30

Meera stared at him for a moment with silver eyes that bore into his soul. He was sitting in an interrogation room in the disciplinary building of the academy. He had only just that morning been released from the tomb less than twenty yards from it. He was lucky—he’d been found shortly after the attack, and because he’d been uninjured, they’d brought him there rather than keeping him in the infirmary. With what he’d just done to Crim, that would’ve been very bad. His head was still swimming from whatever cocktail she’d injected into him, and he was finding maintaining any kind of discipline or control difficult.

Meera’s eyes returned to their usual warm brown, and she stumbled a little. She looked wan and pale. He remembered her mentioning how much it took out of her, and now she’d used it three times in the last week. Once on Marcus, once on the body of Desdin, and once on Michael.

Kline guided her to a nearby chair and helped her to sit with a gentleness she hadn’t seen from him before. The guard that had interrogated Marcus was there as well—his name was Locke—along with a handful of soldiers to make sure that Michael didn’t try anything.

Meera took a while to catch her breath. “The marks on his soul match his story, as do the marks on what remained of Desdin’s soul. He killed Desdin, but Desdin is the one who killed Krant. His soul is so clear that the greatest sin on it from his old life is a theft from a place of work he had that was shutting down.”

He raised an eyebrow. He’d forgotten about stealing that laptop, but the startup was failing, and they weren’t keen on inventorying things properly anyway. He figured it was a low cost for the fact he was going to be out of the job.

Locke nodded, but he didn’t look happy about it. “The soldiers that Desdin bribed to take off from watching Michael will be beaten and demoted. Desdin’s corpse will be buried in an unmarked grave. You”—he gestured to Michael—“are released back to Kline.”

Kline looked to him and gestured to the nearby soldiers. “Escort him to the archery grounds. They should be near wrapping up. I will meet him and the others for conditioning.”

One of them moved to him and unchained him from the manacles on the ground by the chair. Those hadn’t been there when he’d been interrogated, though he had been a lot less of a threat at the time. He rubbed his wrists and stood up from his seat, starting to walk toward the door behind one of the guards, with another at his back.

Meera reached out and grabbed his sleeve.

He looked down at her.

“Give yourself a good look in the mirror when you get a chance.”

He frowned, but before he could ask why, he was pushed along by the soldier behind him. They took him across the academy to the archery range where he saw the irregulars and a number of regular recruits all firing their bows at straw targets downrange.

As they saw him, a number of them started to whisper and point, with one recruit actually misfiring an arrow and causing it to fly into the air, forcing a number of people to take cover until the huntress, Anna, caught it and handed it back to him. She walked over to Michael with a scowl on her face. She leaned down and turned him around so that they were both facing away from the range.

She spat on his face.

“Desdin was a friend, lifetaker.”

She sat up straight. “Everyone, give your quivers to Michael to fill. If he drops any, he’ll owe twenty push-ups per.”

The Penitents all handed him their quivers to him without issue, but the regular recruits pretended to drop them, tried to yank them from his grasp, or just boldly threw them onto the ground. For every one that fell, Anna ordered him to drop. By the end of the class, he’d done something near three hundred. Luckily, that was something he’d been practicing constantly in the last week in the tomb so while he was exhausted, he was able to get through them with the strength of spite. Anna had been very reasonable when they’d started their training, even to the Takers, but clearly that was just professionalism. With a dead friend, any mask of neutrality had dropped completely.

On the walk toward their regular training with Ollie, Pyotr and Davi managed to fall in next to him.

“So it’s true?” asked Davi. “You killed the horsemaster?”

Michael nodded. “I didn’t have much of a choice. Apparently, the man whose son should’ve had this body had saved his life. He tried to take revenge on me to honor his friend.”

“Regretting sending those extra silvers their way?” asked Ollie.

“No. I don’t know if they condoned his plan or not. Even if they did, they lost a child. I don’t expect them to be reasonable.”

“The man taking revenge, though, is beyond your empathy?” asked Pyotr.

