Chapter 7 #3
Lory’s heart leaped into her throat as the woman from the brig followed two inconspicuous men in black Ashthorn uniforms onto the platform.
Her raven hair was bound in a tight bun at the back of her head, and two sabers were crossed over her back, the same as Falcrest’s.
If Lory had believed her dangerous when she’d stabbed the ashling at breakfast, now she was the image of a blade-wielding desert shadow, moving as toneless as Falcrest himself, and appearing not a fraction more merciless.
Her mouth set in a thin line was nothing like the woman she’d met in the neighboring cell when she’d waited for her verdict.
But Anees had been the one to first mention Ashthorn Ward to her, now that she was thinking about it.
“Bleek, Washings, and Frier are phantoms. For those of you who don’t come from traditional Ashthorn families, phantom is the rank for elite tested. Don’t ask me what you need to do in order to achieve phantom—if you deserve it, you’ll know.”
“What does tested mean?” Lory whispered to Tabi, the one person most likely to answer her questions without cracking a joke or judging her ignorance, while simultaneously noting the silver square frame crossed by two diagonal silver lines on the three phantoms’ shoulders.
Naturally, her words didn’t go unnoticed by Falcrest.
“If you have something to say, Vednis, share with the entire group.” The ice-cold mask of the captain fell into place as their eyes met across the crowd, and Lory could have sworn Ricca was grinning at her embarrassment. But Ricca wasn’t the only one amused.
Stopping to Falcrest’s left, Anees skipped her gaze to Lory, the corner of her mouth twitching up.
She should have known something was fishy when the prisoner woman in the brig had chatted her up. No matter how dire the circumstances, Lory knew better than to believe information was given so openly without a price.
This was the price. She was trapped in a death factory where people were waiting for her to plunge to her behind Eroth’s Veil during training or be stabbed in front of the entire academy at breakfast. She was still debating which death would be preferable when Falcrest shook his head an inch.
“I didn’t think so.” Gesturing at the young men next to him, he pointed at the shorter of the two.
“Perredin Washings has mastered every roof and wall imaginable in this city. Those of you who get to train with him will appreciate the experience he has gained during his short years here at Ashthorn.” He glanced out over the crowd, then held out his arm like he was about to cut them in two.
“Everyone up to here goes in his group.”
Perrin waved the right third of the group to follow him to the side of the training grounds, where he immediately started explaining something in a voice too low for Lory to hear, but she did wonder if, perhaps, she should have hoped to end up in his group.
Falcrest’s endorsement—no matter how much she feared him—meant he respected the man, and the respect of the youngest captain in history should mean something.
“You, up to here”—Falcrest sliced the air with his arm once more—“follow Hadrian Bleek.” Another half of the remaining students followed the calm, inconspicuous presence that was Hadrian. “And the rest of you are with Anees and me.”
Lory’s stomach bottomed out when Anees leaped off the platform, heading right for the center of the group, where she stopped between Lory and Frost, who stood in a row in front of her.
“Familiar faces, great,” she chirped and gestured for them to follow her to the facade at the end of the area while Lory avoided the incredulous looks from Tabi, Thal, and Jarek, who seemed glued to Tabi’s side.
Brycon, on the other hand, had fallen back, walking with the yellows between Ricca and Nyla, a girl with umber skin and black pigtails, whom Lory had seen before in the mess hall, while Falcrest brought up the rear this time, eyes vigilant on the group as if he was concerned one of them might try to bolt.
With a glance around the yard, Lory marked all doors that might lead to freedom, all fences and walls she could have climbed if Falcrest hadn’t walked behind her, his weapons always within reach and their polished silver blades sharp enough to split hairs.
Lory had noticed those little details the way she used to notice them on the streets of Dunai, where observance was her most valuable asset and knowing the layout of her surroundings secured her survival.
They could take her freedom away from her, but they couldn’t take that.
The facade of the prop house provided a modicum of shade, grains of sand dancing along the ground in front of it where they came to a halt, the mix of blues and yellows facing Anees rather than the spectacular view of hand-to-hand training going on in the other part of the yard.
