Chapter 76: House Apophis
I can't help the grin that spreads across my face as I catch Lucian's eye from across the fire. There's something about him an easy, ruthless logic I recognize and respect. A kindred spirit, maybe. For a moment, I wonder again if he and Jasper are related. The resemblance is uncanny: the same sharp jaw, the same air of cold calculation, the same predator's poise same red eyes. It's tempting to ask, but I bite my tongue. No need to bring up any connection to the crown. That's a headache I don't need, and unwanted questions are the last thing I want floating around the group.
The igloo Bragg built is holding up well, warm and close and—most importantly—secure. Bragg himself sits by the newly sealed entrance, arms folded, looking satisfied but alert. He'd packed the dirt tight, leaving only a small vent at the very top, where the smoke from the fire curls lazily up and out into the night. Inside, the thirty of us have settled into a circle around the fire, letting its heat soak into our bones. There's a momentary hush as everyone tries to shake off the day's chaos.
I glance over at the girl who started the fire. She's tiny, maybe four foot eight at most, with long black hair that falls in a straight, silky sheet nearly to her waist. Her eyes are striking blenge, a pale, stormy blue-gray that catches the firelight in odd ways. I catch her gaze and nod.
"Hey, thanks for getting this going," I say, keeping my tone light. "What's your name?"
She flushes, cheeks turning the color of ripe cherries. "Rye. Rye Moreau." Her voice is small, and glances down, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
I smile at her, offering my hand. "Ayato Daath. Nice to meet you, Rye." She hesitates for a second, then takes my hand her grip unexpectedly firm. I squeeze gently, giving her what I hope is a reassuring smile. If I'm going to survive this little trail the proctors cooked up, I need everyone in this house to like me, or at least trust me. I can be the friendly guy when needed. I smirk to myself.
Around the circle, faces start to relax, the tension of the day easing little by little. Elijah is already chatting with another boy gesturing wildly. I stifle a laugh when I hear him completely make up a scenario in our test.
That's when the dark-skinned girl with the gold eyes leans forward, elbows braced on her knees. Her expression is guarded, but her eyes catch the fire in a way that makes them look almost molten. "Ayato Daath," she says, her tone casual but her gaze searching. "That name sounds familiar. Are you a noble perchance?"
Her question hangs in the air, and suddenly the whole circle is looking at me. I meet her eyes for a long moment, letting just a hint of poison seep into my stare. It's a warning—don't push. She just blinks, unbothered, and waits. The others are watching now too, curious.
I shrug, letting my tone go ice-cold. "No, I'm no noble. You might recognize my name because I was the one who had the duel earlier today." I do not need her mentioning anything about me having three marks, I'm sure it will come up eventually but until then I don't wish to deal with it.
She sighs and shrugs, accepting my answer for now. "Oh right, I saw the ending. You killed him." Her voice is neutral but I can hear the accusation in her tone. Murderer