3. Leah #2
I nod, getting the distinct impression I’ve ended up exactly where Garion wanted me. My eyes fall on a few drops of silver blood scattered across the floor, left behind by the redeemed ephilium, and I remind myself that taking the trials was my choice too.
I only hope we both know what we’re doing.
“Well, that was a fucking disaster.”
I stare at Captain Pellery as she looks out across the terraces descending from the Seraph Seat. I’ve noticed she usually has impeccable posture, back as straight as an arrow and head held high. But right now, her shoulders are dropped and her chin dipped, her expression radiating frustration.
“Hoping they’d lock me up?” I say, unable to hold back my resentment over the captain ambushing me like that.
“No,” she says, her jaw tight. “I was hoping the seraphs would take one look at you and pronounce you an indisputable friend of Aradis, no questions, no doubts. My gut tells me you’re not a threat, Leah Polaris, and I was pretty sure the seraphim’s sight would tell them the same.”
So I wasn’t imagining her sympathy for me in there. Wow, between her and Garion, I’m building quite a list of halfhearted allies in this place.
“I thought it was Leah Illidore now?” I say cautiously, surprised she hasn’t just automatically started using my new name like the seraphs and Garion.
“It’s what you want it to be,” Pellery says, giving me a look like she sees me clearly.
“But I won’t deny that using his name will probably help you in the short term.
People will trust you more.” She exhales, clenching her fingers slowly into fists.
“I never expected them to put you in the trials,” she mutters, almost to herself. “What was he thinking?”
Something constricts anxiously inside of me.
“So these fledgling trials, they’re…what, exactly?”
She makes a noise like a cross between a scoff and a tut.
“Come,” she says, starting to descend the steps from the Seraph Seat. “I’ll explain on the way. I’m assuming you’d prefer to walk than be flown?”
“Heck yes,” I say, hurrying to follow her.
“We’re going to Atros,” she says, once I’ve caught her up. “Aradis’s main military academy.” She shakes her head again as we turn onto a long, sloping avenue leading to a lower part of the city. “Ancestors, there’s so much you don’t know. Where do I start?”
“How about what the trials even are?” I say, a little desperate. “What will I have to do?”
“I can’t say for sure,” she says. “The details of the trials change every season. But they’re always dangerous. You’ll need to be able to fight.” She looks me over. “Have you ever handled a weapon before?”
“Yes,” I say. In fact, I’ve been singlehandedly trained by a demon lord himself. I tactfully decide not to mention that. “I’m all right with a knife,” I say instead. “And good with a bow and arrow.”
She nods, relieved. “Well, that’s something.”
“What are the trials for anyway?” I press. “Everyone takes them?”
“Yes,” Pellery says. “We start learning how to fight before we come of age, but when we reach adulthood, we become fledglings, and that’s when we take the trials—three in total, spread out over four or five months.
Those who show themselves to be the worthiest get to enter the academy and, if they graduate, eventually join the Brigade. ”
“Wait,” I say, trying to follow all this. “You run deadly tests just to be allowed into your army in the first place?”
“Yes,” she says again, as if that should be obvious. “It’s a huge honor, and only about two in a hundred are chosen.” I don’t miss the way she preens a little when she says this. Of course, as a captain, she was one of those honored few.
“So only two percent of people pass the trials?” I gape.
“No, plenty pass,” she says. “But that’s not enough to get into the academy. Passing proves your competence—but being selected for the academy only happens if you excel. It’s about proving yourself. If you’re chosen at the end of them, then you’ve demonstrated that you’re one of the best.”
“Okay,” I say, absorbing all this. “But I’m not looking for a career in the Brigade. No offense. So all I’ve got to do is survive these things, right?”
I’m just here to get strong enough to keep a certain someone out of my life. I don’t care about being the best at anything except pissing off Syrus Kaldare. But Pellery is balling her hands into fists again, which doesn’t seem like a good sign.
“It’s not that simple,” she says. “The seraphim are putting you through this so you can show you’re worthy of this realm. That means you must pass, not just survive.”
“Right,” I huff, looking around as we reach the end of the avenue and descend another set of steps, ending up on a pretty street.
There’s a rare grassy patch over to one side where children are playing around a fountain.
I’m struck by how human they look without wings they’re too young to have developed.
In years, they’re probably older than me, but they have centuries ahead of them.
I’m starting to think I’ll be lucky to see another year.
“So what does failing look like?” I ask warily.
“You fail if you’re injured too badly to continue, if you commit an act of deep cowardice or dishonor…” She stops walking, turning to me. “Or if you die.”
Despite my stress levels rising by the minute, I snort. “Yeah, I can’t see the trials mattering much to me if I’m dead.”
“Maybe not,” she says. “But they will still matter to your family line, and to the ancestors. What you do in this life will burn bright in the Everlight or cast you into eternal shadow. So the saying goes, anyway.”
We’re stopped at a point where the road diverges into two different paths. Pellery looks around us, then fixes her sharp brown eyes on me.
“Which is why I’m sorry I got you into this position. Being forced to take the trials with so little training or sense of what you’re up against isn’t fair.”
“With the greatest respect, Captain, maybe you should’ve thought of that before you agreed to bring me here,” I say, raising my eyebrows. Even if she was just doing her job, I don’t feel like letting her off the hook, not when I think about what’s ahead of me.
“That’s fair,” she says, a tight smile playing on her lips, then she ducks her head. “I could slip you some rift runes. Then you could sneak back to Strata and disappear. If you keep your head down, I doubt the seraphim would come looking for you.”
My eyes widen. “You’d do that?” I whisper.
“Like I said, it’s partly my fault you’re in this mess,” she says firmly.
I guess the ephilium do take this honor stuff pretty seriously.
It’s very, very tempting to take her up on her offer.
But while the seraphim might not come looking for me in Strata, I know someone who would.
Someone who won’t stop until I’m found. Syrus might not be able to step foot in Strata, but I felt the fury with which he attacked my mental walls.
One way or another, he will find an opening to get to me.
Even if he has to send half of Malice after me.
I need the ephilium’s help to keep him at bay. And to get that, I have to play by their rules.
“Thank you,” I say to Pellery. “But I think I have to stick this out.”
The captain nods and actually looks a little impressed.
She turns down the street closest to us, the road curving around until it opens up onto a wide marble plaza.
Behind it is a sprawling building with several wings branching out from a central, colonnaded structure.
Figures dance together on one side of the plaza, flashes of lightning glinting off silver armor as I realize they must be sparring.
More ephilium fly overhead, rising into the air and diving out of view behind the gold dome topping what must be Atros Academy.
“Keep that attitude up, Polaris,” the captain says, “and maybe you have a shot at getting through this after all.”