Chapter 1 #4
Anyone with an initiate hopeful or a family member of a clan leader outside the wall could go in on this one day.
King Sigurd, also known as King Bloodaxe, claimed it was a reward for the people of Lothleton.
But anyone caught inside the following day who didn’t belong was removed. Really generous, huh?
“If you do decide to marry soon, uh, I don’t know if your mom has talked to you about... ummm, well, children and how they’re made.”
“Dad,” I groaned. “I’m nineteen.”
“Well, I don’t know,” he admitted, pink-cheeked. “Just... don’t let him sweet-talk you until you know for sure you want to marry him. If he breaks your heart, I’ll break his neck.” He would probably at least give him a beating for dishonoring his daughter.
I laughed and lightly punched his shoulder. “He’s been sweet-talking me for years, and I’ve held out this long.”
He grumbled something under his breath but smiled as we rode through the massive forty-foot-high gates.
Groups of guards stood on both sides. Mages, too, with their tall crystal-topped staffs, watching the crowd closely.
After a mage waved his staff over us, they let us through. I wondered what they were looking for.
The colossal gray walls were made of smooth granite, which I’d always heard vampires couldn’t scale, but warriors patrolled along the tops of them anyway. I bet they were there to keep us normal humans out as much as vampires.
The flags for each guild lined the main brick road.
Plum purple for the mages, gold for the warriors, sage green for the scholars, and black for the assassins.
Each had their own symbol. I’d always favored the mage’s purple with a yellow flaming torch.
The warriors had a crossed white sword and axe.
My brother had always said he’d be a warrior if he was chosen.
He wasn’t. But it didn’t make him less of a fighter.
Kayda said she’d be a scholar if she ever had the choice.
Theirs was a circlet of leaves around a scroll.
The assassin’s flag had a simple “LOA” at the center for League of Assassins. Subtle, sort of mysterious.
The four-story beige stone buildings with terracotta roofs were much different from the log homes I was used to seeing.
Beautiful. Foreign. Lush green ivy hung off the several balconies people waved from. A rainbow of confetti fluttered through the warm air. The smell of freshly baked goods and roasting meat made my mouth water. Despite my nervousness, I could feel the electric excitement in the air.
I absently rolled the small leather pouch from palm to palm, listening to the jingle of coins. I wouldn’t waste my one chance to buy a few things here. This was the only time I would ever set foot inside these walls.
“Fresh roasted turkey legs!” a merchant hollered.
“The finest silk for a pretty girl?” another called as we rolled across the cobblestone. I’d never seen a road so well kept, and I’d never touched silk, but I’d heard it was soft. It shined in the sunlight too.
My father cursed at them under his breath, “Dirty dogs.”
Instruments played somewhere up ahead. I stood in the wagon, trying to get a better look.
Three men held wooden instruments to their necks and gracefully pushed what looked like a bow across the strings to make a beautiful sound.
Drums and chimes joined in. A woman with a haunting, sweet voice wore a daring scarlet dress.
I tried to hide my smile so as not to give away my excitement to my father.
Golden warriors with shining helms and chest plates lined the streets.
Their armor and boots clanked loudly as they walked.
The warriors’ guild on the left side was four stories high, and the crossed-weapon symbols were painted on the tan stone steps leading to the double front doors.
A tall statue of a man in armor, holding a sword above his head, waited at the top.
Next, we passed the scholars’ building with white stone pillars lining the wide front steps.
Several students in sage-green robes with books watched us amble by.
I craned my neck to watch them, a strangled feeling tightening in my chest. I’d never had my own book before, but they did.
Some had several. The only reason I knew how to read was because Grandma Thora was raised in the city before she was forced out and taught my mother.
We’d all read the same storybook she brought us, about a young boy going on an adventure to find a magic sword, a thousand times.
She died when I was ten, the same day I got my scarred hand.
Everyone said it wasn’t my fault. I was just a child... But I knew better than to go outside after dark. I knew.