“Yes. After the fifth arrow hit me, I’d say my empathy for him ran the fuck out.”

All of them went quiet. Michael was often the first one to see things from others’ perspectives, so they were surprised to hear him so angry.

Michael was surprised too, but maybe if he’d had a second to process what had happened instead of immediate interrogation, being spat on, then confronted on it by his friends, he may have felt better. Not to mention the constant heat that seemed to be building in him since his injection.

The rest of the day was spent on regular training. His performance was middling, the weapons he’d grown so accustomed to feeling awkward and unfamiliar in his hands after a week without them. He still held his own, though, and was grateful when they were done for the day. His shower under the cold water was a tremendous relief as it washed away the filth of not only the tomb but also the week he’d spent fighting in the forest. He came back to the barracks and lay on his bed for a moment, eager to enjoy sleep on a relatively soft surface, but he was broken from it when he remembered what Meera had told him. He sighed, pushing the thin blanket off himself and stepping over to the mirror at the end of the barracks. He took a breath and focused himself on it for a moment, seeing the golden lettering slowly form into words in front of him.

Titles:

Michael Mann

The Restored

Deeds:

Bridge Holder

Revenge Denier

Blessings:

Healing Hand

Two new Deeds. That was a big surprise, but given how eventful the last two weeks had been, it made sense. He focused in further on the two new Deeds, trying to draw forth new information. Bridge Holder was likely for his performance during the training exercise where he’d stopped seven other recruits from going after his friends, and Revenge Denier was his self-defense against Desdin.

Bridge Holder

When protecting those who flee Grants:

Very Minor Strength

Very Minor Durability

Revenge Denier

When attacked by someone seeking vengeance Grants:

Middling Awareness

Minor Reaction

He blinked, dismissing the text he saw in the mirror. Both of the benefits he got for his Deeds were situational, which he didn’t realize was a way they could present. It also appeared that the benefits he gained were measured in the words minor, middling, and major, with possible adjectives of at least very. It made sense that the first Deed, Bridge Holder, only granted very minor situational benefits. He’d earned it in a contest, but it was a safe contest. One where he couldn’t have died unless things had gone very wrong. The other one seemed to grant much greater benefits, though they were also situational. What constituted someone seeking vengeance? Could it be someone simply counter-attacking him in training? Or did it need to be more elaborate than that? He hadn’t noticed any changes during the training earlier that day, but he hadn’t been paying attention and was on the receiving end during most of the bouts anyway. He’d have to test it the next day.

He stretched a bit, yawning, and made his way back to his bed.

“Anything new?” asked Davi.

“Two new Deeds. One for watching your asses and another for… defending myself. Did you get any?”

He nodded. “Pyotr and I each got one.”

“Fuckers,” muttered Ollie.

“Is being able to shoot flames and summon lightning not enough for you, my friend?” asked Pyotr.

“Absolutely not, and if I’d been able to do that during the exercise, I’d have cleaned up.”

“I don’t think leaving a trail of teenaged corpses is ‘cleaning up,’” countered Davi, making quotes with his fingers.

“Depends on the corpses, though I’m pretty sure Michael could’ve saved them anyway. I know he loves touching teenage boys.”

“You’re thinking of your mother, actually. Although, I think she really took all comers,” said Michael, with his eyes closed as he pulled his blanket back over himself. “Not sure I could heal anyone blown apart. I’ve mostly fixed cuts and breaks. There were some minor burns I covered too, but beyond that I’m not sure.”

He’d healed some terrible wounds on himself that morning, but they were just more extreme versions of what he’d already done. If someone lost a limb or was rendered blind, he had no idea if he could help them. He wasn’t even sure if his ability worked on sickness. Meera had indicated the ability to heal sickness was separate from the one that allowed the healing of wounds. He’d tried to focus on the ability the way he did for Titles and Deeds to glean more information, but he’d been unable to reveal anything new.

He heard a few more barbs being exchanged by the others, even catching a few strays here and there himself, but he decided to stay silent. He’d killed a man that morning. It turns out that’s something that can wear someone out.