Chapter 9
The maw of the beast is parted slightly. I inhale sharply as my head spins. But its gaze is not burning, and hot breath doesn’t batter me. Its eyes are two glassy pieces of obsidian.
It’s just a statue. I’m freezing up over well-crafted metal.
How in the dragon-burned hells am I going to survive the Tribunal to the wall and beyond if I stall in terror at the mere sight of a replica of one of the creatures?
Even if this is one of the most terrifying renditions of a dragon I’ve ever seen.
Given its pale hue, I assume it’s the Elder Dragon.
A warm hand slips into mine, and my eyes meet Saipha’s.
I was already grateful that she’d be going through this with me.
Now more than ever. The other supplicants have entered around me, and she caught up.
My eyes dart to Lucan’s back, now ahead of me.
I’m honestly surprised he isn’t looming over my shoulder still.
“Your hair looks good.” She flicks a strand over my shoulder.
“Thanks,” I whisper. She knows what it means when I wear it down. “I’m really glad to see you.”
“Where else would I be?” She releases my hand with a grin. “Can’t exactly say no to this. Plus, I wouldn’t miss Valor Reborn’s grand entrance for anything.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m certain you had your own entrance.”
“Father couldn’t come.” She shakes her head and shrugs. “He’s doing a patrol on the wall. The safety of Vinguard comes first. You know how it is.”
“I do.” It reminds me of my mother’s absence. My heart is already trying to beat out of my chest. There’s no way I’m making it through this without her tincture.
“I’d bet you’ve seen him more recently than I have.” She looks at me sideways. “Valor Reborn running to battle a dragon, huh? Pretty sure it was dead before I let you go.”
The vicar speaks, saving me from having to think of a good excuse, cued by the heavy doors shutting behind us. “You are now, formally, supplicants of the Tribunal.”
I take in the large hall we’ve entered. There are six tapestries hanging along the walls around the one dragon statue in the center, each one depicting a life-size dragon in embroidered detail so fine my fingers ache at the thought of the effort they took.
Vicar Darius is perched upon a narrow metal balcony close to the roof that’s accessed by a spiral stair.
“Over the course of three weeks, you will be watched, examined, and tested as the inquisitors see fit, to ensure that you are not cursed to transform into one of the beasts that ravage our lands and attack our city.” Vicar Darius motions to the people who line the edges of the room.
All of them look young, no more than three or four years older than us.
They wear stiff leathers in a rusty-brown shade, clearly a simplified variant of the plate the Mercy Knights wear up on the walls, and short capes with hoods that hide half of their faces.
Their capes are dyed black, rather than the dragon-blood red that the Mercy Knights and curates wear.
The silver daggers at their hips, each pommeled by a dragon, tell the truth of what they are. Those daggers are laced with a venom so deadly it could kill a dragon—not that it would ever be able to penetrate one’s scales. But they’re not meant for dragons. They’re meant for humans.
These people surrounding us might be in different clothes, they might be young, but these are trained killers; these are Mercy Knights, and every one looks ready to administer that mercy should someone’s eyes go to slits. Because the mercy of death is better than becoming one of the beasts.
“In addition to the challenges the inquisitors present you here, there will be three greater tests that will bring you closer to understanding the truth of Vinguard—to earning our secrets to emerge as full citizens and join our society as contributing members,” he explains.
I suspect this is where the “tri” in Tribunal comes from.
“Those who make it to the end without showing signs of the curse will stand before the Font and receive their gilding.”
Restless excitement has supplicants shifting from foot to foot.
“There will be times during your Tribunal where others might come to observe—guild leaders, curates, and, of course, Mercy Knights. They might come to give you lectures. Or you might not even be aware of their presence. Even if you do not see them, know they could well be watching you.”
Every other supplicant continues to stare up at the vicar, but there is a new glint to their eyes.
A spark ignited by what we all know—those observers will be guilds and masters searching for talent—but even more, they are thrilled by the mention of Mercy Knights watching, scouting.
