Chapter Twenty-Four
T wo massive arched doors, hewn from dark wood and traced with intricate arabesques, open to a granite corridor lined with torches.
Hopeful examinees funnel in, some murmuring anxiously while others laugh, giddy and overflowing with confidence.
A few walk in stony silence. Marcella and I keep pace together, exchanging occasional glances, walking in our own peaceful quiet.
When we emerge on the other side of the torch-lined corridor, the brightness is so sudden and jarring, I shield my eyes with my hand while my pupils adjust. I catch a blurry glimpse of Marcella doing the same.
It takes a few seconds, but my eyes adapt, and the sight before me sharpens into stunning clarity, unlike anything I have ever seen.
The walls of polished marble rise high, seemingly into the cloudless sky, gleaming under the soft glow of a circle of braziers.
Above, a grand dome composed of glass allows the sunlight to cascade through, bathing the space in a kaleidoscope of colors.
The outer-circle of the arena is divided into four sections with tiered seating that spirals up and up.
Grand, milky columns rise in seemingly endless rows.
I glimpse a slew of balconies, one significantly larger and better crafted than the others, its marble railing adorned with twisting banisters.
Adjacent to that balcony rests a mezzanine.
On that mezzanine, five empty, lavish chairs wait beneath their respective banners, each one boasting unique colors and emblems. I recognize one of the banners as the same emblem from the uniform of the man who checked me in .
Marcella lets out a low whistle. “Fancy.”
I chuckle while scanning all the faces, looking for Gray. But all I manage to find are unfamiliar eyes, unfamiliar lips, and unfamiliar bodies.
Marcella tilts her head, her brows pulling together. “Are you looking for someone?”
“Yes. A friend of mine. We traveled here together, but we were separated just before I met you.”
“What does he look like?”
I arch a brow at her. “How do you know it’s a he?”
She just snorts a laugh and arches a challenging brow right back. “Well?”
I eye her a moment longer before sighing.
“Shoulder-length brown hair that’s almost always half-pulled back into a bun.
He has hazel eyes that are a rich mix of moss, copper, and gold.
His tunic is brown with gold stitching, and he almost always has his satchel strapped across his chest. Tall, muscular build, he—”
Marcella pins me with her humored gaze, a teasing smirk dancing on her face.
My arms fold over each other while my eyes do a spin. “What? You asked what he looks like.”
Her voice drips with honey as it pours through her saccharine smile. “He sounds very handsome.”
I click my tongue. “Don’t get the wrong idea. We were practically raised together. He…” My voice softens. “He’s the only family I have.”
Marcella’s guarded features loosen, and those sharp cobalt eyes turn gentle, as if the harshness of the world has been suddenly smoothed away.
“I grew up in a large family. I’m the only daughter, but third oldest, and I still have three younger siblings below me.
I can’t imagine enduring this life without them.
” The corner of her lip flickers with the ghost of a smile. “I’m glad you have him.”
I study her closely, surprised by her admission.
My lips part to respond right as the hums of chatter disappear, an overwhelming quiet replacing it.
I follow the fixed gazes to the large balcony, and to my surprise, Josiah is there, gripping the marble railing with his hands, watching the crowd of examinees.
But if Josiah is there, where is Gray? Not to mention, why is Josiah on the balcony, observing us? Just who is he, exactly?
Josiah addresses the room, his soothing voice filling every bit of space. “Examiness, welcome to Bathara Academy. I know most of you have traveled far and wide to participate in our humble exams, and for that, you have my gratitude.” He pauses, his eyes roving the arena, locking eyes at random.
“To be Jurafen is to assume responsibility for the continent. It is to pledge yourself to the good of the Three Kingdoms, submitting to honor and duty. You are the defense to all that lies Beyond. Magic, creatures, Abdites, the evils of men… Once sworn in as a Jurafen, you are bound to fulfill the obligations of the title, no matter the costs.” A pause.
“It is not easy. It is not a decision that should be made lightly. So I warn you now: if you are unable to commit to these responsibilities, unwilling to give your heart, your blood, and every ounce of lakt? you possess, then I suggest you walk away while you still can.”
