Chapter 8 #3
I look up as we pass through an archway, ivy leaves hanging down above our heads as we climb down a set of stairs that lead to a small, pebbled trail.
Pine trees surround us, the smell invigorating and peaceful.
We don’t have pine trees in Brylan, as they don’t particularly thrive in ports.
I could get used to being surrounded by their aroma, though.
It’s freedom without inhibitions and solidarity all rolled into one.
A person could become addicted to that smell.
The trees open to the usual gloomy skies as we break through the end of the trail and come to an enormous field of sorts.
In the dead center is the next test of how deep our will to survive goes.
Three separate steel doors stand resolute like sentinels, weathered and scarred.
On each side are thick rock walls stretching upward, thirty—no, thirty-six feet high.
Walls that appear very thick and high enough not to be able to climb over.
These walls were meant to keep things out.
Or keep something in.
The training field, vast and open, seems to shrink around it. I can feel the stillness pressing into my lungs. The kind that makes itself known right before a trial takes place. The kind that’s designed to push the candidates to their breaking point.
We’re one of the last to arrive, but we can still easily see the front.
Professor Lyric and the young professor I saw earlier are standing in front of the middle door, with Noctryns and Veils on either side.
The breath catches in my throat. Ambrose is among those Veils.
He stands tall with both hands behind his back, his athletic build at attention and ready for orders. His shoulder-length hair is pulled back from his face, allowing his arctic eyes to really stand out in contrast to his tan skin.
I stare unabashedly at him since he doesn’t know where I am in the crowd.
The man has always been beautiful, but his physique has changed so much over the past year that he no longer even looks like the boy I grew up with.
He’s harder and more sculpted in places where he was lean, and his entire demeanor is more polished and refined.
He’s becoming the epitome of a Salaryan soldier.
I lick my lips.
It looks fucking good on him.
His sharp gaze swings across the field, landing right on me. As if he could feel my stare.
I give him a meek little wave.
Ever so slightly, he lowers his chin, acknowledging me.
Ah, quite the little soldier aren’t we, Ambrose? Not even breaking form to smile or wave.
Such a good boy.
I can’t help the little smirk that plays across my face. This rigid version of him is so different from the reckless hellion I knew him to be. It’s doing things to me.
Finnley bristles next to me as he takes in the sight before us. I know he’s running a million different scenarios through his head, trying to figure out the best means of survival. I’ve learned that’s how his mind works. Assess, dissect, and solve.
Like it or not, this is happening.
Our final trial in the Death Bringer.
I, for one, am just happy it’s almost over.
The sound of a raven cawing overhead and the sun being completely obscured by dark clouds set a foreboding backdrop to the difficult task ahead.
It’s so unlike anything at home, where you’re more likely to hear waves crashing upon the shore while searching for the perfect seashell or bawdy laughter from one of the many taverns in the busy port town.
Everything about Kintoira is ominous. It’s like a constant warning to count your days. It’s exhausting in a way. I haven’t let my guard down since the night I arrived. To do so would be a colossal mistake and one I’m not willing to make.
I crack my neck and focus on the task at hand.
Professor Lyric claps his hands, and any chatter among us dies out quickly.
The professor who’s been following him around steps forward, his tall, slender frame the exact opposite of Professor Lyric’s.
A timid expression seems to be permanently painted on his face with sunken eyes that are always darting around like he’s in constant fight-or-flight mode.
“Good day, ladies and gentlemen. I trust we are all here and no one tried to sneak off?” he jokes in a nasally nervous tone.
He’s met with an awkward silence, much like the professor’s introduction before him.
Tough crowd.
He breaks eye contact with us and looks down at the back of his hands, examining his fingernails in great detail.
Without bringing his gaze back up, he continues talking but inspects the back of his hands while doing so.
He’s a bit odd, honestly. His twitchy movements give me anxiety, and I don’t even have anxiety.
“As you can see, your next task awaits you behind these walls. These very walls were set up specifically for your last trial, and tomorrow, everything you see before you will be gone.” He jerks his head to the side in a quick motion.