One cannot apply to be a Mercy Knight. They are only invited.
“All is to ensure that those who live within our walls are free of the curse, contribute meaningfully to our society, and are loyal to the cause of Vinguard alone.” The vicar stands slightly taller, looming.
His words take on a harsher, more ominous tone.
“Remember: The deadliest dragon is the one within.”
My skin feels too tight, stretched across sinew and bone that is suddenly dragon-sized. I rub my palms along my pants and glance at the other supplicants near me. Their faces are wide with smiles. What it must feel like to be one of them…
“Be prepared to be pushed to your limits to ensure that you are not cursed.” The vicar finally reaches his conclusion, voice booming.
“And should you have indication of another being cursed, you are required to bring them forward or it shall be considered treason and both your lives will be forfeit. No child of Vinguard harbors a dragon or dragon sympathizer. May Valor bless your lives and mercy be swift at your death.”
I swallow the lump in my throat as the vicar descends the spiral stairs, the click of his heels echoing ominously throughout the cavernous room. No one moves, clearly unsure of what to do next. His departure invites my gaze to wander the atrium, settling on each of the six dragon tapestries.
A master weaver has captured each in an eerie likeness, poised for an attack in its own, unique manner.
There’s the green dragon that clouds the air with a noxious haze, its maw dripping with acid. That imagery is a little too fresh for my liking.
The purple dragon, a shade short of midnight, with its black eyes and roar that is said to spark madness.
Nimble, rare, a silver dragon whose scales might as well be hammered plate reinforced with artificer sigils, its claws sharpened steel.
A blue dragon with woven ice around its mighty talons. I can almost imagine the storm clouds that plume from every flap of its wings.
The largest of the group is the yellow dragon, a monstrosity whose size alone renders it formidable, but its shielding and healing auras also make it nearly impossible to kill. What it lacks in offensive magic, it compensates for in brute strength and defensive capabilities.
And the smallest but most fearsome. The nastiest dragon: the copper. The copper beast is nothing but rage and fire. That last one hooks my gaze longer than any other. My heart flutters, scar itching, skin suddenly too hot all over. I’m trying to force the memory away when my friend starts speaking.
“Wild to think that one of us could become one of them,” Saipha murmurs.
“It’s unlikely. There hasn’t been a cursed in the Tribunal in ages.” The words are scripted. I’ve said them to myself a thousand times to try and sleep at night.
I force my gaze away from the copper dragon before I’m consumed once more by the memory of the creature that attacked me that day…
Smoke so thick it blotted out the sun. Running through darkness and flame, smoldering ash filling my nose and clotting my mouth. Bodies littering the ground. Every way forward blocked by rubble and fire, only one way—the worst way: up.
Unbearable heat on an upswell of wind… Then those two unnatural eyes, staring back at me. A parted maw, crackling with a blaze that threatened to consume me.
Until it didn’t…
“It still hurting you?” Saipha asks.
I quickly lower my hand from my chest. “Just itches today.” Damn that habit of mine. I can’t show weakness here. They’re all watching me, expecting me to be Valor. And every inquisitor is looking for a reason to suspect the curse.
“It’s not going to—”
“No, it won’t interfere.” I finish her question before her, sounding more confident than I feel.
“Good! Shall we go see our rooms?”
“Sure.” Most of the supplicants are headed that way anyway.
There’s a staircase with a carved stone sign over its archway that reads Residence Hall.
I’m the last up the stairs, since the rest passed me while I was transfixed on the center statue when I first walked in. That little slip-up does have the benefit now of giving me a view of all the other supplicants—which is also a way to spin my pause as intentional, should anyone bring it up.
I recognize a good few, I think, but it’s hard to be sure. But I can’t tear my eyes off one. I still can’t believe Lucan went on ahead of me. I don’t trust him for a second.
As if he senses my stare, Lucan’s attention is pulled in my direction. His hazel gaze locks with mine. I hold it just long enough to be clear I’m not going to back down but not so long it feels weird. He turns to look ahead, and I let out a relieved breath.
