I blinked. Okay, I was back in the room...or walled up alive.
I squirmed (nothing at all to do with my hardened dick). "Look, I wish that I could've passed the mission, then neither of us would be here."
Ezekiel's gaze was shrewd. "You don't because my assessment is that you chose not to capture the dragon." His wings flared, and he leaned closer until our foreheads touched. "Don't you think that my friends and me were desperate not to complete our missions? That we hated them? I can never rub myself clean. My Soul is tarnished. We cared enough for each other to survive."
"You survived," I corrected. "How'd it work out for them?"
Ezekiel let out a hissed breath. Right, no more pissing off my angel professor.
"They died one by one, and I had to watch them fall," Ezekiel whispered.
Truth: I'd have died to save them.
I rested my hands on either side of Ezekiel's cheeks because his truth had shivered down my spine like rain in twilight, the solitary plucked note on a trembling cello, and the salty track of tears.
"Then I'd return to the castle and their death portraits would appear in the gallery." Ezekiel's gaze was intent on mine. "The castle became one of ghosts and memories. Even though I survived, I was still trapped here, training yet more Rebels to send out to die. I've always tried my best by my students. Please tell me that at least I achieved that, even if..."
"You’ve been kind to us," I replied, tightening my hold. "You don't deserve to be in here. I don't care what Damelza thinks because she should've promoted you for understanding what we need. But how long is the House of Crows and its backers going to get away with treating the Rebels as their personal expendable army? We have to stop them."
"I admire your spirit. But I'd say that we've been stopped. Plus, you're wrong. What did I teach you about strategy?"
Typical. Even in here, I couldn't escape pop quizzes.
I desperately sought to remember his lesson. Damelza had swept in, then Willoughby's letter had spilled his secrets, before Bask had been snatched...
My brow furrowed. "Don't copy Napoleon...? Wait, it could've been always copy Napoleon…?"
Ezekiel sighed. "That right there is why I was slung in here, rather than promoted. Your Power of Confess senses the truth, right? Well, the truth is that I'm a terrible teacher." He paused a moment. I expected my power to blare Nirvana or possibly Eminem (I couldn't decide between the two), that Ezekiel was lying, but instead, there was only silence. So, he was terrible at teaching. It wasn't like I'd had any experience before coming to the academy, but in that case, the judgment of what made a good teacher could go screw itself. Ezekiel was epic. "See? I've been...concerned...for a while now that Damelza intended to punish me for my failings. Even you've noticed my loss of control over the class."
I laughed. "I’d prefer that than Bacchus who controls us with bondage or Juni who uses the traditional savaging with wolves method." He winced. "Anyway, we're terrible students, or hadn't you noticed?"
He snorted. Rude. "What, am I blind? But I'd never treat any of my students as strictly as I was, even if that’s meant bending the rules."
"The Princes obey you...sort of..."
"Barely. By my wing, the Princes will obey anyone who threatens them with their families." Gently, he clasped my hands, lowering them to his lap. Then his wings wrapped around me in a feathery embrace. "I don't imagine confidentiality matters anymore. I was stricter on the Princes, only because I was trying to protect them. You Immortals have no idea the pressure that the Princes are under from their so-called guardians. Our patron, Titus, watches over the academy in a spell that's triggered by certain words or behaviors, especially by his nephew. It's more watchful over certain areas like the Princes' bedroom or during class. Willoughby's brother has a similar dark curse that connects to his bed in the Prince's bedroom and his suit. Punishment Points must be administered by his Tutor. They're disciplined daily. She can't bend the rules, even if she wants to, and I highly doubt that she does." He grimaced. "Lysander has no choice but to act like a—"
"Jerk?"
"Fae prince." Ezekiel wings flared brighter. "I spoke about teamwork for a reason. The Princes receive enough cruelty, and I haven't even started about the methods to break Midnight. If I'd only made more effort for unity when I was a student and understood that we weren't rivals, then perhaps..."
My friends would've survived. He didn't need to say it for me to hear it. Nor the added: And us too.
I squirmed off his lap, slipping underneath his wings. "I'm not a tamed pussy. I won't simply sit around here, telling sad tales, and waiting to be disciplined. I'm off to explore my territory."
If I had a tail in my human form, I'd have been wagging it. I didn’t need to spray on the stones to prove that they were mine. Well, maybe later. I needed to piss sometime.
I crawled into the dark, away from the eerie violet of Ezekiel's wings.
Would I crunch over the bones of mages? I flinched. What if I trampled all over Magenta's first friend — lover's — skeleton?
"Get back here," Ezekiel ordered, scrambling to his knees.
"I can't hear you," I called, "it's this weird side effect of being about to die, along with the Dark Mark appearing on my dick and a sudden urge to be called Foxy Lady."
Then I yowled, as my nose bumped into something hard. I cradled my nose, falling back onto my heels. Ezekiel's cuss was long and creative, as in turn, he bumped into me.
Tentatively, I reached out, feeling the contours of the large metallic object in front of me. Ezekiel held his wing above my head in a sweep of light.
My pulse fluttered in my throat, and I leaned forward, yearning in a way that I didn’t even know I could feel. My magic thrummed through me in joy.
It couldn't be... This was forbidden... Please, let me have this moment of worship...
I stared in wonder at the golden shrine to Pan.
It’d mean death to have such a shrine in a witches' coven because Pan was the mages' god. Even to mention him merited a whipping. I shivered at the phantom pains of the lash.
I'd always been curious about the god who believed that shimages were the most blessed and not wickedest because they could transform into animals. Pan ruled nature. To him, there was no right or wrong; only wild freedom.
I traced my finger over the carvings of non-magicals, who’d been caught up in Pan’s dance, before glancing at the statue of the golden horns.
What would it be like to see my beautiful Horned God?
I'd never felt so settled in myself as I did kneeling before this shrine, in the same way that I never felt so uneasy as I had before Hecate’s.
Then Ezekiel pointed at the statue of a huge erect phallus. "They left sex toys in here? As if this shrine doesn't break enough rules."
I snickered. "Let's just say that my god likes to party."
I tilted my head at the rich silk that was draped along the back of the shrine. It was embroidered with red-breasted robins like drops of blood on the black.
My magic shied away from it, but I couldn’t stop looking at it, and my fingers itched to touch like it belonged to me.
Carefully, I reached out to lift a corner and peer at what was underneath.
I hollered (okay, squeaked but in a manly way), letting the silk slip through my fingers.
Ezekiel rubbed my back with his wing. "You found the last resting place of our original mage? Definitely not a myth then."