He scans the room with calculating eyes. Some people glance around, clearly considering his offer. A few go pale at the mention. Yet no feet turn to walk back through the corridor that led us into this grand arena.
“Very well,” Josiah says with a nod. “Then you all have made your decisions.”
He raises his hands, and the braziers roar with a building flame. Heads whip in every direction as rapid murmurs swirl in the air. Josiah slowly lowers his hands, and the flames in the braziers settle back into a calm, warm glow.
A small smile plays at Josiah’s lips. “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Josiah Hartley, and I am the Keeper of Bathara.”
My eyes practically bulge from my skull while my jaw pops open.
Josiah is the Keeper?
The man responsible for all of Bathara. The man who must answer directly to the Tani, the highest order of governance over magic, and act as the diplomat who speaks for the Jurafen on behalf of the council.
The man who must supersede virtually all wielders—a Master of Magic—and determine the consequences for Jurafen’s actions.
It’s hard to believe that Josiah is the Keeper.
But I guess that at least explains why he was in Rivara Kingdom, even if it still doesn’t explain why the Anatolé Kingdom was absent.
I wonder if Gray was aware of Josiah’s role when he introduced us.
If he was, why didn’t he say something? Offer me a warning or at least a hint.
And where the hell is Gray?
Josiah’s voice echoes off the marble. “The entrance exams are composed of three unique tests. Each test is designed to measure the vital abilities and characteristics required of Jurafen, and will vary in length. You will be given seven days of rest between each test to replenish your magic. If you make it through to the next round, that is.”
Buzzing whispers—like a swarm of flying insects—overtake the room.
With a concerted sternness, Josiah continues.
“The captains of the five aggregates will determine who passes each finished trial. Collectively, should they determine your performance acceptable, you will be permitted to continue on in the exams. Should they find you an unqualified candidate for Bathara, and thus for a Jurafen, you will be dismissed from the exams and asked to leave Bathara. Once all tests have been cleared, a captain may Select you into their aggregate, or they may not. Acceptance is at their discretion.”
“And if we pass all three tests and none of the captains offer us a place in their aggregate?” A sour, female voice questions.
Josiah shrugs—a graceful gesture. “Then you have no place at Bathara.”
A male voice shouts back, “You would have us risk our lives during the exams, even knowing it might all be for nothing because a captain doesn’t personally select us?”
“Precisely,” Josiah replies coolly. “I assure you, as a Jurafen, you will risk your lives for much less.” He takes his time, letting his long pause weigh heavy on the crowd.
“The captains of Bathara’s aggregates are unparalleled, highly-trained wielders.
They were all once the top of their class, and they exhibit some of the most powerful magical capabilities Bathara’s ever seen.
You should not show such disrespect by discrediting their judgement so quickly. ”
Despite Josiah’s words, the crowd erupts with hissed complaints, rising in volume like a well-fed flame. A flurry of disgruntled shouts bounce off the marble. Unfair. I am noble. My father—
Marcella and I exchange unsteady glances.
Her fingers slowly crawl toward the sheathed dagger at her side, and I take inventory of who surrounds us and their temperaments.
But the whispers and shouts are muted by an emerging darkness that suddenly appears at our feet, floating in an eerie fog, rising and consuming every inch of space in the arena.
It is like standing in a void of nothingness.
A blackness so thick, it rivals that of a starless sky.
Marcella reaches for my hand and squeezes, the gesture comforting. Even if, for some reason, nothing about this darkness frightens me. Perhaps I’ve grown used to the dark. Still, I clutch onto her hand tightly, letting her know I’m here with her.
As the darkness recedes, Josiah is the first to emerge from its embrace. He stands tall and steady, his sharp eyes assessing the panicked faces. His keen gaze flicks to me, and his facial expression shifts in such a minor way, most wouldn’t detect it.
But I do.
Though, I don’t know what to make of the ambiguous look.
He addresses the room once more. “Speaking of the captains,” he begins with a wry smile.
“It appears they have finally arrived and are ready to greet you.” He gestures to the mezzanine on his right, and standing in front of each chair, the banners of their aggregates boasting proudly behind them, are the captains.
And if my eyes didn’t bulge out of my skull before, they certainly do now.
No. Fucking. Way.