Abaddon's Mark

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Graydon watched the execution of the student with the distant eyes he learned to use at a young age. Otherwise he may not have made it through.

The young man did not go easily into death. And to be there, hanging, for twenty minutes as one's magic attempted to keep one alive, watching friends, relatives, standing out before one, watching it happen as no one came to the rescue. Knowing that death was coming and feeling its cold claws digging into the flesh.

He shuddered and looked over the students who were being disbanded by Kaulu men.

Naena.

He looked for her, but saw no women among the crowd. Pushing past students and Seven alike, he felt his sleeves snag on someone's armour. The palm of his hand suffered fleshy wounds as someone tried to stop him with an open arm, and Graydon batted it away in annoyance.

If he were ever disobedient, if he crossed the line, or acted up, that would be his fate. A slow death that he knew was coming, dealt by the hand of his family.

At the edge of the crowd, he found Theon, staring at the body ponderously.

Jurin Theon, Kaulu had called Theon. That meant something, though Graydon wasn't sure what, not yet. There was something curious and patient about Theon's look, like he was standing back, watching everything fall apart around him.

Graydon didn't have the option of waiting for Theon to come around.

"Where is she?" Graydon demanded, knowing Theon, if anyone, would know where Naena was.

"Who?" Theon asked. "Boy, you'd best brush up on your crossborn laws."

Graydon grabbed two handfuls of Theon's shirt and dragged the man close.

Anyone stupid enough to suggest that Naena would accept any other pronoun was a damned fool or taunting him. He knew Theon was teasing him, if anything. Baiting him, even. The war mage was baiting him, he decided.

If Theon wanted a fight, Graydon would give him one.

"I asked you where she is!" he shouted at the war mage. "I don't have time for niceties or pleasantries, you know who I'm asking after. Tell me where she is!"

His bones rattled, his voice seemed louder than should have been possible.

The blood from his hand reddened Theon's shirt. His fists clenched so tightly that the bones ached, the muscles in his arms vibrated from the strain.

Of holding Theon off the ground.

Graydon's muscles trembled as he realized how the pair of them stood. With Theon several inches off the ground, pulled up by the front of his shirt. The war mage smiled slowly, lips curling up almost viciously.

"Your father removed Naena before the execution," Theon said, his hands wrapped around Graydon's wrists.

Graydon dropped Theon. The mage hit the ground, but his hands on Graydon's wrists tightened, grinding Graydon's bones together as they stared at one another. He saw something pass over Theon's features. The war mage released him.

Before he had a conscious thought, he was running toward the main building. Lord Pan, alone with Naena. The thoughts that skittered across his mind were terrifying and disturbing at the same time. He slammed his way into his father's room at the university only to find it empty. A small travel bag sat on the bed, unopened.

Not finding them in the room sent a wash of relief through him.

But then, he recalled, men didn't need beds for such things.