4. Leah
Leah
By the time we reach the heart of the academy, my eyes feel fuzzy from staring at so much gold and white marble. It must be the architectural equivalent of snow blindness.
“These aren’t all fledglings, are they?” I ask the captain as a group of young ephilium pass us.
They look impossibly perfect—with polished weapons and bulging muscles and not a hair out of place.
I’m a decent height for a human woman and have a fair amount of muscle definition thanks to my scavenging and time in Infernum.
Still, I feel small and scrawny in comparison.
“No. Almost everyone you see in the main building is a cadet—soldiers who haven’t graduated yet. But because everyone takes the trials, we have extended fledgling quarters in the rear. That’s where you’ll be housed and trained during the trials.”
“So there will be some training?” I ask hopefully.
“Oh yes,” Pellery nods as we reach a heavy door with a plaque outside of it reading Colonel Cavat.
“To help as many fledglings as possible avoid dishonor during the trials. We’re not totally merciless, you know.
” She raises an eyebrow at me before glancing out the window, checking the sun.
“The fledglings should be done with their supervised training for today, which means the colonel should be home.”
She raps on the door and waits for a response.
“Wait here,” she orders, stepping inside. There are a few minutes of muffled voices from behind the door and then she’s back, beckoning me inside.
The olive-skinned man in an ivory uniform looks to be in his mid-forties, though what that is in ephilium years I don’t know.
He has dark hair, cut close to his scalp, with a meticulously neat black mustache and pointed goatee.
He rises swiftly from behind his desk, heavy-lidded eyes flaring at the sight of me from beneath his sharp eyebrows.
“Captain Pellery,” he says, annoyed. “You didn’t mention that she doesn’t even have wings.”
Pellery looks at me innocently. “Yes, well, I thought it would be obvious when you saw her.”
“Captain,” the colonel repeats warningly.
“Give it some time,” Pellery says, her tone more conciliatory. “Her magic has only just developed; it wouldn’t be unreasonable to think the wings are on their way.”
His brow drops into a glower. He’s unimpressed by Pellery’s optimism. “Illidore or not, you know the likely result of putting some mire-raised hatchling in the trials.”
“Perhaps you should give her the chance to surprise you, Colonel,” Pellery responds.
I shift on my feet. I’m grateful to Pellery for defending me like this, but given I’m only a quarter ephilium, I’m as skeptical as the colonel that there’re any new feathery appendages in my future. And if he’s this skeptical about my chances, I’m inclined to believe him.
“Either way, sir,” Pellery continues. “It’s on the orders of the seraphim.”
His jaw hardens, but he nods. “Then we must trust their judgment,” he says, sounding a little defeated. “She can go join the others in the nest.”
Pellery takes a step back, offering him a salute. “Respectfully, Colonel Cavat, my orders were to escort her here. But I have neglected my duties in Strata long enough.”
Panic rises in me as I watch my last tie to the human realm move toward the door. I push it down, focusing on the magic buzzing inside me—power I will hone and fortify and perfect. I just need to get the ephilium to show me how.
“Goodbye, Captain Pellery,” I say, forcing my voice to sound smooth and confident.
She gives me an approving look. She knows I’m frightened, and she knows that emotion will do me no good from here on out.
“Good luck, Fledgling Illidore,” she says before closing the door behind her.
And just like that, I have a new name, in a new realm, surrounded by people I once would’ve considered totally other. But I’m one of them, or close enough, and they’re willing to give me a chance in this strange world of theirs. So I’d better make the most of it.
I turn to the colonel expectantly, but he’s already seated back down at his desk, reading over something. His workspace is as meticulously neat as his facial hair, and I’m struck by the contrast between it and the way Viz kept Syrus’s office in cheerful chaos.
“Take a left outside and follow the corridor to the northeast wing, fledgling,” the colonel says, barely glancing up at me. “The other fledglings will get you oriented. If you get lost, ask for the nest—those are the quarters for all trial takers.”
He lifts his head, his heavy lids giving him an aloof expression as he flicks his eyes over me.
“Whatever your plan was coming here, I hope you’re better at strategy than you seem. You’re dismissed, fledgling.”
I swallow, wondering if I should salute him like Pellery did. I settle for ducking my head in a kind of half bow before leaving.
Thankfully, it’s not hard to follow his instructions. The academy layout seems more logical and ordered than the winding hallways of the castle in Malice. I sigh at myself the moment the thought pops into my head.
