Chapter 27
Chapter
Twenty-Seven
“Willawood, get up and put your combat uniform on. Now!” Sawyer’s voice screamed through my door, jolting me awake and inducing anxiety all at once.
I flew upright and to the side, falling out of my bed with only the sheet wrapped around me as a cushion. Moaning in pain, I glanced up at the clock. “Fuck, Sawyer, it’s five in the morning. What happened to training at night?”
“This isn't for training. Get up and meet me in the hall.”
Normally I would argue, but the severity of his tone told me not to.
Wiping the crust from my eyes, I fumbled around in the darkness for my uniform, pulling it on along with my boots. I searched for my cloak, but still half asleep, had no luck in retrieving it.
When I had fulfilled his request, I met Sawyer in the hall, slamming my door behind me. “What could you possibly want from me at five in the morning?” I sneered, a blatant scowl residing across my face.
“I don't want anything. The trials are today.”
“Trials?” I asked mid-yawn.
“Soldier trials for the first years.”
“First I’m hearing of this.”
“Yeah, that's the point. Surprise.” He waved his fingers in the air.
“Pretty shitty surprise,” I grumbled, shaking my body loose and then following Sawyer's heavy strides.
He led me outside, back to my old dormitory building, where all of the other first years were gathered. We met up with Pia and Kohen, who both looked as exhausted as I felt.
“What exactly happens during these trials?” I asked, though I couldn't help but notice the wide-eyed look Kohen and Sawyer gave each other.
“Yeah. And why weren’t we told about it?” Pia questioned.
“No one knows when the trials will occur except for King Hawthorne. And we are forbidden to speak of them. The first years aren't allowed to have any time to prepare,” Kohen answered.
“What will we be doing?” I asked, reiterating my previous question through my chattering teeth. Fuck, it was cold for spring.
“Battling each other,” Sawyer replied simply.
“That's it?”
“Well, yeah. Except for the weakest participants will be killed,” he added.
My eyelids peeled from my skull and my blood heated enough to stop my shivering. “You're joking.” I was so weak right now that I could hardly eat, let alone fight for my life.
“Wish I was.”
“How many get killed?” A.K.A., how many would I have to beat to stay alive?
“Five.”
Five. Just five. Okay. Even at my worst, I was confident that I was stronger than the weakest five—I hoped.
“That's so incredibly fucked up,” Pia spat, her skin turning green with nausea.
“We should have at least had a warning,” I added with a scowl directed at the head soldiers.
“We can stand here and debate this or you both can shut up and let Kohen and I give you the rundown,” Sawyer said as he crossed his arms over his chest.
“I thought you were forbidden to speak about it,” I mocked, crossing my own arms.
“Do you want to die? Because no offense, Maeve, but you certainly aren't the strongest in your year right now.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I’ve been kicking your ass in our training sessions for weeks. Am I wrong?”
My arms fell to my sides in submission.
Kohen interrupted Sawyer and mine’s bickering. “You’ll each be given a random opponent. You can use your magic and weapons to fight. You win your first trial, you're safe. If you lose, you’ll fight another loser. Win that battle, then you're safe. So on and so forth until only five are left.”
“Why kill the losers? Why not just let them go home?” Pia asked, her worry adamant in her voice. She didn't need to worry. She was one of the best wielders in our class. She wouldn't be killed, I had no doubt about that. Myself, on the other hand…
“King Hawthorne believes they are too weak to be effective soldiers, but still too much of a threat with their jewels to be kept alive.”
“Remove their jewels then,” Pia pleaded.
“That's forbidden. You know that,” Kohen reminded.
“Oh, but killing innocent people isn't?” I jeered, my eyes rolling so far back that I swear I could see my skull.
“I’ll have to have a word with uncle Aldous about this,” Pia complained, her face scrunched into a deep scowl.
“Do they do this in our second year, too? Or can you not tell us that either?” I commented, my tone fairly rude.
Sawyer cut in, “Gods, will the two of you just shut up for two damn minutes? We are trying to keep you both from dying!”
With our attention pointed at him, Sawyer continued. “Don't use your magic unless you have to. Preserve your energy. You’ll get a choice between a sword and a dagger. I know you don't have much experience with it, but pick the sword.”
“Don't be afraid to get some blood on your hands. Do what you have to do to stay alive.”
