Chapter 7
It’s the middle of the night, early the following week, when someone shines a flashlight in my face. My eyes peel open, and I squint against the brightness, my heart starting to race.
“Get dressed,” comes a muffled voice. I glimpse someone dressed in black, their face obscured by a plain leather masquerade mask.
I guess it’s my turn.
My pulse thrashes so fast that my head swims as I sit up. I glance over at Trinity’s bed and note it’s already empty.
Quickly, I throw off my covers and head to the bathroom, past a sleeping Winter and Lacey, to dress in my casual uniform attire.
I come out and throw on my dress coat, securing the buttons and the ribbon around my waist. After I tie up my boots, the mysterious masked person grabs me by the arm and tugs me toward the door.
Outside, two more masked figures stand, their hands clasped behind their backs.
“Follow,” one says, then they turn and start walking.
I do as they ask while my first chaperone brings up the rear.
The lights in the halls are dim, barely illuminating my way.
I squint into the shadowed corners as my skin itches.
A storm is gathering, and I curse, worried it might throw off my focus.
Of the students who were taken from our history class a week ago, one didn’t make it back. Connor O’Tool from House Fiama failed his test and hasn’t been heard from since. For now, I try to put it out of my thoughts.
As we march down various halls, I peer at the masked face behind me, but it gives away nothing. Where is Trinity? I’m sure they’re forcing me to walk alone to make this more intimidating.
It’s working.
We reach the end of a corridor, and one of the figures in front opens a door to an internal stairwell that leads into the dark. We continue marching, our boots echoing against steel. Down, down we go, and I realize we’re headed for the tunnels.
Panic shadows the corners of my sight, and I will my fluttering breath to settle. My fear of tight spaces will affect my ability to be my best, too. I take another steadying breath as we circle lower, the stairs transforming from metal to stone.
The smells of the tunnels—stale water and abandoned refuse—drift up to meet us. I cling to the wall for support, carefully placing one foot in front of the other, worried about pitching forward and making a complete ass of myself.
I glance back again, and the masked figure shakes their head in a warning.
I swallow a knot and continue the trek into the bowels of New Manhattan.
Finally, we reach the lowest level and enter a rounded tunnel, flooded with an inch of water and floating shapeless objects that I try not to think too hard about.
I’m led deeper through the underground, willing myself not to throw up from the pressing sensation of being buried alive.
Technically, there are exits everywhere we turn.
Ladders lead to the surface, where hatches open into the streets.
Except most of them are rusted and don’t really look like they’d hold my weight.
Calm down.
I blink and then blink again, trying to adjust to the darkness. A black spot hovers in the corner of my vision, obscuring my surroundings just enough to throw me off-kilter.
We turn a few more corners as the floor dries, revealing crumbled brick and other debris. I listen to the sounds of our footsteps and the echoing drips of water in the distance. After years of living with my father, my hearing is well attuned to sounds that might signal danger.
Finally, we turn another corner to find a circular opening where a massive, heavy door sits open—a vault.
I stop walking, panic clawing up my throat.
Are they planning to lock me in there?
Something pokes me in the back.
“Keep moving,” growls the voice behind the mask. I exhale a shaky breath and then step over the threshold into a small room filled with several more masked figures.
Four people stand before me. Three men, bare-chested and wearing black pants, and the other a woman in a sleeveless jumpsuit. I assume this must be the four student leaders of each House.
“Pledge,” says one of the male voices. I think it’s Devon from Fiama. “You have a choice. To which Society do you seek initiation?”
I scan the silent masks in the room.
“Fiama,” I say, hoping no one picks up on the wobble in my tone.
Devon steps to the side, revealing a small pen with a thin, wiry man sitting cross-legged on the floor.
“Then your first test is to fight hand to hand with this man who has committed egregious crimes against Society. He has agreed to a combat to the death for a lesser sentence. If you win, you’ll move on to the next round.
If you lose, your future becomes far more uncertain. ”
I barely absorb his words; my brain is stuck on “combat to the death.” They don’t really expect me to kill someone, do they?
My palms sweat as I study the man. He watches me with a neutral expression, as though a battle for his life is of only passing interest. I can’t tell if that means he isn’t afraid of me—or if I should be afraid of him.
My nostrils flare with indignation. “Was he actually given a choice? What did he do?”
“He hurt innocents,” Devon answers, which is really only half an answer.
“Our sworn duty as House Fiama is to ensure New Manhattan remains safe and under control. We do that by eliminating those who refuse to follow our laws. Criminals deserve no mercy, thinking only of themselves and not the greater good.”
