Yin and Yang: A Fool's Beginning (27 page)

I swallow harshly, my
Adam's apple pressing tight against the collar of my
uniform
. “Very well,” I go to turn
away.

I stop.

Slowly I turn my head
back to her. As an idea flashes through my mind, I feel my cheeks
and forehead tighten, my nose crumpling as my lips pull
up
. “Hold on.”

“What now? Are you
here to admonish me on what I did in the square this morning? I'm
telling you, Mae never told me the fan could do that. In fact, she
hardly tells me anything at all. She snaps at me I'll never make it
and that I'm an ugly little mountain bear. So if you're looking for
a sorry, you're looking in the wrong place. Go find Mae.” With
that, Yin turns with a huff and pretends to look at one of the
books she's stacked by her feet.

“I need to ask you
something,” I take a step towards her, but she doesn't
turn.

Frustration peaks in my stomach. For all Yin's power,
she acts like a child. While a part of me understands this
situation must be hard for her, the rest of me is appalled by her
lack of etiquette.

She is completely the opposite of the Princess. Mara
is refined, polite, gentle. Yin, on the other hand, is boisterous,
rude, uncultured, and irritating. Truly irritating.

Maybe it’s my left over anger and confusion at
Castor, but frustration curls higher in my stomach.

“I'm still talking to
you,” I say loudly. I usually attempt to control my voice—as a
Royal Army sorcerer, I know how to act to keep a person's
confidence. Castor called it manipulation, but it's more than that.
I never choose to erupt—I leave that to sorcerers like
Yin.

Right now, however, I can feel my anger igniting.

I don't need this. With the shocking surprise of the
Princess becoming the Savior, I have far more important things to
worry about than Yin, no matter how mysterious she might be. In
fact, come to think about it, her inclusion into this mess has done
nothing but distract me.

I stop short of thinking it's all her fault, but only
just short.

Yin completely ignores me, grabbing up a book and
leafing through it.

I'm unused to dealing
with people so
. . . childish.
How can she ignore me when I'm standing right behind
her?

I try to control my anger, but it keeps billowing
up.

I take a step forward, pumping my left hand back and
forth as I do.

Yin takes a step away, her back still to me as she
continues to read the book she's holding.

As my anger climbs through my stomach and to my
throat, I act. With a deft, truly quick move, I step behind her and
grab up her wrist.

The book falls from her grip, clattering to the
floor.

At first she doesn't look at me. I'm standing right
next to her, holding onto her wrist a little tighter than I should
be, and she won't even look up.

Slowly, she lifts her head, her eyes travelling from
my hand to my arm to my neck to my eyes.

It's categorically the most intimidating move I've
ever seen. Which is quite a statement considering I have lived my
life in the army. Yet as Yin coldly gazes my way, she looks more
intently threatening than Garl himself.

Though my instinct is
to drop her wrist before she can follow up her threatening gaze
with an equally threatening attack
. . . I don't.

Again, it's like staring into the heart of fire
itself, waiting for it to engulf you.

“Are you scared? Do
you need something to hold onto?” she asks as she stares at my
hand. Though her words and attitude are undoubtedly challenging, I
sense slight hesitation in her tone.

“I'm . . .
not done talking to you,” I manage through bared teeth. I don't
mean to snap my words; it's the only way they can come
out.

There's something
about the mysterious Yin from the mountains that
. . . unsettles me.

Though unsettle isn't the right word, I can't think
of a better one as she continues to glare at me.

“Do you need some
help taking your hand off my wrist? Is it stuck?”

I keep baring my
teeth, but I don't let go
. “Stop acting
like a child. I need to ask you some questions,” I say, unable to
control the anger twisting through my tone.

She raises an eyebrow.

. . .
.

There's nothing that scares her, is there?

. . .
Except for
Garl.

I could mention him, warn that if she doesn't
cooperate completely, I'll tell him.

Maybe I should. After all, my primary concern now is
the Princess and her training, and Yin is an unwarranted
distraction from that.

Maybe my thoughts
play across my face, because her eyes open wider, her cheeks
slackening. Slowly, she presses her lips in hard against her
teeth
. “Go ahead. Go tell him. That's
what you're thinking, right? I'm not playing along, so go tell Garl
and see what he does. Hey, maybe Garl will get his strange white
and black guards to beat me into submission. Heck, maybe he'll let
you watch. You'd like that, right? Seeing me lose, that would make
you so happy—”

“No. Believe it or
not, I don't want to see you get hurt,” I say.

. . .
.

I mean it.

The words flow out of me. Like water from a broken
glass, there's no way to catch them once they are out.

She looks shocked, and to tell the truth, so am
I.

I let her hand go as I step backwards. My move is a
little too quick though, and I bang up against the bookcase behind
me. Without realizing it, I unsettle a book from the highest shelf,
and it comes tumbling down.

Quicker than a mountain lion, Yin steps in, lifts up,
and snaps the book out of the air before it can hit me on the
head.

Without a word, she hands it to me and steps back.
Then she crosses her arms and leans into the bookcase.

I hold the book, my
fingers a little sweaty
. “I
. . . thank you,” I manage.

She
nods
. “What do you want to know?” she
asks quietly.

“Whatever you know
about Castorious Barr,” I practically whisper.

Her expression
crumples
. “Sorry, what?”

“Does he have his own
magic?” I ask directly. I don't have the time to choose my words
carefully—I need to know what Castor is capable of. I also can't
waste any more time with Yin—the Princess is still waiting for
me.

Reminding myself of that fact, I draw up to my full
height and wait for Yin's answer.

“No,” she says,
looking shocked. “Everyone knows that.”

