His first deep lungful of air felt like the dawn of Spring after a long and heavy Winter. Stopping just outside of the administration building, Quinten watched the two instructors walk away. Casting glances at him from over their shoulders and speaking in hushed tones as they hurried down the tree-lined path.
The morning’s dew had already burned off the leaf buds and needles of ash and fir sprinkled on either side of the stone walkway. Leaving the year’s new growth turning its face toward the sun, basking in its welcoming warmth.
Blinking up at the light and heat caressing his face, Quinten shook out the tension that’d coiled deep within him. Tightening every part with anxiety and stressed caused by dealing in the game of words that politics so often required.
Though he walked alone to the main hall and the mid-day meal, he never felt the often welcoming embrace of it being just him and his thoughts. The tingling sensation that let you know someone was watching you stayed with him, hand in hand as he passed grey and white-robed students enjoying the balmy weather but for his presence. Bringing with it a plethora of expressions that Quinten did his best to ignore.
Reaching the hall, Quinten felt the knot in his gut ease as he slipped quietly into the room. The slight comfort was short-lived. A wave of movement passed through the dining hall in a turning of heads. Every eye fixed directly on him, sucking all the sound out of the room like a howling wind.
Trying to hone in on anything that would keep him from freezing on the spot, he failed. Seeing Ronan alone at their usual table, already rising and quickly making his way forward.
Fear gripped Quinten by the throat, acid bubbling up and burning the back of it.
“Where’s Cedric?”
Ignoring the question, Ronan grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back through the doors. They’d barely made it through before Quinten summoned a windscreen, pulling his arm away and grabbing Ronan by the shoulders instead.
“Ronan.” He said with a shake. “Where is Cedric?”
Unable to look Quinten in the eyes, Ronan swallowed hard. His throat bobbing animatedly as it worked.
“He’s in the Infirmary.” Seeing the expression on Quinten's face, he rushed to continue. “He’s going to be fine. But—he took a bit of a beating from Oliver. It…” Trailing off, Ronan shook his head. “It could have been worse, but it should never have happened. I think it was payback for stopping Jed.”
Turning Ronan around, Quinten gently pushed him forward. “Come on, let’s go.”
“I’m not sure if the Healers will let us in to see him.” Ronan protested, but his feet continued carrying him toward the Infirmary.
“They will.”
*****
Ronan’s inability to see other people in pain, even the normal bruising, strained muscles, or contusions that came as a part of physical and martial training meant that none of the trio had spent much time in the Infirmary.
It’s white stone walls smelled strongly of the alcohol-mix used to clean the floors combining with the bleaching agent used for the bedding, spare blankets, and cloth bandages in an overpowering of scents that had Quinten tapping his gift to dull his sense of smell. An application he’d only ever done when mucking out a horse stall by way of punishment.
The large open room was surprisingly cold. The space below the main area was kept filled with ice by Academy students, and the chilled air would them be pumped into the room above to help fight off disease. Something that’d never really been a concern with Healing, but after the mage plague a few years prior, it became a practice they’d implemented as a safeguard against future magic-resistant sicknesses.
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Staring down at their unconscious friend, Quinten was grateful that other than a mobilization cast on one arm and the opposite leg, Cedric’s injuries appeared to be the faded-yellow color of week old bruising. The Healers having already taken care of most of the damage.
“Why does he need the casts and why haven’t you finished healing the bruises?”
“We couldn’t, not yet at least,” Answered the white-robed woman standing behind them in a waspish tone. Irritated by Quinten's refusal to leave. His threat of forcing his way in if they didn’t let him at least check on their friend likely did not help the matter.
“Why not?” Pushed Quinten, irritation starting to color his own voice.
“His body wasn’t ready for it.” Ronan said, gently placing a hand on Quinten's shoulder and giving it a light squeeze. “Even with the help of Healing magic, the recipient’s body has to provide a lot of the energy required. It’s why you and Cedric always eat like animals any time you go too hard during training.”