It takes me a moment to process his words. I understand that it’s Fiama’s duty to keep order within our city, but surely not like this?
The atmosphere tenses, and I feel like I’m missing some important detail.
“Who would come up with such a test?” I demand, suddenly furious on the man’s behalf.
A pause hangs in the air before Devon slips off his mask, something uncertain passing over his expression. “I mean . . . your father, of course?”
Of course. Every scion devises their House tests, changing things up every year to maintain some level of secrecy. Of course, my father would be one to devise a test so barbaric.
I understand he rules with an iron fist. That he’s often lauded for how safe he keeps the city. His predecessor failed in his duty, and riots led to countless deaths. I know better than most what kind of man he is, but maybe I never truly understood how far his cruelty stretches.
“I won’t do it,” I say, lifting my chin. I notice several people in the corner shifting uncomfortably on their feet.
“You have to,” Devon counters.
“You said I had a choice. I choose something else.”
His brows furrow. “Well . . . technically you do, but . . . you’re the scion’s daughter.”
Of course, he’s right. What am I even saying?
I shake my head, tears gathering in the back of my throat. My father would never forgive me if I didn’t pledge to House Fiama.
But could I ever forgive myself if I kill this man?
Criminal or not, he’s still a human being.
“I don’t know if I can. I’ve never taken a human life,” I whisper.
Devon’s uncertainty morphs into hardness. “You aren’t taking a human life. You’re taking a criminal’s life.” He shifts to his other foot and points at the man trapped inside his cage. “You want to pledge to House Fiama? Then it’s time to grow up. This is the only way we protect everything we have.”
Those words become a cold dose of realization injected through my veins.
He’s being completely serious. They want me to kill someone.
Even when my father isn’t in the room, I feel his controlling hand. I run a finger across the scar on my cheek as my stomach lurches. I think I might be sick.
Kill a man or face my father’s wrath.
I call up a memory of his fist swinging toward me, then shove the image away.
This test is my father’s choice. It would never be mine. I drop my hand.
“No. I choose a different test.”
Devon’s gaze shifts to the other three student leaders, who all shrug.
“Then which one?” Devon asks.
I consider his question. Now that I’ve started this, I have no idea what I’m doing.
I glance at the man as rage for my father swirls in my gut.
This man isn’t mindless. I see his burning soul in his eyes.
I don’t know his story. I don’t know who he is.
Cog? Hollow? Maybe even Society? It doesn’t matter.
In the law’s eyes, he is only one thing now. A burden.
Shame colors my cheeks on behalf of everyone in this room, including myself. No one here even considers his life to be worth anything now.
The other leaders have removed their masks, and my gaze catches Stevie’s. I was already drawn to her confidence, and nothing would piss off my dad more than testing for Aria.
My fists clench at my sides. “What’s the test for Aria?”
“You run the tower of fire,” Stevie immediately says.
I have no idea what she’s talking about. “What’s that?”
“No,” Devon says, lifting a hand. “This isn’t choose your own fucking adventure. You pick a House. That’s it. No more questions and no more dithering. Fiama or Aria?”
“Aria,” I say without hesitation, suddenly sure this is the right choice.
I don’t even understand the repercussions and how deep this could ripple.
Obviously, I’m still destined for Fiama, and I’ll make it up in the next round. I think of our first day, when they laid out the rules of our initiations. They said we have to pass two of three tests for our chosen House, so I’ll just choose Fiama for the others.
I’ve heard of it happening before. After the first trial, people sometimes change their minds about their desired House. It’s part of The Shield’s mandate that we all have a say in how we live the rest of our lives. They want people to be sure of their choice. So I can fix this.
My eyes widen as the consequences of this decision truly hit me.
If I fail this first test, I’m out. So I have to pass tonight.
Of course, choosing Aria now means a bigger challenge ahead and no room for error on the next two tests.
I might also be resigning myself to something even worse down the road, but I’ll have to take that chance.
Devon and Stevie exchange a loaded glance.
“Really?” Stevie asks.
“Really.” I try to make it sound more confident than I feel as I take a deep breath and square my shoulders.
“You’re sure?” Devon asks, giving me one last chance to change my mind.
“Poet,” comes another voice to my left. My cousin Anan tears off his mask. “What the fuck are you doing?”
When House Fiama finds out I chose Aria’s test, there will be consequences.
But it’s also at that moment that I realize how trapped I feel.
I’m the property of two men I hate. All my decisions have been made for me.
I don’t care if this is the “wrong” choice, and I refuse to kill a man.
Tonight, I’m choosing what I want.
I turn back to Devon and nod.
“I’m sure.”