The Rebel Assassin

Chapter 12: Unexpected Reproductions

I shivered under my cloak as I made my way up the Protectorate's slanted streets. It was much colder up in the mountains that it had been in the lowlands of Solangia, though I had a feeling that it would take just a few minutes of hiking up to the school to make me regret such a heavy cloak.

Worse, I still didn't feel normal. The walk wore me out much quicker than it should have, my breath coming too heavily. It felt like everyone who passed me could tell I didn't belong there from how I staggered upwards. But I gritted my teeth and kept going. Taking a break from merely walking would be even more embarrassing.

The school rose from the top of the city's mountain in sheer walls of white stone, like a giant's ivory crown. Its towers, evenly spaced along the rounded outer wall, rose into the bitingly clear blue sky, oval windows at the top of each one shining like jewels. Squinting, I could see that they were barred. It was a stunning balance between the beautiful façade and its function as a prison.

The iron teeth of the huge gate were swung wide open to a vast courtyard. Two misshapen, stone gargoyles stood at either side, hunching over incoming visitors. I gave one a matching snarl as I passed it, panting from the trek up.

The courtyard wasn't more impressive than the ones of the Solangan royal castle, but it was probably just as impressive, and it was open to the public — which meant it wasn't half as beautiful as the parts of the university reserved for important people. It was knowing that that made me stop inside the entryway and stare.

The ground was rough gray rock, but the smooth white stone walls rose up all around creating a hexagonal yard with an open sky. Where there would have been a fountain in a Solangian courtyard (which I suspected would be frozen for most of the year in these mountains) was instead a larger-than-life statue of a figure with their arms out in a welcoming gesture, hands gracefully positioned with their palms upwards. It was carved from the same white stone as the walls and practically shining in the sunlight.

Interested, and wanting something to do so I wouldn't appear to be taking a break simply because I was winded, I drifted toward it and looked up. It was hard to decide what gender person the statue might represent; it wore a cloak whose hood hid their face and its folds swept all the way to the ground, carved so delicately and lifelike that it seemed to be blowing in the wind, obscuring its body.

Benches arranged around the courtyard were occupied despite the cold, with students swathed in fur cloaks and scarves, talking with each other or reading. Many students were here willingly, as the Protectorate's university was one of the five greatest on the continent. Or maybe it was six greatest. Seven? I hadn't paid that much attention when Caer talked about it, to be honest. Anyway, I wasn't interested in any of them. The Black Knight would be an eighteen-year-old boy who likely hadn't left the city of the Protectorate in his life.

I took one last long look at the statue, confirming what I had first thought. I knew this figure, which its face hidden and its arms out. It was the Healer. Though what the image of a Solangian Guardian was doing outside of Solangia, I didn't know.

The Healer was the best of the Light Guardians, always positioned directly opposite the Assassin. It had been several generations since Solangia had one. It was supposed to be an omen of good luck, the very opposite of me and Nemia and the Black Knight.

For a moment I was struck with a cold sort of awareness, a tingle down my spine. I could picture exactly how I looked to an outsider just then — wrapped in a black cloak flapping in the wind, arms crossed tightly against my chest, dark hair loose and obscuring my face as I looked up, up, up at a white form at once both delicate and powerful. The Assassin, silhouetted against the brightness of the Healer.