Chapter 8
I stare at the city through the small carriage window.
In the distance, I catch a glimpse of Mercy Spire—the home of the Mercy Knights.
It’s the highest structure, taller than even the towers that rise from the wall.
Like a sword stretching from the crust of the earth, point piercing the heavens.
Every window is a vantage. Cannons poke out of freshly built turrets—a little lighter than the much older, dark-gray stone—giving the whole thing a thorny appearance.
At its foot is a building only opened to non-curates once per year: the monastery.
The carriage stops, and the swell of Etherlight that had surrounded us as it moved dissipates.
A crowd has gathered. The Tribunal is a rite of passage—a source of pride and apprehension.
Though I suspect with a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that all the commotion isn’t just because of the hall reopening.
My fear is confirmed the moment I emerge from the carriage.
Vicar Darius is already waiting. His clammy fingers clamp viselike around mine as he “helps” me down.
There are murmurs and even some applause as surrounding gazes swing to me, single golden eyes glinting like a shimmering sea among natural colors.
The vicar raises my hand as though I have carried out a great triumph by existing.
More applause.
This is the worst. I never thought I’d be yearning for the Tribunal to begin. I offer a tight smile. Duty, I remind myself and stand a little taller, this is your duty.
At least until the dragon within claims you.
My father emerges next, and they escort me to the end of the line of supplicants convening for the Tribunal.
It looks like there are about thirty of us this time around.
Children are few in a city besieged by dragons and scourge.
Thank Valor, they didn’t make a show of walking me to the front of the line.
“Good luck.” The vicar drops my hand to allow Father to give me a final, tight embrace. Over his shoulder are Marie and Callon. I didn’t notice their arrival. They must’ve left shortly after us and taken a more direct route on foot. The vicar adds, “Not that you need it.”
“Thanks,” I murmur as my father releases me, trying on a brave smile. It doesn’t quite fit my face.
“I wish I could send you in there with something warmer.” Marie squeezes both my hands. I return the gesture with a slight but appreciative smile. “Winter will be here before we know it.”
I doubt they’re going to supply us with anything warmer. Luckily, the Tribunal almost always ends before the first snow.
“She’ll be fine.” Callon steps forward, holding out his arms and pulling me into an embrace so tight I let out a wheeze. This isn’t like him, but I realize why when my stepbrother whispers in my ear, “Red staircase, black dragon—”
He pauses, head turning slightly. A woman I don’t recognize passes behind us, heading to hug a different supplicant, and he waits until they’re gone to continue.
“—shield for food. A safe hiding place is behind the crossbow rack. Out the fourth-floor workshop window is good for hiding, too. The ledge is bigger than you think.” The words are so hasty, they almost blend. When he pulls away, he wears a broad smile, as if he hasn’t said anything at all.
I’m stunned. He risked telling me something about the Tribunal.
It’s been years since he went through it, and everything could’ve changed…
Still, the gesture warms my heart, giving me some confidence that if I’m not cursed, maybe I’ll be all right.
It’s a long shot, but I wouldn’t be Vinguard-born if I didn’t hope.
I smile as if nothing happened and say, “I’ll miss you, too.”
He gives a knowing nod.
I turn, naturally expecting to see Mum there.
But next to Callon is an almost purposefully vacant spot.
My head whips around as I search for any sign of her.
There’s no way she’s not here… She wouldn’t miss this.
Not after what happened last night. My throat tightens.
She said she’d get me a tincture. I was certain she’d be here.
I’m about to be locked away for three weeks. It’s now or never.
As I search, my attention lands on the vicar.
He’s still hovering close by. His golden eye glows like the light of the Font deep below the Upper City.
The expectation is apparent on his face, and I’m pulled from my family without him moving a muscle.
Yet again, I play my role. I resist flinching when both of his hands cup my cheeks.
I swallow the nausea that rears up every time he touches me.
I kneel before him, because I know it’s what I’m supposed to do. Because that is what’s demanded of me—what’s been taught to me. And because I’m not a fool. Vinguard already sees me as their great slayer reborn. And now they see me kneeling before him.
“May the Etherlight bless our hunter!” he says in an overly loud voice that makes me flinch.
“Make her strong. May Valor’s blessings guide and invigorate her as she enters her Tribunal.
May her performance carry her to the ranks of the Mercy Knights.
For when she emerges from this crucible and their training, it will be as Valor, prepared to reclaim her birthright. Blessings. Blessings. Blessings.”
“Blessings of Valor,” the majority of those gathered intone.
The vicar helps me to my feet, guiding me to the front of the line. Exactly like I didn’t want. It’s like he can read my mind and does the thing I hate the most.
I find Saipha as we walk, and she gives me a look that speaks volumes.
She might cheer me on as Valor Reborn, but she disapproves of the vicar’s showmanship, since she knows how uncomfortable it makes me.
And she’s seen the bruises he’s left behind from training.
I can’t say anything to her now, as I’m dropped at the very front of the parade of supplicants.
Lucan is right behind me, and I fight with all my might to ignore his presence.
But I can feel his eyes on the back of my head as his father ascends a stone pulpit that’s built to the right of the massive doors of the monastery.
I never thought I’d look forward to listening to the vicar, but when the alternative is listening to this guy breathe…
“Welcome, supplicants, to this year’s Tribunal.
” He gestures across the crowd, and those not wearing the basic uniform step aside from the pack of eighteen-year-olds gathered.
“As you embark on the next three weeks, you will commit yourselves to study, training, and prayer. Here, in the blessed monastery that usually houses the Creed’s curates, you will deepen your faith and connection with the beating heart of Vinguard—the Font.
You will emerge as full citizens. You will be gilded, and with that connection to the Font, you will be able to use sigils.
“The Tribunal is Vinguard’s crucible. Here, there is no hiding; the cursed are found and shown mercy.
While precautions will be taken, no life is guaranteed in Vinguard, not even here.
And forcing the curse out can lead to unfortunate repercussions.
But this is a risk we must take to ensure our home remains safe for centuries to come. ”
There is a beat of somber silence at the idea of this. Life is precious and rare in Vinguard. Losing a citizen for any reason is a tragedy, even if it is inevitable in the case of a dragon cursed.
I try to wipe my sweaty palms on my pants as subtly as possible. This is it. There is no going back… Dragon or dragon hunter—I’m about to find out which I’m destined to be.
“Now, submit yourselves to be tested, to reveal if you are among the hunters…or the hunted.” The vicar raises his hands, and the massive doors open with a groan and a sizzle of Etherlight that’s drawn across hidden sigils.
I take the signal and begin to march, breath thin.
My pounding heart threatens to rip through every layer of scar tissue that holds it in place.
This is it. This is when I find out if I am their savior or their greatest shame—when I discover at last if the dragon halted when it could’ve killed me not out of terror because I am Valor… but because I am one of them.
No sooner have I stepped into the monastery than I find myself face-to-face with a dragon.