Chapter 2 The Wall #2
The druids all stand before the tunnel entrance, waiting for us to gather on the grass spread at their feet.
Flags of each nation hang behind them. I remember them from the previous Selections, though I’ve never seen them hung side by side before.
Wands of red fire for the druids, silver swords on royal purple for the airy seraphs, and coins in gold for the emerald flag of the earthen elves.
The fourth flag is cobalt, the colors of the mortal kingdom of Vexamire, a white, intricately carved goblet at its center.
It’s the most worn, and a line splinters down its center leaving it in tatters, as though it will tear completely apart with the next breeze.
Every rumor, legend, and tall tale runs through my mind about what comes next.
Soon, I’ll know what happened to my family when they reached the top of the Wall.
A wild, horrible thought flies through me. Perhaps we’re all about to be slaughtered. Or beaten. Or eaten.
It’s not as though anyone has ever returned to tell the story.
The guards hiss at us to move, and I trace my way through the others, trying not to wake the child as I kneel beside the lava-cursed guy on the neatly trimmed lawn, directly before the prince.
A light of interest sparks in his gaze as he notices where I’ve placed myself.
My chin lifts defiantly—I expect him to look away, but he holds my glower in an unspoken contest. Gods, he is aggravating.
The king watches us all, silent, until we are all supplicated before him.
There’s uncomfortable shifting among the quiet, everyone wondering where the hells we are and what happens next. The king stands as immovable as if captured in stone.
Finally, he deigns to speak. “The children of this Selection will be taken to our Royal Court whilst the rest of you will remain here. Those of you under the age of eighteen, come forward.” His eyes are like scythes catching the silver moon. “Now.”
Children stagger forward, a few of them gangly teenagers. A druid guard enters my line of sight, gloved hands held out for the child in my arms. He has cold copper eyes but grasps the child with surprising gentleness. I only clutch the boy harder.
“No.” I pull back, the child jostling, stirring.
The guard glances over his shoulder at his king, whose attention has swiveled our way at the commotion.
Behind him Prince Draven watches me closely, those unsettling eyes lingering on me and the child.
He shifts his feet, head tilted, and for a moment I get a view of the golden skin at his throat and intricate tattoos peeking out of his armor.
The guard presses, “The boy goes to the Court with the other children.”
“Take us together. I’m underage,” I lie.
Kasper scoffs at my gall. The guard hesitates and turns to King Silas, holding two fingers up.
I meet the druid king’s gaze. Surely, I look young enough despite my snowy curls to slip among the youth.
But his eyes narrow as he reads my face, like a passage from a book he dislikes—one that’s glanced over but fails to sink into the bones, bind the soul, or steal a breath.
The king holds up one singular finger. The message is clear: take the boy, leave me.
I wince in pain and beg the guard, “Please, take us both.”
The guard shakes his head, so I let the boy go, swallowing my worry.
He barely stirs as the guard picks him up and lets him lean into his chest before he lopes off to herd the children into a separated group.
A moment later, a dark shadow blooms, and the druid guards shepherd the children through it.
Fire burns within me, like a fanned flame.
I can’t find the words. More children, lost.
I turn to pick up my glaring game with the prince and jump, hand flying to my chest.
King Silas stands before me, a cruel sharpness in his gaze. “How old are you really, girl?”
How did he appear so fast? So silent? If I had my daggers with me, I’d slice those ankle tendons and plunge one through his chest. I tremble in rage, a mantra repeating in my mind, All immortals must die.
The king just moved to the top of my list. I bite down my fury, knowing I need to play nice until I find my family.
Finally, I grit out, “Does it matter?”
His head tilts to the side, waiting.
I swallow, hating the submission, but add, “Your Majesty?”
A hungry darkness flits across his face. “Good, you are capable of learning.”
His words are begging for an equally cutting answer. I glance at Draven, still watching me with arrogant eyes. Apparently prick is a passed down trait.
The king prompts, “Well?”
“Twenty,” I answer honestly. If the rumors about their powers are true, he might be able to rip the answer from my lips. Trying my hand at treason twice in one day is stupid, even for me.
“Hmm.” He steps away, scrutinizing those left in his care.
The ground trails with burn marks wherever King Silas passes, a little flare of fire sparking as his boots graze a blade of grass.
He takes us all in. Not a single person here is a child, nor is anyone old or frail.
Prince Draven stands mutely, yet I swear there’s a glimmer of pride in those hooded eyes. Is this part of his design?
“You have all been Selected to join the druid kingdom of Sedah.” King Silas’s voice is sharp as a blade.
My heart startles. Join?
“Princes Draven and Ansel did a fair job, though I would not have chosen some of you. Count yourselves lucky.” He blatantly looks to me.
I can’t stop the simmering scowl I return.
I don’t know how my training would hold against an immortal, but I want to find out.
My attention flickers again to Prince Draven, drawn into his orbit.
His hands are clasped behind his back, watching the king with undiluted attention.
He doesn’t seem to take his words about his choices as a slight.
Perhaps his anger is eclipsed beneath that mask.
Or maybe I’m just trying to humanize a demon.
Maybe it’s the Wraith in me, but I want to unravel him, piece him apart, find out all his dirty secrets.
King Silas continues, “Before any of you can be allowed into my kingdom, you must take the Oath. This looks different in each kingdom, but the rites are the same. You will pledge your undying loyalty to my realm.”
My head jerks up—this is why no one has come back. This forced allegiance, daunting as it is, kept my family from returning. Some of them might still be alive. That hope robs me of any misgivings.
“The alternative option,” he adds, “lies off to your right.”
Like dominoes, our heads all flicker to the place he gestures, where a plank has been affixed to the Wall, stretching out over the expanse of nothingness, a thousand-foot plummet to the flat, ungiving grounds below. The idea of it churns my stomach.
King Silas says, “Not many have chosen that path. Though you mortals do like your flair for dramatics.” What a hypocrite.
“When you make your pledge to me, I promise all the lies you were fed about my kingdom, and the immortal lands of Arcadia, will be mere phantoms to the reality that lies ahead of you. You will be given chances you could only dream of in your small towns and villages. But you must choose this greater destiny for yourselves.”
Druid soldiers step forward, flanking his sides, their masks creating the illusion they are all the same in the torchlight. Their familiars slink in the shadows behind them.
The fireflies that flicker above blink out.
I cannot see beyond the druids, not even to the parapet along the wall.
Then Prince Draven strides over to me, holding a small silver bowl in his hands.
“Choose.” His voice is a grating hiss. The wood plank stretches off the side of the Wall, hauntingly illuminated in the dark. It’s cruel magic, has to be. Tempting us with the freedom of death.
Drink or die.
It’s not much of a choice.
I search the bowl tilted my way. Whatever viscous fluid lays within is tinted crimson. It looks an awful lot like—
“It’s not blood,” Prince Draven whispers.
My heart skips in a dangerous pattern, relief coursing through me, mixed with panic.
I reach for the bowl, but he doesn’t release it.
He holds it firm, both our hands around it, his fingers surprisingly warm and unsurprisingly strong.
Some part of me wants to fling its contents to the grass.
Maybe that’s why he holds it so resolutely.
I’m forced to bring my face to the rim, lips parting as I take one last free breath.
Prince Draven hisses, “Or maybe it is … maybe I’m just a liar.”
I glare at him, half masked in shadows in the fiery light. The only way to find out what happened to my family is by drinking this. The only way back is forward.
So, I drink.