“Back to our training field once again. However, don’t let that fool you into thinking this was constructed quickly and without great thought to make this as difficult and trying as possible. ”
I laugh under my breath.
Of course, we wouldn’t make the mistake of thinking that. The main objective here is to weed out anyone who doesn’t want it enough or is too weak to survive the academy.
We get it. Everything this week is meant to kill us, maim us, or ruin us.
Noted.
“In case you haven’t figured it out yet, you and your teammate will be working your way through a carefully constructed maze.
” His eyes dart upward before flying back down to his hands.
“But this isn’t just any maze. No, don’t fall into a false sense of safety.
This one is filled with darkness and unlike anything you’ve come across this far in your short lives.
It is filled with creations of dark magic that will strip you to the essence of your core. ”
The Noctryns alongside him throw us taunting grins.
Slowly, I sneak a peek at Ambrose to gauge his reaction to all of this.
Is this what he went through? I wonder if the trials are replaced each year with new ones.
I know his feelings on dark magic, and to say he hates everything Noctryn would be an understatement.
He’s way too self-righteous to ever think there is a valid reason to use any kind of magic except the one that manifests within us.
The one that slumbers since birth, just waiting to be awakened.
A boy, a few inches taller than my five-foot-four frame, moves directly in front of me, making it difficult to even see Ambrose.
I shuffle a bit to the right to get a better view. When I spot him again, his eyes are already on me. The concern and frustration filling them are the only things that aren’t rigid and battle-ready. He can mold everything into their demands except his eyes. Those will always tell me the truth.
It sucks, with him being there and me here. Opposite ends of the playing field but with the same objective. And with what feels like endless hoops to jump through until we can just be with each other again.
He was mine before theirs. Now I have to share him.
I curl my hands into tight fists.
I’ve never been very good at sharing.
I lower my eyes and move back to my spot in the crowd. There’s no sense in torturing myself any more than I already do. The professor is speaking, and I missed some of it because my heart is on my sleeve, and I can’t seem to keep my eyes or mind off Ambrose.
“You’ll line up in pairs in front of one of the three sets of doors.
After receiving your malediction, you will both enter at the same time,” he informs us.
“You can ask me any questions at any time before you enter. After that, sadly, you are on your own.” He scratches the back of his hand while nodding his head in approval.
“I’m Professor Tainey, by the way. Almost forgot to mention that!
” he adds. His tongue comes out to quickly lick his lips as he raises his eyes to meet ours before swiftly lowering them again and moving to Professor Lyric’s side.
It’s all done in jerky motions, and just watching him is stressful.
“Everyone, line up. Hurry now,” Professor Lyric demands urgently.
He pushes a pair of timid-looking girls, hovering off to the side, toward the third maze with his small, chubby hands.
The girls throw a cautious look over their shoulders as they quickly shuffle to the steel doors.
They’re probably scared he’s going to throw them into the maze.
Mallory breaks my attention by grabbing my shoulders and pulling me into a strong hug. I’ve never really had girlfriends before. It’s different but nice. They’re a lot more affectionate, though, and I’m not sure how I feel about that yet.
The verdict is still out.
“Don’t forget, we have a party in our room to attend tonight,” she promises quietly before pulling back.
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” I say, offering her a bright smile that I don’t necessarily feel inside. If my face reflected how I actually feel, it would come out more like a grimace.
Mayline approaches Mallory from behind, and you can see the resolution in her spine. She has her war face on, and I know Mallory is in good hands. They made Mayline a lieutenant for a reason. She exudes the leadership skills you read about.
Still not sure why they made me one.
“Good luck to you both,” she says to Finnley and me in that stern way of hers.
Finnley, who’s now leaning half his weight on my shoulder, blows her a kiss. “You too, babe.”
With a roll of her eyes, she turns to walk toward the maze doors, pulling Mallory along.
“See you on the other side!” Mallory yells over her shoulder while simultaneously tripping over her feet. She keeps her eyes on Finnley and me as long as seemingly possible, almost as if she’s scared this is the last time she’ll be able to.