“You’ve seen him. He’ll likely sleep the rest of the day.” Said the woman. Her foot tapping a staccato rhythm as she glared. “He may be discharged as early as tomorrow morning. Now, will you please leave? I have more important things to do than stand here keeping an eye on you.”
Quinten raised an eyebrow at the young woman. The young looking woman, he corrected.
So caught up in wanting to see his friend for himself. Quinten hadn’t even noticed the cut and style of her white-robes were not those of a first-year. She was an actual Healer, trained by the Mage’s Council.
“Of course, Healer. My apologies. I was concerned, but that does not forgive my rudeness.” Quinten said with a slight bow of his head. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ronan had placed a few fingers on Cedric’s bare thigh, just above his cast. A soft golden glow emanating from beneath them.
“If you will accept my apology. In repayment, I would be happy to refill your ice room.”
Quinten breathed a sigh of relief as the woman’s focus stayed on him while she considered. Looking at him in suspicion, she slowly nodded.
“Fine, come with me.”
*****
Ronan was waiting for Quinten outside of the Infirmary by the time he’d finished refilling and refreezing the thawed ice. It was an odd sensation—sweating in the chill of the lower chamber, only to step outside into the warmth of the afternoon, shivering from the use of his Gift.
“Thanks for distracting her,” Ronan said.
Shaking his head, Quinten shrugged. “She’s a Healer, can’t have her angry with me. What were you doing in there?” Frowning, he asked. “Is he OK?”
Waving Quinten off, Ronan said. “He’s fine. Healers always hold back a little of what they can do in case there are complications. I wanted to check on Cedric for myself and ended up giving him a little boost. I’m hoping he’ll be up and awake this evening.”
Sighing in relief, Quinten pulled the other boy into a quick hug. “Thanks for looking out for him.”
Blinking slowly, Ronan returned the hug, mumbling, “It’s what you do for your friends.” Shaking his head, Ronan asked. “So, what now?”
“Now, you are going to tell me what happened.”
“The duel with Oliver. It was going fine at first. Oliver has three Gifts, Elemental, Mental and Physical, and fights like a standard battle mage, lots of fireballs and earth manipulation. Cedric chose not to go into a full shift, just doing a bit more than Jed during our duel.” A grin flashed across his face. “I’m pretty sure I could hear Highbridge swearing from up on the dais.”
Quinten gave a light snort, but his gaze stayed firmly planted on Ronan, waiting for more.
“Cedric followed the standard tactic for fighting someone with ranged attacks. Get close as fast as possible. He’d already seen me use the steel spheres and was ready for them. They did manage to keep him distracted long enough that Cedric was able to get within a few feet. At least, that’s how it appeared…”
Staring at a nearby squirrel as it chattered and leapt between tree limbs, Ronan continued.
“It was genius, really. Oliver summoned water just below the dirt, keeping it covered. At the last moment he made it surface, freezing the area around him. Cedric slipped and was immediately wrapped in mud.”
Letting out a deep breath, Quinten asked, “I take it the fight didn’t end then.” The question was more rhetorical than not.
Barking out a pained laugh, Ronan winced. “It should have. Instead of turning it to stone, Oliver used Cedric as a battering ram. Doing his best to break through the walls, the floor, and even the ceiling at one point.”
Quinten heard the grinding noise before he felt his jaw sawing back and forth. “None of the instructors stopped it?” He asked from between clenched teeth.
“Some wanted to. You could see it on their faces, but no. no one did. It was a message, Q. A message for you.”
Closing his eyes. He focused on his breathing and tried to relax the tightly wound coil he’d become throughout Ronan’s story.
“What are we going to do?” His friend asked, staring at him with a mixture of expectation and hope.
Looking up at the sun, Quinten smiled. The expression jarring in its unexpectedness. A predatory glint flashing through his hazel eyes.
“Unless I’m misjudging the time, I still have a duel scheduled for this afternoon.”