Max practically vibrates with leftover adrenaline.
The moment my hand leaves his, he closes the distance again, clapping the same shoulder he grabbed earlier enthusiasm bursting out of him in machine-gun questions.
"Fucking hell, that react time! Who drilled you, man? And that hip turn you slipped my pivot like you'd mapped it a year in advance. How's your fighting with marks involved? And the sword on your waist, how good are you with it?? Wanna fight again?'
Every sentence arrives with a new gesture: palms slicing, fists illustrating hooks, elbows describing angles. Each laugh is a bright, reckless bark that echoes around room. He reminds me of a puppy who accidentally grew into a giant war hound.
I raise both hands, half in surrender, half to gain breathing space. "One question at a time," I manage.
Max doesn't slow. He points at my chest, then mimics the twist I used to redirect his punch. "That move was textbook but somehow smoother. The footwork you used to then flow into trying to take my legs out. Who taught you to blend styles..."
"Umm I've head a few teachers"
He slaps my back so hard I hear air cough out of my lungs a second time. The watching students chuckle; two perched still on the rail watch with amused expressions.
"Really who were they?"
Max keeps talking: how most first-years freeze beneath pressure anytime he has to spar with them. He's so obnoxiously positive I almost forget this is the same institution rumored to turn children into murdering lap dogs for the king.
I'm opening my mouth to answer when Victoria's voice silences the babble.
"Max. Enough."
She doesn't raise her volume, yet the command stops him like an invisible chain snapped taut. His grin droops into a rueful half-smile. He spins on one heel, executes an exaggerated salute. "Yes, my lady." The phrase is equal parts teasing and reverent.
Victoria steps forward, hands clasped at the small of her back, spine perfect. Her posture radiates an effortless authority that prickles across my skin. She gives Max a curt nod toward the staircase.
Max angles his body toward me again, winking as if we share some conspirator's secret. "Later then, Ayato."
The commons relaxes without losing its energy; conversations resume and the table had set back down arguing amongst each other, my eyes however are locked on Victoria now. She turns that cool gaze on me, then sweeps it across my cohort.
Satisfied she has our attention, she plants her boots shoulder-width, hands sliding to hips. "I am House Apophis's dominus," she announces, diction crisp, volume calibrated to carry to balconies of the few other Elites still watching she did this without shouting. "You will refer to me as my lady or dominus".
My eye twitches not quite a flinch, but close. The word dominus rolls around my thoughts like grit in a wound. She can't be older than twenty one, yet the claim drops from her lips like it was natural. I part my mouth, ready to gift her a blistering reply about self-crowned royalty, when a glint sparks in her eyes. Warning? Amusement? I can't read it in time. But my Instinct says to shut the fuck up. I clamp my teeth shut a breath before the words escape.
That half-second of hesitation seems to please her. A subtle smile curves the corner of her mouth. She folds forward in a small bow, palms pressed together. "I'll have Kavax show you your rooms," she continues. "You have fifteen minutes to relax and get used to them. Then all of you meet me back here for a briefing."
Her gaze pins each of us by turn. "All of you back here in 15."
I incline my head the barest degree and mutter "Yes Dominus" The corners of her lips rise another millimeter, then she steps back, motioning to a hulking boy with brown-colored hair and a nose that has been broken at least twice who was hanging a little to close by in a lounge chair. "Kavax. Escort them upstairs to their room."
Kavax dips a fist to chest, gestures for us to follow.
The moment Victoria turns away, Lucain's mental voice pops into my mind like a firecracker. What a cunt.
A snort tries to escape my throat; I choke it into something like a cough.
"Come on you cant spring that on me" I spit back still laughing at his casual tone.
Lucain's thought comes with the texture of an eye roll. Guy can't vent? Fine, I'll vent silently. He punctuates with an image: Victoria wearing a crown ten sizes too large that sits massively on her head as she puffs up her chest yelling about how shes "The lady"
The bubble of laughter I'm strangling turns into a crooked grin. I keep my face angled down so Kavax won't see.
"Enough enough" I chuckle mentally
Let's not antagonize the dominus until we know the chessboard.
Antagonize? Lucain's mental chuckle is dark velvet. No of course not, I plan to study her. Nothing says we can't topple the queen later.
I cut the link before my amusement bleeds onto my expression. As we follow Kavax up one of the stairs I catch the reactions across my cohort. Most have looks of slight tension on their faces but Zaria remains ever the statue.
The corridor curves light still coming from nowhere. Kavax glances over his shoulder eyes the color of river mud, surprisingly gentle given the broken nose. "Rooms six through fourteen," he rumbles. "Privy and washroom are downstairs."
"Thanks," I say. "Do the doors lock?"
He smiles more teeth than I expect. "No locks on doors. Trust in housemates or sleep lightly." His shoulders shake with what might be a laugh, then he turns down a branching hall leaving us.
Room six is mine and Lucain's claims the one right next to me. I push inside mine and its a modest rectangle with a desk and bed arranged neatly against the walls. I lay on the bed suddenly tired.
We reconvene in the hallway. Together we retrace steps to the commons. Victoria stands in the same spot as if she hadn't move. She waves us over as we descend the steps, follow me she commands.
She leads us down a hallway to the left of the massive table, we entrer another decently sized room and we see what looks to be a training ground a semicircle of other students stand chatting in the middle of the room.