Chapter Thirty-Seven
T he energy filling the air is different than how it was during the first test.
There are less excited whispers. Less buzzing noises from ongoing conversations between different groups. Instead, everyone stands around, shifting on their feet, waiting to hear what the next test entails.
Luckily, they don’t wait long.
Marcella braces a hand on her hip from beside me. “Here we go,” she whispers.
The five captains emerge on the mezzanine and shuffle to their banners. My eyes immediately find Draven, as if on instinct. All signs of the boy I saw on the balcony are gone as any softness has been scrubbed from his face, leaving only a cold indifference behind.
Finlay steps forward and speaks. “Welcome to the second test. The Keeper extends his apologies for not being able to address you all personally this morning. However, he has matters he must attend to.” He flicks his eyes to Nuha, who dips her chin before stepping forward.
“For your second test,” she declares to the room, “you will be grouped into teams of five that have been pre-selected by us captains. Given the number of remaining examinees, one team will be composed of four. As a group, you will be assigned a creature currently posing a threat to different areas within the Three Kingdoms. It will be your job to both track and dispose of the creature, returning to Bathara with its head in tow. Each team will be assigned an aether-wielder, who will transport your group to its designated starting point, and then back to Bathara once your objective has been achieved…or failed.” Her eyes slowly hover across the room.
“All wielders will be third-years, and they are not permitted to help you in any capacity. Any team that attempts to receive aid from them will be disqualified immediately. And yes,” she says, her eyes narrowing.
“We will know.” She glances back at the threshold leading into the mezzanine. “Master Cahlmon.”
A man with salt-and-pepper hair and stubble coating his jaw emerges. I recognize him instantly as the disgruntled man I overheard discussing the Nightenjoy’s state of titles during King Alastair’s party in Keziah.
All five captains dip their chins as he struts to the railing and wraps his hands around it. Rolling his shoulders back, he takes in the examinees, and I notice the way his eyes linger on Gray. Then me.
“I am Master Cahlmon,” he says in a voice that booms far louder than one would expect given his smaller frame. “I typically teach wielding techniques and magic theory here at Bathara, but for the purposes of the entrance exam, you can think of me as a proctor.”
Soft murmurs and whispers fill the air, and a small smile forms on Cahlmon’s lips.
“I apologize that I was unable to attend the introductions and properly introduce myself before the exams began, but allow me to now demonstrate my role in these tests.”
He moves his hands in a fluid motion, and the anthrine embedded into our bracelets starts glowing faintly, humming. Above our heads, square projections blink open one after the other, each one showcasing a different viewpoint from a different examinee, lagging slightly.
It’s…strange, to put it one way.
“As you may have now deduced, I am a Caster. During this test, to help provide the captains with the information they will need to judge you, I will be casting each of your memories for them to watch.” He lowers his hands and the projections disappear.
“So be wise, and act accordingly. Your every action—every decision—will be not only observed, but scrutinized.” And with that, he inclines his head to the captains and walks off the mezzanine.
The room erupts in a flurry of buzzing murmurs.
Arden silences them.
“You will be given five days to complete your task. If any team does not arrive with the head of their assigned creature before the fifth sun dips below the horizon, they are eliminated without further consideration.”
Kiran scans the crowd. “There is only one rule governing the second test outside of your ability to be punctual.” His smirk turns pointed. “And that is, there are no rules.”
Draven lets Kiran’s words settle before lifting a piece of parchment and waving it in the air.
And gods help me, for whatever reason, my stomach does a somersault the moment the sound of his voice enters the room.
“I’m only going to read off your team assignments this one time, so pay attention. Don’t worry about finding your aether-wielder. They already know who they’ve been assigned to and will find you themselves. Once they do, you are free to depart.”
He begins calling out names, assigning people to their teams.
Not surprisingly, Gray, Marcella, and I are announced last, and we are all paired together. Not that I’m complaining, but I imagine Finlay Fjolla had something to do with that.
Our fourth member is a girl named Nuri—the only other wielder to advance to the next test from our “line of commoners”.
We are the only team of four.
“Well would you look at that,” Marcella drawls. “All non-nobles paired into a team.” She feigns surprise, placing a hand on her chest. “I, for one, am shocked .”
I laugh and shake my head. “I bet Finlay was involved in that decision.”
“Prick,” Marcella mumbles, folding her arms over chest.