“I know the story. He
can't practice ordinary magic, nor illusion, nor any of the other
kinds. But . . .” I trail off, trying to put my diffuse
suspicions into words.

“But what? Castor
doesn't practice magic. Believe me, I would know,” Yin
interrupts.

I look at her from under a crumpled brow. Is she
telling the truth? I can tell my question has shocked her, and her
usual defensive expression has given way to crumpled-nose
confusion.

“He's powerful,” I
say flatly, trying to figure out exactly what I'm trying to
ask.

Is Castor a danger to the Kingdom? Does he have
something planned?

“Look, he doesn't
have any magic, and you're right, he is powerful. But what's this
about? Why do you care? You haven't seen him, have you?” her eyes
suddenly light up with hope. It's so very different to the fiery
challenging look she's usually shooting me. Now her cheeks are
slack, her lips parted as she waits for me to answer.

“I . . .
no,” I lie.

She crosses her arms
tighter
. “I can see you're lying. Fine,
whatever. Don't tell me. But don't expect me to answer your
questions,” she snaps.

Again my hackles rise at her reaction. She is so
quick to anger and bite back. She doesn't pause to assess a
situation—she jumps in snarling like a lion.

“You have an
obligation—” I begin.

“Don't threaten me,”
she says. If she snarled before, it's nothing to the vehemence
behind her words now. They could shake right through a man and
leave his courage as nothing more than dust.

I take an involuntary step back, my eyes widening at
her tone.

She takes a step back too, checking over her shoulder
as she does. As a touch of fear tightens her neck muscles and
contracts her cheeks, it's clear she's worried her guards will hear
and interrupt us.

“I've seen him. In
fact, I saw him less than ten minutes ago. He's at the barracks,” I
say.

I shouldn't. I should keep my mouth shut and not
breathe a word of Castor's presence; there is no good reason for
Yin to know.

I can't stop myself though.

Her threatening
expression completely collapses. It's like watching a wall fall
down. She lurches forward slightly, her eyes darting about as she
searches mine. Whereas once they burned with hatred, now they
flicker with tears
. “He's here? You're
. . . not lying? Can I see him? Is he okay?”

I'm not prepared for
her onslaught of emotion. It's so
. . . real. She isn't holding anything back,
isn't hiding how she feels.

It reminds me of how
she danced in the rain only that morning. Without a care for who
was watching. Now she doesn't seem concerned about showing her
vulnerability as she takes another step towards
me
. “Please, let me know.”

“He's fine. He's been
staying at the palace. He is working . . . with the Royal
Family,” I say, surprised at my own honesty, yet still careful
enough not to share the full story.

I watch her nose
crumple as her head jerks back slightly
.
“The Royal Family? What? Castor hates—” she cuts off
quickly.

Now I step
forward
. “He hates what? You said before
he despises class inequality. How much? I mean, would he be
prepared to . . . do something about it?” I can't find
the right words, and the ones that come tumbling out are weak, but
the sentiment is there.

I take another step forward. She doesn't shift
backwards, she just looks right up at me.

“No,” someone
answers.

It's an unmistakable voice, and with a snapped move,
I turn to see Castor walk up behind me. I twist so quickly, my
amour clanks and my boots scratch the floorboards.

“Castor,” Yin
exclaims as she anchors a hand on my arm and pushes past
me.

She flings herself past me and right at Castor.

Though he accepts her embrace, almost immediately he
pushes her back.

I can see her shock. No, I can feel it. It washes off
her in waves.

“Castor, I
. . . where have you been?” Yin asks, her words thick
with tears.

They streak down her cheeks, collecting along her
chin, but not once does she move to wipe them off. She's crying,
and it seems she doesn't care.

Again I'm reminded of her dancing in the rain.

Castor barely looks at her. Instead he shifts his
gaze over her head and locks it on me.

Though his expression is not outwardly challenging,
my skin crawls.

“Captain Yang, you
will learn nothing from my former apprentice that you can’t learn
from me. You don't need to interrupt her training when all you have
to do is ask me instead,” Castor says.

His voice is controlled, smooth, and calm.

Yet it feels like ice
forming in my blood. There's just
. . . such a cold, warning presence about the
man. It's not in his tone, nor his expression, nor his choice of
words.

It’s simply in him.

I start pumping my left hand back and forth.

“Castor, what's going
on?” Yin asks as she takes a step back, staring from me to her
mentor. She locks a hand on her arm, and I can see from the white
touch of her knuckles that she holds on fast.

I barely glance her way though. Instead I hold all my
attention for Castor. Turning from him would feel like turning your
back on a rampaging bear. Or, aptly, the most terrifying warrior in
all the lands.

“Your presence is
requested back in the discussion room. We . . . wish to
convey that we are now ready to begin where we left off,” I say,
muddling over my words as I try to hide the truth from
Yin.

She's still slowly turning her head between the both
of us, her confusion so palpable, it feels like I could reach out a
hand and hold it.

“From that rather
opaque statement I take it to mean the Princess is now ready to
train on my terms,” Castor smiles.

I
baulk
. “This is no place to discuss
this,” I say quickly.

“It isn't?” Castor
barely looks at me as he now swivels his attention to
Yin.

She is understandably
confused
. “What's going on?” she
hisses.

“You are sworn to
secrecy,” I quickly interrupt.

Castor doesn't even look at me. Instead he stares at
Yin, his gaze darting down towards her left hand.

She's secured the bandage over her hand once more,
even though there's no injury to protect.

“What happened?” he
reaches towards her.

When she hugged him before, he barely reacted. Now
that facade of indifference collapses. He looks exactly as
protective as he did in the cart when he warned me he would break
me.