“My name is Phantom Frier, but you may call me Anees. I’ll be working with you over the next weeks until you have your first test, and since my success will be measured by the number of you surviving, I’ll be the closest thing you have to an ally in here until you either pass or die.”
A few people in the first row cringed, receiving a smirk from Anees, who propped a hand on a curvy hip.
“Yes, die. We don’t use the word fail here because it equals death.
If you aren’t prepared to succeed, don’t set foot on this parcours.
” She grinned, raising a brow at her audience like this was a great performance that wouldn’t determine whether they’d survive the next day.
“If you want to live, however, you’d better move your ass and show me what you’ve got.
I need to see your weak-ass performance so I can help you improve. ”
As if on cue, a line formed before Anees, Ronan, and Eira at the front, together with a few of the twenty ashlings.
The blues were still at their full number of thirty-three since the first day, but yellow had already lost four, the last of them this morning, and Lory couldn’t unsee the blood pooling under the woman’s body as she’d sagged after the deep stab one of the thornlings had performed.
It should have been alarming how quickly the threat of being killed instead of eating had become an expected part of her mornings, just as watching her every word had when it came to questions about her past.
“I want you to climb to the first balcony.” Anees pointed at a wooden structure lining the top of the first floor.
“Bonus points if you don’t break off any loose boards.
” When someone grumbled under their breath, she added, “This is a class for stealth and stalking, people. Remaining unnoticed while moving to places impossible for others to reach is the whole point of the training, so don’t whine; move your asses. ”
If Anees had seemed like she didn’t know how to stop talking in the brig, she had the tone of a general nailed down now.
Not that she hadn’t been just as direct when they’d first met.
Only then, Anees seemed to have rooted for Lory.
Now, she appeared to be about as interested in the ashlings’ survival as Falcrest himself, who had yet again snuck up to stand beside Thal, who, to his credit, flinched only a little when the captain cleared his throat.
“What are you waiting for?” Anees clapped her hands, and Ronan, Eira, and a lean yellow, with the sides of his head shorn and a crooked braid running from his forehead to his neck, whose name Lory remembered to be Solen, started climbing.
Ronan took the left, hooking his fingers into a gap between two boards and pulling himself up, the same path Lory would have chosen, while Eira took a running leap at the windowsill, nearly falling through the glassless frame and earning a laugh from a few yellows who seemed to find her choice entertaining.
It wasn’t a bad idea, but with that much speed, it was hard to be precise with a landing.
Lory knew that from her own experience—scaling the sides of houses to stake out her victims.
By the time Lory tore her gaze away from Ronan and Eira, Solen was already halfway up, fighting to free their shirt from where it had caught on a piece of metal sticking out of the wall.
“Ronan has probably been training for years to become so efficient,” Thal commented, leaning away from Falcrest, who wound through the line, cutting through in front of him and Lory before prowling to the front to stand with Anees.
“He does look like he knows what he’s doing,” Lory answered absently, her gaze following the captain rather than her fellow ashlings’ successful ascent to the balcony.
Eira came in second, and Solen third, their shirts torn at the side, but no blood visible on the expanse of light-brown skin visible where the fabric split on the breeze moving the stuffy air.
“You three take the next level,” Anees called, not giving them a minute to catch their breath, “and you three take the balcony.”
Ronan, Eira, and Solen set into motion, more hesitant than with the first level—the fall was deeper from up there, and the footholds and crevices to wedge their fingers in were fewer.
Ricca was one of the three new climbers, her hands sure and efficient as she hauled herself up the same path Ronan had chosen.
With her shorter frame, she needed to take a few extra steps, though, and as she reached for the edge of the balcony, her chin-length hair swinging into her face, Lory held her breath, hoping she wouldn’t fall and break a limb or her neck.
No matter how Ricca lashed out at her at every opportunity, wishing harm upon her wouldn’t be seen kindly by Eroth when she was called beyond his Veil in what could be minutes, judging by the way the others were struggling to make it up the second stage of their ascent.
She wouldn’t do anything that could jeopardize being reunited with her twin brother in death.