Chapter 2 #2
For an instant, his expression held pure surprise. Then the shadows at his feet rose in thin black ribbons, winding through the violet light without extinguishing it.
The dark-stoned torc settled around his neck.
“Sebastian of the Veiled Archive,” the headmaster called. “Chosen heir of Shadow.”
Sebastian touched the torc with two fingers. The movement was brief, almost disbelieving. Then his gaze dropped to the rune beneath his boots as though being selected had made the inscription more interesting, not less.
He bowed to the Prism.
The third beam formed before the applause finished.
Silver light crossed the Storm candidates.
Rafe’s smile disappeared.
The beam found him immediately, passing over no one else. Lightning snapped across the silver embroidery at his cuffs and traveled up his arms without burning the fabric.
A low murmur came from the candidates. The Prism was not supposed to favor speed or certainty, but no one could mistake what it had done.
Rafe looked toward the galleries again.
Whoever he had been searching for was forgotten now.
The third torc changed in the air, its clear stones deepening to the gray-blue of an approaching storm. It locked around his throat.
“Rafe of the Western Tempest,” the headmaster said. “Chosen heir of Storm.”
Rafe recovered enough to bow, though he did it with less precision than Sebastian. When he straightened, the easy humor had not returned to his face.
Three heirs.
I looked toward Camilla.
Her hands had curled into fists.
Only one torc remained. Pale blue light shone from its clear stones, but the color had not yet settled. It could still change. The final selection did not have to be Frost simply because the torc had awakened that way.
It could become green.
I found myself holding my breath.
The Prism brightened.
A blue-white beam formed inside it and turned toward Leander’s line.
For the first time, he moved. Not much—only lifting his chin and squaring his shoulders—but the confidence of the gesture made it clear that he expected the light to find him.
It did.
The beam crossed the Frost candidates and stopped at the center of his chest. Ice spread over the floor beneath his boots in a perfect circle.
The fourth torc flew to him. Pale blue stones flashed as it fastened around his throat.
“Leander of the Northern Crown,” the headmaster announced. “Chosen heir of Frost.”
The Frost delegation bowed.
The galleries erupted.
The fourth selection released everything the audience had restrained during the first three.
Families stood. Applause filled the Hall, accompanied by shouts from the military section for Torren and a rolling crack of thunder from Rafe’s supporters.
The sound struck the walls and returned through the acoustical runes until it seemed twice as loud.
Mother and Father remained seated.
Camilla had not moved.
I could see her face between two celebrating candidates. She looked at Leander, then at the empty space where the final torc had floated.
There was no torc left.
No beam left.
Four heirs had been chosen.
Camilla was not one of them.
My thumbnail dug into the side seam of my robe.
I had prepared myself for her selection so completely that I did not know what to feel in its absence.
She had given more than half her life to this moment.
She had studied crown law, military strategy, elemental alliances, and every recorded Trial.
She had trained until the scales along her ribs cracked and bled.
The Prism had passed her over in front of the entire realm.
The headmaster raised both hands, calling for silence.
Slowly, the applause diminished.
Torren, Sebastian, Rafe, and Leander stood within separate circles of elemental light. The other candidates remained in formation around them, some openly disappointed, others already recovering their composure.
Camilla looked toward our parents.
Mother’s hand covered her mouth. Father stared at the Prism as if waiting for it to correct an obvious error.
My sister’s gaze shifted to me.
I did not know what she saw in my face. Sympathy would humiliate her. Shock would be worse. There was no expression I could offer that would not acknowledge what hundreds of witnesses had just seen.
I gave her the smallest nod I could manage.
Not pity.
I see you.
Her shoulders straightened.
The headmaster turned toward the four chosen men.
“The Prism has named its heirs.”
Light flashed beneath the western lamp.
I glanced toward it.
The hidden lines I had uncovered were glowing.
At first, the illumination was so faint that I thought it came from the Prism. Then another buried mark ignited beneath the lamp stand. A third followed, carrying color through the cuts still packed with dust.
The glow moved across the floor.
Not toward one of the four prominent runes surrounding the Prism.
Between them.
The pulse beneath my keeper’s badge returned.
This time, it matched the light.
My skin prickled.
“Master Orin,” I whispered.
He did not hear me over the headmaster’s voice.
“The four of you will—”
The Prism cracked.
The sound stopped him.
It was not the sharp break of damaged glass. It came from deep within the crystal, low enough that I felt it through the soles of my shoes.
Every person in the Hall went still.
The elemental beams surrounding the four heirs vanished.
The Prism should have darkened with them.
Instead, the white light at its center intensified.
Keeper Malcolm stepped forward. “The Choosing is complete.”
Certainty sharpened the words into an order.
Another crack sounded.
The hidden rune nearest me flared.
Light raced around the floor, connecting marks no one had uncovered. Candidates stumbled away as a new pattern appeared beneath their feet. It circled the four heir runes, crossed the ceremonial dais, and ended at the eastern wall.
At me.
I flattened my back against the stone.
The light beneath my badge became heat. Clear radiance leaked between my fingers.
Master Orin turned.
His inventory slipped from beneath his arm.
The Prism released a fifth beam.
It held no single color. The light was nearly transparent, visible only where its edges caught red, violet, silver, and blue from the glowing floor.
It passed through the rows of candidates.
Several ducked. Others stood frozen as it moved between them. The beam crossed the Stone line and reached Camilla.
For one desperate instant, I thought the Prism had reconsidered.
The light touched the edge of her slate-gray uniform.
Then it passed her.
Camilla turned as the beam continued across the Hall.
Directly toward me.
I tried to move.
The two senior assistants beside me retreated, but my legs would not obey. The light struck my chest with enough force to knock the air from my lungs.
The Hall disappeared.
Color exploded across my vision—red heat, violet darkness, silver lightning, blue-white cold, and something clear that split them all apart before drawing them together again.
For one impossible heartbeat, something vast opened its eyes beneath my skin.
Someone called my name.
I could not tell whether it was Camilla, Master Orin, or my mother.
The last thing I saw clearly was the Prism blazing in the center of the Hall—and four chosen heirs turning to stare at me.