Everyone's head shot around at the sound of Sebastian's voice, except for mine.
Pia won her first trial.
I lost mine.
I lost my second trial, too.
And my third. I was too weak. Too sick.
I hadn't used my magic at all. I wanted to preserve my energy for when I really needed it like Sawyer said. I also didn't want anyone to see how weak I was, but that had already backfired.
There were twenty of us left. If I lost this next battle, I would be in the bottom ten. Only one more loss away from my death.
“You're scaring me, Willawood,” Sawyer cautioned.
“Join the club.”
“What's going on with you? Stop being stubborn and use your damn magic. It's almost like you want to die,” he replied.
“You said not to.”
“No. I said don’t use it unless you have to. And, uh, news flash, you have to.”
“He's right. If there's ever been a time to use it, it's now.”
With gritted teeth, I slowly spun on my heel to face Sebastian. “No shit.”
“Oh sorry. Did I scare you? I meant to approach with caution, I know you can be grumpy in the morning,” Sebastian’s sarcasm slivered off his tongue with his words.
“What do you want?”
Sebastian scoffed. “Can I have a word alone?”
Not seeing a choice, I stepped away with him.
After making sure no one could overhear us, Sebastian's tone lowered to one of concern. “What's going on? You could have won your first trial if you used your magic. Mind compulsion versus an earth wielder—they would have stood no chance.”
“Yeah, maybe I could have won. Or I could have passed out and blew my cover. I’m better off fighting with just my hands,” I retorted.
“Just do a simple command, make your opponent freeze in their tracks or some shit. I dunno. Anything!”
I blinked at him. Did he not see the way my muscles had atrophied? Or how I could hardly stand with him now without wobbling on my feet.
“I can’t,” I said under my breath, not needing to elaborate any further.
“This is exactly why I should be training you. You wouldn't be so weak that you—”
“Maeve Willawood and Deane Jursen, please make your way to mat four,” the announcer's voice cut through Sebastian’s.
“Gotta go.” I practically ran from him, then crouched alongside mat four, taking a few calming breaths in preparation to face my next opponent.
A hand grazed my shoulder, and I looked up, surprised at the company.
“You seem to be having a tough time today,” Lucan whispered to me.
“You could say that again.”
“What's going on? You haven't even touched your magic.”
“I wanted to prove that I could beat my opponents without it,” I lied to the king's advisor. “However, I am yet to be successful with that.” I rolled back to a sit, drooping my head between my knees. “This is certainly not how I thought I’d die,” I whispered back.
Lucan followed my form, clasping his hand over my own. “You will not die.” His fingers fumbled around, and he tucked something into my palm before pulling his hand back.
I looked up at him, confusion plastered on my cheeks. “What—”
He held a finger to his lips. “Our little secret,” he said, then stood up and left without another word.
I glanced around to make sure no one was looking before I unclenched my fist. I held a small capsule, turquoise and shining in my palm. Ridgeroot—I would know the color of the crushed herb anywhere. Where did he get such a delicacy? And why would he give it to me?
It didn't matter. Ridgeroot had power enhancing abilities, which the gods knew I could use. If I took the capsule, it was cheating. If I didn't, I very well could die.
Quite the moral dilemma.
The families of the losing soldiers were invited to come to their executions later that evening.
The wails released from their loved ones as the losers were hung were sounds I would never erase from my memory. I could hear them all the way from my bedchambers, despite closing my window tightly when I arrived back.
I was bloody and bruised from my last trial.
I had almost lost again—my attempt to break through my opponent's shield failed.
There was too much chaos for me to effectively wield, but I did try.
Luckily, I was able to jam the tip of my sword in his thigh, just deep enough to make him bleed, but lame enough to keep him from bleeding out.
When he stumbled and fell to his back in agony, I was declared the winner.
He lost his last trial.
I bet it was his mother’s sobs I heard from my window.
I cried in the shower, though my tears were not as heavy as those of the losers when they discovered that they would soon die. They tried to run, tried to fight the guards as they pulled them towards the dungeons, but they had no say in their fate.
Dressed but still in shock, it took me a moment to react to the soft knock on my door. I shuffled to the entryway, pulling the handle open to reveal Sawyer.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” I answered.
“You okay?”
I choked back the truth and nodded.
“Need some company?”
I nodded once more.