My jaw dropped as we rolled by the mages’ building. Five arches with frightening carved-stone creatures hung over the edges of the roof. Their faces were menacing, all jaws and teeth and claws. The detail was impeccable, not weathered with time.
“What are those called?” I asked. As a carver myself, I admired the work of whoever had done it. The details on the thousands of scales alone would have taken years. Each looked slightly different, some with open mouths, others closed. Three of them had bat-like wings with the bone and membrane.
“Gargoyles,” my father answered. “Your Grandma Thora said they guard the mages and can even come alive with the right magic. I’ll believe it when I see it with my own eyes.”
When we pulled into an area roped off for wagons and horses, I shielded my eyes from the sun and searched to see if I’d somehow missed it. “Did we pass the assassins’ guild?”
My father hopped out of the wagon, his boots hit the ground with a thud, and he followed the crowd toward the bustling city square, where statues of a figure representing each guild stood at the four corners.
A tall warrior in signature gold waved and directed us all toward a set of descending stairs that led into the bowl-shaped arena at the center.
My mind still reeled at the grandness of it all.
Everything was sweepingly tall, beautiful, untouched by the ravages of nature and the dangers outside the wall.
“No one other than those initiated into the assassins’ guild knows where it is, or so I’ve heard.”
I hurried to catch up to his side. A girl who looked my age glanced over at me.
She had a bow slung on her back and fearsome black paint smudged across her eyelids.
Her blonde hair was pulled into several smaller braids and knots.
She stared at me. “The competition doesn’t look like much,” she said to the tall man beside her. He sneered at me and shook his head.
Little did she know, I wouldn’t even try to beat her in The Rite. But that comment alone made me want to.
The same warrior directing the crowds called out, “Initiate hopefuls, please come forward. This way!”
My father gently squeezed my upper arm. “I’ll meet you at the wagon after.
” But he didn’t release his hold, and his expression turned serious.
“Listen carefully. If you are selected, you need to do what you can to become a scholar. It’s safe.
There, you’ll be well taken care of. Do not become a warrior.
I won’t receive a letter telling me that my daughter is dead.
You will not die for these people, Aesira. ”
My heart hammered. The fear in his eyes reflected how I’d been feeling for days. I wondered if he’d feel differently if the ducai protected us, too. If we were allowed to live inside these high walls. “Dad, I won’t be selected.”
“They will put you through the tests. If they see your quickness and what that might mean, you won’t have a choice.
I know I’ve always talked about hating this city, but at least as a scholar I would know you were protected here in a way that even I can’t protect you.
Your grandmother came from a scholar family.
Your great-grandparents might even take you in. You remember their names?”
My mouth was dry as I nodded. There was a small part of me that wanted to be a scholar.
Grandma Thora had told me stories of what it was like for her, the books, the lessons, and a life of luxury I had trouble even imagining, until she was forced out after The Sorting Rite revealed she wasn’t ducai, even though her parents were. “But grandmother wasn’t ducai.”
“No, but it still ran in her blood.”
My breaths quickened. It was exciting to talk about being selected with my siblings, but we never actually believed it would happen... “But I don’t want to leave everyon—”
“Let’s get moving!” One of the golden warriors shouted next to us. He nudged my arm and tilted his head toward the arena. “We don’t have all day!”
Father scowled at him, and he backed off. He pulled me into a rough hug. This couldn’t be goodbye. It was too rushed. There was too much chaos all around us.
“No matter what happens, be strong. I love you.” My father pulled away, and I grabbed for his hand, but the crowd forced us apart. All I could do was stare as he melted into the many.
My chest felt hollow. I found it harder to breathe. “I love you, too,” I rasped.
“Come on, girl,” the same warrior demanded, herding me until I fell into line with the others my age. Many of the initiates carried weapons. Even if I was supposed to bring one, I wouldn’t have. I didn’t know how to use a weapon.