THE COMPETENCY GAUNTLET
Freya
The drums strike again, loud as thunder.
Elder Thane raises his arms. “The Luna Competency Trial will have three tests: wisdom, ferocity, and mercy. The one who prevails shall be named rightful Luna of Silvercrest.”
A hum ripples through the crowd, and torches flare as if on cue.
Izel steps forward first, her pale gown trailing behind her over the marble of the arena. She bows her head slightly to the High Council, then flashes me a sweet, poisonous smile. “May the Moon favor the worthy,” she says.
“May she burn the false,” I reply coldly.
◆◆◆
A carved stone table waits in the center; placed atop it are three bowls containing salt, blood, and moonwater.
A younger councilwoman, Esme, with short-cropped blonde hair, steps forward. “A Luna must know balance. Tell us which sustains the pack.”
Izel answers eagerly. “Blood, of course. Without it, there is no life.”
Esme gestures for me.
I study the bowls, then finally speak calmly, “Blood gives strength, but salt preserves it. Water heals it. None sustain the pack alone. Balance does.”
A murmur ripples through the crowd. Esme’s lips twitch. “Correct. Luna Freya claims the first mark.”
I sigh with relief.
Esme raises her hand again. “Second question. A Luna must know her people’s hearts.” She turns, her tone shifting to one of quiet challenge. “What breaks a pack fastest: hunger, war, or silence?”
Izel answers smoothly. “War. Wolves die in war. That’s the end of all bonds.”
Esme nods, then looks to me.
“Silence,” I say. “Hunger and war can be endured together. But silence between wolves kills slowly—it makes them strangers. And a pack of strangers cannot survive.”
A low rumble of approval from the crowd follows. Esme marks another symbol on the stone. “Freya Vale-Thorne claims the second mark.”
My eyes instinctively explore in search of Rowan and find him soon enough. There’s a smile on his face, which encourages me further.
“Last question,” she says. “A Luna must know herself. Answer this: when the Moon hides her face, what remains to guide the pack?”
Izel tilts her chin proudly. “The stars,” she says. “Even when the Moon fades, her children remain to light our path.”
Esme turns to me.
“The howl,” I reply softly. “It’s the call that binds us. When the Moon is gone, we guide each other home.”
The elder frowns. “A fine sentiment, but wrong.”
My heart stumbles.
She gestures to Izel. “The stars are the Moon’s promise. Her light endures through them.”
Applause follows, thin, but enough for Izel to bow with smug grace.
Esme nods. “One mark to Izel. Two to Luna Freya. Wisdom round complete.”
Izel leans close as we pass each other. “Even the Moon doesn’t favor you always.”
I ignore her.
◆◆◆
For the ferocity round, two warriors step forward from each pack to form a ring. The scent of sweat and dust fills the arena.
“This is combat,” Thane announces. “No magic or tricks. Strength and skill alone.”
I strip off my cloak and toss it to the floor. The air is cool against my skin, the marble cooler beneath my feet. Izel stretches her arms, eyes glinting with malice.
The signal is given.
She moves first—fast, sharper than I expected. Her staff cuts through the air, but I duck low, hit her legs with my own staff, and send her sprawling. Gasps ripple from the crowd. Izel snarls, rising, hair sticking to her face.
“You’ll regret that,” she hisses.
“I doubt it.”
She feints left, then flicks her fingers, making a tiny spark appear. Witchfire. Green and unnaturally hot. It catches my arm, burning flesh. I bite back a cry.
Gasps and shouts erupt.
“Magic!” Esme calls out sharply. “The test forbids witchcraft!”
Izel freezes, eyes wide, but it’s too late. Esme strides forward with another elder, hands raised. The High Council murmurs among themselves.
Elder Thane frowns, but he doesn’t intervene.
“Continue,” Esme orders coldly. “Without spells.”
Izel glares at her but obeys. She snaps with her staff, which hits me straight at my cheek, making me yelp. I raise mine, but it slips from my hand like it’s coated with oil. With a growl, I grip it harder, avoiding her blow. But it only feels more slippery.
“Forgotten all your practice?” Izel teases, smirking.
I seize the opening and glide right, dropping the useless, rigged staff. I catch her wrist and twist. Her body hits the floor, toppling the staff from her hand. My knee pins her chest. She spits, screaming in frustration.
“Yield,” I demand, calling forth Nyx’s strength.
She doesn’t. So, I slam my palm against her shoulder, forcing it to the ground so hard it’s close to breaking like a stick.
“Yield,” I repeat.
Her teeth bare. “Fine.”
The drums stop.
“Freya Vale-Thorne wins the Test of Ferocity,” Esme declares.
A few Nightfell wolves cheer. I catch Rowan’s small, quiet smile from across the ring.
◆◆◆
Two guards drag in a wounded warrior—a trembling man with blood down his chest, barely able to stand.
Thane gestures. “Your last test. Mercy. You may end his suffering, or grant him reprieve. Choose wisely.”
Izel steps first, not hesitating. “Mercy is release,” she says, and slits his throat.
The crowd murmurs—some approving, others uneasy.
My turn.
I kneel beside another wounded wolf whose eyes dull with pain. “What is your name?” I ask softly.
“Calen,” he rasps.
“Do you want to live?”
He nods weakly.
I place my hand over his heart, close my eyes, and whisper the Moon’s Benediction. It’s a simple healing prayer; one every Luna is taught. His breathing becomes steady, and the blood flow slows.
When I rise, the arena is quiet.
“She spared him,” someone finally whispers.
Another voice, “That’s the duty of a Luna. To heal and to save.”
Esme lifts her voice above the murmurs. “Freya Vale-Thorne has passed all three tests. By law, she stands Luna of Silvercrest.”
Cheers rise—Nightfell, Silvercrest, even from Ravencourt.
But Thane doesn’t clap. His expression is cold and unreadable.
“Not yet,” says a voice, smooth and chilling.
A woman steps forward. Her hood falls back, revealing a pale face, eyes brown as the earth. It takes a second to understand the resemblance.
She’s Izel’s mother. Nyssa.
“I challenge the verdict,” she says. “By Lunar law of blood-bond and lineage, one bound by the challenger’s blood may invoke the Trial by Blood. The victor claims the Luna’s crown. The fallen forfeits life.”