You have to stop comparing everything to Infernum, I tell myself.
Especially since every comparison highlights another thing I liked better in the demon realm.
Yes, it had its charms, but I don’t belong there, not when I couldn’t ever be my true self.
Although maybe that’s ironic, given the way I keep getting curious looks whenever I pass cadets in the hallways.
Looking for something to steel my nerves, I reach for my magic. But I don’t conjure—I just settle into the buzz of energy beneath my skin. It reminds me that I do have some qualifications for being here. Wings or not.
The cadets in silver armor start to thin out until eventually I pass out of the main building and into a covered walkway with arches overlooking a circle of green grass.
There’s a group of ephilium in the middle, all with their backs to me, talking loudly and jostling each other.
None of them are wearing a full suit of armor, but there’s a smattering of bronze-colored metal among them—helmets, bracers, and breastplates, all worn over more casual clothes.
Gold for the Brigade soldiers, silver for cadets, and bronze for the trial takers, it would seem.
That means I’ve found my fellow fledglings.
I wonder if one of them is my cousin as I follow the gaze of the group up toward the sky, squinting at a smattering of small shapes moving in the pale expanse of blue.
In a matter of seconds, they’ve grown larger, evolving into figures, wings tucked tight to their sides, hurtling toward the earth.
“Show them, Keros!” comes a cry from someone near the front of the group. I make sure to linger at the back so as to not attract attention.
“Pull up, pull up, pull up,” a young man next to me mutters tensely under his breath, his lips moving against the fingers he’s holding to his mouth, as if he doesn’t want anyone to see.
The diving ephilium are close enough to see their faces now. Five of them, more or less flying parallel to each other, eyes fixed determinedly on the stretch of lawn in front of the crowd.
It looks like they’re going to crash straight into it any moment now.
One of the male fledglings in the air falters and peels away, dragging his wings back to pull himself out the dive. The young man next to me breathes a sigh of relief. A moment later, a woman with short, white-blonde hair bares her teeth and falls back from the dive too.
“For fuck’s sake, Zinah,” a woman in front of me curses, kicking the ground.
A third diver quickly follows suit, leaving only two ephilium still locked in, side by side as they speed toward the hard, unforgiving earth that’s only seventy—maybe fifty—feet away, and closing in fast. On the left is a broad-shouldered blond man with a scruff of beard and unusually dark eyes, on the right a tanned, square-jawed man with chestnut hair.
I can’t quite work out what the goal is. Is this just a game of aerial chicken?
Unable to stop myself, I dip my head forward to catch the attention of the ephilium woman closest to me. “What are the rules?”
“Rules?” She glances sideways at me, barely turning her head. “They have to stay next to each other. No overtaking. Last to pull up wins.”
“Wins what?”
“Glory, obviously,” she huffs like I’m an idiot.
I blink, watching the fledglings risk breaking their necks for bragging rights.
“So why isn’t everyone up there?” I ask, curious.
“Because some of us aren’t foolish enough to believe we could beat Rowan Gradis in a death dive, of course,” she bites out, defensive. “Why aren’t you up there?” She turns to get a better look at me, her eyes widening when they fall on exactly what isn’t on my shoulders. “Oh shit.”
Her surprise is so unfiltered I give in to a smile. “Not to be down on myself, but I think I might come off in that contest worse than the rest of you.”
“What are you—” she starts to ask, but her question is cut off by a shout, and we both whip around to see the big, blond ephilium has changed course and is barreling through the crowd right toward us.
I grab the woman beside me and pull us both down just in time to feel the gust of air from his wings blow past our heads. He’s obviously struggling to recover from a messy termination of his dive, banking awkwardly and wobbling in the air as he pivots to avoid a stone gazebo.
Loud whoops drag my attention back to the ephilium still diving.
He’s held his nerve even now that he’s alone—closing in on the last thirty, then twenty feet.
He can’t be more than fifteen feet from the ground when a slight readjustment of his wings sees his body swoop smoothly out of the dive, arcing back up into the air.
The crowd loses its mind as the woman and I get to our feet.
“Thanks,” she says begrudgingly.
I nod to indicate she’s welcome, then look back at the winner of the contest, now touching his feet to the earth as his fellow fledglings crowd around him.
“He made it look easy,” I say, a little awestruck.