Chapter 31
Thirty-One
The viewing platforms weren’t in the training arena yesterday.
“What in Nox’s name...” I ask under my breath, taking a hesitant step forward.
Where yesterday stood only the simple clay training ground, now wooden structures rise from each corner of the arena, their surfaces grainy with fresh-cut lumber and the unmistakable shimmer of protective wards.
The platforms tower at least fifteen feet high, accessible by narrow staircases that wind upward.
A line of Keepers stand at the front of the platform, their navy-embroidered cloaks catching the sunrise. I count twelve of them—no, fifteen—positioned at even intervals around the perimeter, their faces hidden beneath their hoods.
Rook materializes at my side, her usual smooth gate stuttering to a halt. “You’re seeing this too, right? I’m not hallucinating?”
“If you are, we both are. What’s going on?”
“No idea, but it must be for us.” She gestures toward the rest of our class being directed under the east platform meant for spectating, as if the rickety overhang might protect us from whatever’s about to happen in the center of the arena.
Davrin has yet to move underneath it, instead pausing at the fringes, his forehead creased. I assume he’s wondering about the Veil Keepers’ observance, too.
“Sweet Lux, even the Master Keeper is here,” Rook breathes.
She isn’t mistaken. The front line of navy cloaks on the north platform part in the middle as the Master Keeper takes his place in the center, the bone of his skull mask glaring white despite the slight shade of his hood.
His presence here doesn’t signal anything good, especially in an arena where nothing nice has ever happened to any of us.
“It’s not just the Master Keeper,” I murmur, my attention drifting to the space beneath the main platform.
The sight makes me grab onto Rook’s arm for support.
Standing directly under the Master Keeper’s platform is a man I’ve never seen before, but his uniform is oh-so-familiar.
Tall and dignified, with muscles that strain against his Elite colors, he surveys the arena with hooded eyes.
Deep scars crisscross his exposed forearms where his sleeves are rolled up.
His face is chiseled from what appears to be living granite, weathered by the kinds of battles I can’t imagine, and his gaze .
.. gods, he’s assessing us like a hawk selecting which rabbit to devour first.
“That’s Heathan.” Rook clears her throat before clarifying, “Elite Render Heathan Barnes.”
My lungs seize. Another Elite. While Falcen isn’t kind by any means, at least I can somewhat predict his preferred level of torment. But with this new one, I’m in the dark.
As if predicting my question, Rook supplies, “Resonant Barnes has been at the academy for years. He oversees advanced combat trials for adepts transitioning to render status.”
The hairs at the back of my neck prickle. If Heathan mostly deals with adepts, what is he doing here?
Ember twists in my gut, wary of the situation as well. Nausea scrapes at my ribs.
“Where’s Reaves?” I ask, scanning the arena for his familiar silhouette.
“I haven’t seen him,” Rook admits. “Wait, there he is.”
She points at the far side of the arena, where a figure emerges from the tunnel’s darkness.
Falcen.
His usual scowl lines are etched deep around his mouth, but his jaw is flexing, muscles in his neck straining like they want to rip through skin. He’s stalking forward, but when he sees Heathan, he stops.
His pause is so brief, I might’ve been like everyone else and missed it, but I’ve spent too much time with him to miss the way his eyes betray him when they lock on Heathan.
Surprise. Recognition. Grief.
What in the gods’ names is going on?
“Initiates!” The Master Keeper’s voice booms, amplified by soul-magic until the very air vibrates. “Today you are privileged to witness the top echelon of talent that our great Resonance Academy produces.”
Students shift nervously under the east platform while Rook and I remain frozen at the outskirts. I can’t tear my attention away from Falcen as he approaches the center of the arena.
Are they going to hurt Falcen? Does he have that Elite healing liquid on his belt? Are Void widows about to pour out and attack both Elites? My eyes dart around the arena, searching for the trap.
“If you two are done gaping,” Keeper Malakai drones behind us, “Perhaps you may join your comrades, unless you prefer the Master Keeper to smite you where you stand.”
“Apologies, Keeper Malakai,” Rook murmurs, then grabs my hand and pulls me with her.
Heads down, Rook and I shuffle toward the cluster of initiates while the Master Keeper continues.
“As you may have surmised, this is not a routine training session,” the Master Keeper intones, his voice drilling into my skull as I pass by. “Today, you will observe a combat assessment between Elite Renders Reaves and Barnes.”
Ember explodes inside me with such ferocity that I stagger, needing Rook’s arm to hold me upright.
