattered since nearly all of the university students had gone to stay in the city proper after the news had broke of the hostage situation.
The python stepped away from the doorway, taking a seat in his desk chair. “It’s too bad the fox didn’t come by,” he commented. “Though I don’t think he likes me.”
Ignoring his quip, Ember sighed, sitting on the edge of his mattress to relieve her aching legs. Without the heater running, the unpleasant cold seeped through the wooden panels, making her feel as though she were moving through molasses. She felt a pang of guilt for neglecting her friends; in the four days since the festival, she had been completely consumed by preparing for the challenge, and she was too close to her breaking point to handle Naz’s objections.
“Are you trying to kill yourself?” Marcus asked derisively. From the way his pupils were unfocused, Ember could tell that he was dissecting her with his infrared vision, where he would be able to see how hard she had been pushing her body.
“No, just training.”
“For what? There are no tournaments this time of year.”
Ember paused. “I’m going to challenge a ranker,” she said reluctantly.
Marcus tilted his head “You?”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, but I have no other choice.” She looked away, a bitter taste in her mouth. In the end, the mayor had tentatively declared the hostage situation an isolated incident, citing the small number of humans involved and the lack of repercussions for their deaths. To Ember, his opinion was irrelevant; between what she herself had witnessed and Corax’s public silence, she strongly suspected that something was stirring on the mainland.
Marcus sat up, looking at her more closely. “You’re serious?”
Ember nodded. “I need your help.” She reached into her bag, pulling out a scroll on which she had drawn a diagram of the human body. She stood up, laying it down on the desk in front of him. The image was marked with colored ink, detailing patterns that she had noticed during her training, and her hypotheses were scribbled in the margins. She was tantalizingly close to becoming proficient with her infrared vision, yet a few inconsistencies were holding her back.
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
“Here,” she said, pointing to a splotch of red around one knee. She had seen the pattern appear after an intermediate fighter was injured in a spar. “Do you know what this means?”
Marcus leaned forward, and Ember was surprised that he actually seemed to be examining the diagram. “Is this marking true to size?” When Ember nodded, he brought a hand to his chin. “Well, the most important thing is that one knee appears red, while the other is green. That indicates a large difference in surface temperature…”
He reached up, unfolding a pair of spectacles and placing them on his nose. A rogue giggle nearly escaped Ember’s throat, but she masked it with a cough as he continued. “The red area is certainly warmer, which suggests that it’s inflamed. I’d guess a fresh injury to the anterior cruciate ligament. If this was my opponent, I’d target the knee with a cutting kick or reaping.”
Ember listened carefully, noting how, as before, he had shed his sarcasm in order to properly advise her. In the soft candlelight, his appearance mirrored hers—his face angular and sharp; his skin covered in brown and black scales; and his body more muscle than fat. For the first time, she thought that although he was hardened, he wasn’t bad-looking.
Over the next thirty minutes, the snakes dissected Ember’s notes. She pointed to each area on the diagram, each time receiving detailed answers that usually confirmed her theories but occasionally contradicted them.
“Is that everything?” Marcus asked.
Ember looked up as though waking up from a dream. Inside her chest, her heart thumped with the excitement of discovery, and she had the sense that she had crossed a major hurdle.
“Yes. Thank you,” she said, collecting the scroll and tucking it into her bag.
He placed his glasses back on the desk, and his face assumed a grim expression. “You must know that none of this will matter against a ranker. Whatever growth you’ve done is not enough.”
Ember passed a hand over her face, knowing frustration would yield no benefit. “I’m still going to try.”
She took a step, intending to take her leave, when she felt Marcus’s firm grip around her forearm. “Ember, be careful. You could be seriously hurt.”
Ember looked down at him, her eyes softening. “No promises, but thank you for caring.”
***
Ember held the melting stick of wax between her thumb and forefinger, waiting as it dripped onto the small scroll. Then, she pressed her metal stamp into the steaming pile, leaving behind the university’s seal.
She lifted the scroll, weighing it in her hand. It was surprisingly light considering it bore such a pivotal message: her official challenge to the harpy eagle. It had taken a half-dozen attempts to compose, but in the end, she had decided not to mince words.
Greetings, it read, My name is Ember Whitlock, and I challenge you to an informal battle for your sister’s services. Please contact me at your earliest convenience, as this is a matter of utmost importance.
She turned to her left, where a hefty tome was lying open on the desk. She had lugged it from the library that morning, promising to have it back within the day. Inside was a list of every ranker, including their rank, species, and mailing address. Previous borrowers had scribbled notes next to the names, crossing them off if the ranker had retired. Thanks to them, Ember now knew that the harpy eagle’s name was Freya Anderson, and she was ranked 325th, within the bottom one hundred rankers. Even so, after seeing the spectacular fight between Roland and Amina (who had been ranked substantially lower), Ember knew she posed a significant challenge.
After marking the outside of the scroll with Freya’s address, Ember wrote a second message. This one, which she addressed to Naz, was much more informal but no less succinct. In no uncertain terms, she apologized for her silence and explained what she intended to do. After a moment of consideration, she added a short conclusion:
Thank you for understanding,
Your friend,
Ember Whitlock.
Waiting on the windowsill was a messenger bird that Ember had commissioned from the aviary. It was small and blackish, and it had puffed itself up to twice its normal size in order to combat the cold. It hopped away as she approached, but she managed to coax it to stay still with the promise of a cherry.
As it nibbled her offering, the bird allowed her to attach the scroll and the note to its leg by means of a piece of twine. It chirped at her once before taking flight, destined for the mail distribution center in the city proper. Ember watched it circle overhead, its feathers flashing purple as it turned in the winter sun.
She sighed, relieved to have finished her preparations. Now, all that remained was the harpy eagle’s response. Ember felt fairly confident that Freya would accept: since few people knew about her sister’s abilities, the ranker would want to meet her challenger, and Orthus had implied that he would put in a good word. Though the thought of being in the information dealer’s debt made Ember uncomfortable, she was unwilling to wait for a better opportunity when her father’s life was on the line.
“Godspeed,” she said, shutting the window.