From the other side of me, Gray huffs a laugh. “At least we all get to stay together,” he offers.
I nod in agreement .
Nuri approaches us, and Marcella greets her with a wave. “Hi,” she chirps. “Welcome to the team of second-rate citizens.”
Nuri laughs. “That is what they’d have us think, isn’t it?”
Nuri is beautiful—stunning, even. Her blackberry hair against her warm-brown skin and sharp green eyes could bring anyone to their knees.
Her lips are full and feminine, and the twists of her braids pull back enough hair to reveal gold piercings lining her ears and a sun pendant sitting at her throat.
And something about her seems oddly familiar, even if I can’t put my finger on what it is.
Marcella makes a sweeping gesture. “Meet Gray and Lyra, your lowborn teammates. Lyra is a flora-wielder like me, and also the daughter of a Gardner. Important to know, because she talks about it a lot.”
I arch a pointed brow at the introduction; Marcella shrugs and continues.
“Gray wields illusionary magic and is supposedly the son of a Gardner as well, but he talks about it less.”
Nuri’s eyes bounce between us, amusement resting within them. “I remember both of you from the first judgement. You left quite the impression on the captains.”
Gray exhales a clipped laugh. “If I recall, you left them rather floored yourself. You’re a healer, right? Your essence flower was Goldenlight—a flower that typically blooms only for descendants from powerful bloodlines.”
“You listen well,” she comments. Her accent is thick, unmistakably from the Anatolé Kingdom.
The corner of his lip kicks up, and he cocks his head, folding his arms across his chest. “Yet you said you’re the daughter of a merchant,” he points out, his tone almost accusatory. “What was your family line again?”
“Calhart,” she answers quickly. “My father comes from Lydith, specializing in mineral trades.”
“Yup,” Marcella chirps, inspecting her nails. “That makes sense. Rich city. Full of merchants.”
I glance at Gray, a heavy curve in my brow. “Not that it matters,” I mutter, wondering what the hell he is getting at.
“Of course it doesn’t,” he agrees, finally snapping his gaze away from her and toward me, a tight-lipped smile now on his lips.
I catch Nuri’s eyes lingering on Gray a moment longer before she turns to Marcella. “You know Lydith?”
Marcella nods. “I’m from Rolfbear, and my brothers work a lot of trade routes.” She shrugs. “They bring gossip from all over the Three Kingdoms.”
“I see,” Nuri responds.
Before the conversation can carry further, Kiran approaches us, his usual smirk gracing his lips.
“Hello, wielders,” he coos.
Nuri dips her chin. “Captain.”
Kiran waves a lazy hand at her. “Please, call me Kiran. I’ve already had enough titles thrown my way to last a lifetime.”
Marcella mocks sympathy. “Must be tough growing up wealthy in one of the Great Houses, living with the highest titles one can possess beyond a king.”
Kiran smiles wickedly and cocks his head at Marcella. “Oh see, I rather really like you.” He leans in closer to her. “And not just because the color of your hair.”
Marcella rolls her eyes; Kiran winks.
And by the Mother it is difficult to reconcile that Kiran really does belong to House Sulien. That he is an Archblood—basically royalty. I always imagined that Archbloods would act more…well, more like Finlay.
Kiran holds up a small scroll wrapped in twine.
“Your creature assignment.” He places it in my hand, and his eyes soften as something inscrutable washes over his features.
Kiran looks as though he wants to say something else, but thinks better of it.
Instead, he simply glances at us all a final time and offers a tight lipped smile.
“Good luck.” Then he disappears back into the crowd.
“His demeanor is unnerving,” Marcella grumbles with a curved brow.
Nuri chuckles, tilting her head with consideration as she stares off in the direction Kiran went. “I find it rather refreshing to see someone of his status act so…”
“Flippant?” Marcella finishes for her.
She smiles, sliding her emerald eyes to Marcella. “I was going to say carefree.”
Marcella snorts, and they prattle on about the peculiarities surrounding Kiran’s demeanor.
Gray approaches me, pointing at the rolled scroll in my hand. “May I?”
“Oh, right,” I say, as if just realizing Kiran handed it to me.
I pass the scroll off to Gray, and he tugs at the twine and unrolls the parchment. His eyes narrow as he reads its contents.
“Well?” Marcella asks.
Gray rolls the scroll back up before meeting everyone’s gaze. “Anyone afraid of snakes?”