I grab Saipha’s elbow. The stairs are too narrow for us to walk side by side, so we’re awkwardly half sharing steps so I can whisper in her ear.
“You finally get to see him. The vicar’s son.” Lucan rarely leaves the Grand Chapel of Mercy, so despite knowing him pretty well through all my stories, Saipha hasn’t yet had the displeasure of meeting him. “The guy with the blond-brownish hair, darker underneath.”
Saipha follows my gaze, finding Lucan. “The one whose broad shoulders are presently winning a fight against the seams on his shirt?”
I roll my eyes, pretending like I didn’t notice. “Yeah, that’s the one.”
She makes a noise of disgust. “You neglected to tell me how good-looking he is.”
“I mentioned it.” Once. Before his loyalty to the vicar got in the way of me ever seeing him as attractive again.
“You might have conceded it in passing. But you did not sufficiently emphasize the strength of that jawline.”
“Saipha. Gross.”
She sighs dramatically. “You know I’m weak for messy hair and sad eyes.”
“I have faith you’ll persevere,” I say flatly.
Supplicants break away at different levels. Long halls of doors await. Saipha and I continue heading up and around. The stairs seem to go on forever—most buildings in Vinguard are capped at two floors. The Grand Chapel, Mercy Spire, and the monastery are the only three that stretch higher.
The monastery is usually home to many of the curates of the Creed, particularly those who are young and without family dwellings of their own, though it’s fully evacuated for the three weeks of the Tribunal.
There are many more rooms than there are supplicants, so we can take our pick…
and I want to be as far as possible from everyone else—especially Lucan.
So, when I see him go down the second-floor hall, I hastily make my way to the third, then fourth.
We’re the only two who decided to go this high up.
It’s instinct for most in Vinguard to stay close to the ground, me included.
I’m warring against that frightened part of me and doing what a Mercy Knight, a dragon hunter—what Valor would do.
We check out the six doors on this hall—one of them is a bathroom at the end—to ensure we’re alone.
Then I pull us into the hall and wait, watching the curve of the spiral stair.
“What is it?” Saipha has the sense to keep her voice down.
I don’t answer. I hold up a hand, listening. Footsteps are approaching. I hate it when I’m right in the worst possible way.
Lucan crests the stairs, and our eyes meet again. This time, he stops, holding my gaze. A chill sweeps over me. He just…stands there, staring. As if he’s waiting for me to do something. Say something.
I step forward and open my mouth to speak, but another supplicant’s panicked words fill the void.
“Are all the doors locked?” someone exclaims downstairs.
A commotion is rising. More confusion. Similar exclamations from supplicants.
I look back to Saipha, whose eyes are as wide as mine must be. We all know what the vicar said, what we’ve been told our whole lives: the Tribunal has one purpose—to force the curse out. By any means necessary.
And like it or not, all my worst fears are about to come to a head.
A copper box on the wall rattles with the crack of Etherlight and the voice of an unseen speaker. Their words boom through the halls.
“Keys to the rooms have been hidden across the monastery. Acquaint yourselves with your new home. But do it before the day bleeds out. Like the rest of Vinguard, in the Tribunal, safety at night is not a promise.”
I look over at Lucan. Then Saipha. Then back. He turns and bolts down the stairs.
“Chances of there being enough keys for all of us?” I ask Saipha, emotion draining from my voice.
“Slim.” She says what I also suspect.
“And whatever they’re going to do to us at night?”
“Horrible,” she agrees with my thoughts yet again.
“You ready?” I roll my shoulders back and take a breath.
Saipha cracks her knuckles, tosses her short hair. “Yeah, you?”
Even though I feel like I could vomit. Even though this is the nightmare I can’t run from. Even though I’ve spent years training for this and yet feel like I’m somehow unprepared… My voice doesn’t crack when I say, “More. Than. Ever.”