GET AWAY FROM HERE! NOW!
“Verily! Are you okay?” Rook’s brown eyes are wide, her voice sharp with concern, though she keeps it low.
I stare at her, mouth open, one hand pressed to my ear. Ember’s warning was so loud I’m half-convinced Rook must have heard it too.
“Verily?” she asks again.
“I—I’m fine,” I lie, fighting to steady myself as Ember’s panic ricochets through my skull. “Just dizzy.”
Rook steadies me, her grip ironclad. “You’re not fine. You’re white as a wraith.”
The arena swims and I blink hard, forcing my vision to clear. Falcen and Heathan stand at the east and west sides of the circle now, facing each other with the kind of stillness that only comes before disaster.
“This assessment will demonstrate the full capabilities of our Elite Renders, if you manage to make it as far as they have. More than half of you won’t,” the Master Keeper continues, spitting that fact like the blow of a hammer. “No restrictions. No limitations in this battle.”
No limitations? I scan the arena again, picking out details I missed before, like the reinforced barriers around the viewing platforms, the extra Hollows at every exit, the doubled-up guards.
Oh, for Lux’s sake. This isn’t a demonstration. This is a spectacle.
“Some of you may be wondering why two of our most accomplished Elite Renders face each other today,” the Master Keeper adds, his voice dropping to a theatrical hush that somehow carries through his bone mask.
“Consider this a lesson in consequences. Resonant Reaves abandoned his post. Left his duties. Forsook his oath to the academy. And now, he must demonstrate why we should continue to tolerate his presence among us.”
“I need to leave,” I whisper to Rook.
Rook looks at me, her gaze narrowed, but I’m not paying attention to her. My gaze is fixed across the training arena where Falcen takes up position.
Every sane part of me screams to run. Ember is a predator pacing the cage of my ribs. She thrives in bloodshed, and I have never once been able to keep her contained when the scent of it is thick in the air.
But my feet are rooted to the ground. I can’t stop staring at Falcen, a whirlwind of dark grace and lethal skill. I remember the feeling of his soul knitting itself back together under my touch, the way my magick answered a call his body made.
While Falcen moves with deadly calm, Heathan is a brute, even with his back to us, a wall of muscle and malice.
By all that is Lux, I can’t leave. Falcen said I could do the impossible. If he’s hurt, truly hurt, no one else in this gods-damned academy can bring him back. Only me.
The risk of unleashing Ember is terrifying. But the certainty of Falcen dying without me is worse.
“Verily, where would you go?” Rook responds. “Keepers and guards are everywhere.”
Falcen’s head snaps up as if he heard us. His eyes find mine across the arena, sharp and unerring, as if he can feel my panic through the distance spanning between us.
His mask slips, revealing a warning only for me, before he forces his stone expression back in place.
Run.
Twisting away from Rook, I sprint toward the exit.
“Begin!”
The Master Keeper’s command shatters any free will I had remaining.
Ember brings me to my knees just outside the platform, my back arching as I tip my head toward the open sky and release a silent scream.
Fire explodes through my veins, Ember’s anxiety flooding every cell in my body. My fingernails dig into the packed red clay of the arena as I fight her for control, but her terror is absolute.
“Verily!” Rook’s voice sounds distant, underwater. “What’s wrong?”
I can’t answer her. I’m drowning in magick, my vision fracturing into prisms of amber light as Ember surges forward.
Though I fight her, Ember turns my head, and through our shared sight, I’m forced to watch Falcen and Heathan circle each other and begin.
When their soul-weapons materialize, the air cracks. Falcen’s bright sword is a welcome sight, but Heathan’s weapon, a massive war hammer, glows brighter.
They collide with a boom. The impact sends a shock wave rippling outward, kicking up dust and debris. The initiates cry out, covering their heads as the platforms above us groan.
Stop fighting me, Ember hisses inside me. Look at them. Really look. See what I’m trying to protect you from.
I surrender for just a moment, allowing her vision to overlay mine.
And the world transforms.
Falcen’s outline flickers, in and out, before I start seeing inside him. Underneath the lines of his body I can make out … what is that? Folded tight around his spine?
What in the…?
Not him. He is no danger to you yet.
Ember forces my eyes to flick to the left, to Heathan. And Lux preserve me, his inhuman shadow stretches impossibly large, and the shine of black scales ripple under the bare skin of his arms.
Ember’s no longer the only one panicking.
What is this? Ember, what in Nox’s multiple hells am I seeing?