Talyn notices me staring at his arms. “A Xintari custom.” He shrugs. He’s as much an outsider here as I am, more even, but he seems completely at ease. No. More than at ease. He seems utterly indifferent. “I wouldn’t normally bother, but my father insisted I go formal for my arrival. Representing the royal family and all that.”
“So it’s true then. You’re a prince,” I say.
“I am,” Talyn admits with a crooked smile. “Though I assure you, it’s much less exciting than you’d think. I’ve got six older brothers and three older sisters. My odds of sitting on the Golden Throne are just barely better than yours.”
“Given that I’ve just heard of the Golden Throne for the first time, I can’t imagine that’s true.”
“It’s not really golden. Not all of it anyway,” he replies. “That’s the downside of being a youngest child. My oldest sister leads the army. My oldest brother, the treasury. And I’m stuck here, halfway across the world, given the honor of representing our kingdom in a school for Marovian brats.”
I let out a little laugh, a genuine one, if only because it’s such a relief to hear someone on the same page. “So you’re a diplomat,” I say, and my eyes travel to his bare wrists. No Godsmark. “Not a Wizard?”
“Oh, I’m a Wizard. But Xintari don’t tattoo our wrists,” Talyn replies as if that were an actual answer. “Enough about me, though. I want to know more about you.”
“Me?” I ask, and by the Gods, what I would give for just a few moments of solitude, a few moments without pretending. “There’s not much to know, I’m afraid. I’m certainly no princess. Just another student here, same as everyone else.”
“Oh, I don’t know if that’s true,” he says, eyes flashing to mine. “You’re the only student I saw storming through the banquet hall with a knife in her hand.”
My blood runs cold. He saw. He knows. And he’s just standing there with that bemused smile, his eyes drinking me in. “I… I don’t… I wasn’t…”
Talyn laughs, shaking his head, and his braids sway, tiny silver beads at their tips jingling. “Relax. I’m not judging,” he says. “I’m just curious which of those pompous little shits you wanted to stab so badly.”
I let out the tiniest breath of relief. So he doesn’t know everything. He doesn’t know I was going after Aberdeen. He just thinks I’m holding a grudge. That, that I can work with. “Marius Madison.” I try out a playful shrug of my own. “And I wasn’t going to stab him. Just give him a little scare.”
“Marius Madison,” Talyn says, and for the first time, his smile vanishes. “He and his father greeted me as I arrived. A pair of preening peacocks, desperate to prove themselves superior. Now I wish you had stabbed him.”
“So you won’t report me?”
Talyn lets out a low chuckle as he turns back to face me. “Never. Your secret is safe with me.”
“And why is that?”
“Because I’ve been on this wretched continent two whole weeks, and you’re the first interesting person I’ve met.” He reaches down and takes my hand in his. His palm is soft, warm, and he raises my hand gently to his lips. “It’s been an honor to meet you, Lady Dewinter.”
I still have no idea what this boy is after, but I know I can’t trust a word he says. “And you, Prince Talyn IV.”
“Just Talyn,” he says, and then with one last smile, he vanishes back through the curtain into the banquet hall, leaving me alone in the night.
Gods. Gods! I practically collapse against the railing. The world spins around me, pulsing at the edges. My knees feel weak, my breath ragged. It’s too much, it’s all too much. I can’t do this. I’m a fighter, not a spy. I can’t keep up this front day after day. I can’t keep playing games with these schemers, parsing their every word for cunning intent. I can’t walk back into the hall, can’t force another smile, can’t do this. Not while my parents’ killer draws breath. I just can’t. Not by myself. Not without Sera.
I close my eyes and remember Whispers’s training. Let your thoughts go, she says. Take in only what you feel.
The cold metal of the railing against my palms.
The smell of salt on the chill breeze.
The whistling of the wind, the indistinct chatter from the hall.
My breath, rising and falling. Rising and falling. One, two. One, two. One, two.
I open my eyes and see it. The treetops laid out before me, sprawling, beautiful, swaying ever so slightly. The ocean, vast and endless beyond. And at the island’s edge, a tiny tinkling of lights, flickering like distant fireflies. The village, the one Marlena told me about. The Humbles.
I can do this. I can finish my mission.
I have to.
I smooth out my dress (which is, of course, utterly ruined by the wine), and push my way into the banquet hall. It’s just as I left it: noisy, blinding, a sensory maelstrom. A few heads pivot my way, but most of the students are lost in their own conversations, which is quite the relief. Thankfully, Aberdeen has left the stage, so I don’t have to deal with seeing him, not yet.
“Are you all right?” Fyl asks as I slide back down next to her. “What was that?”
“Sorry. I just got a little overwhelmed and needed some fresh air. And, apparently, some wine poured on me.” I pull on my dress, its deep-purple stain. “What did I miss?”
“Headmaster Aberdeen gave his big speech, the faculty introduced themselves, they served little cakes with coffee liqueur. Nothing interesting. Well, that’s not true, the cakes were extremely interesting.” She nods her head toward the table. “You’re just in time for the important part.”
I glance down and notice for the first time that there is a massive scaled egg, black as obsidian and big as a melon, resting in an ornate clawed holder in front of me. Looking around, everyone else has one, too. “Um,” I say.
“Gods, you know nothing!” Fyl laughs. “This is where we learn which Order we’ve been placed into!”
“I’m going to need more than that.”
“All of us are going to get divided among five Orders of Blackwater. One for each of the Gods.” Fyl gestures up at the stage, and I see five long banners unfurled. Each one is a distinct color, each adorned with an animal sigil at the top. “The Orders all represent the traits of the Gods,” she continues. “Vanguard, the golden stag, for power and dominance. Javellos, the green monkey, for cunning and commerce. Selura, the blue raven, for wisdom and patience. Zartan, the red bear, for bravery and aggression. Nethro, the black kraken, for death and… everything else.”
“And the egg…?”
Fyl snorts with laughter. “It’s a divinity egg. It’ll tell you which Order you’re supposed to be in by reading your soul. It’s magic,” she says, waggling her fingers. “Not really, though. I mean, there’s some neat magic with how the eggs reveal it, but everyone knows they just decide which Order we’re in before we get here.”
Up ahead, some students whoop while others clap. Marius Madison hops onto a bench, pumping his fist in the air, with his egg cracked open in front of him. “Vanguard! Yes! The strong shall prosper!” Names are appearing on the banners as eggs crack, and I see Marius’s fade onto the gold banner in an elegant script.
“Like there was ever any doubt.” Fyl rolls her eyes, and I can’t help but notice her egg sits uncracked. “I’m going to be in Javellos. I mean, almost certainly. Every Potts ever was. Hooray for merchants, right?” She smiles but her body radiates nervousness. “Go on. Open yours.”
Might as well see where this goes. I reach out and press my hand on the top of my egg, and instantly an electric tingle runs through me, lightning in my veins. I let out a little gasp. The grooves between the scales light up with a blinding light, forming a honeycomb of dazzling hexagons, and then the whole thing crumbles into a fine white ash. I feel the pull of the Null and see the aftershock of an illusion Glyph blink in the air, like the colors you see when you press your palms to your eyes. Then it’s gone, and there’s just a pile of ash with a small bla
ck stone lying in it.
“Looks like you’re in the Order of Nethro,” Fyl says.
I look up at the black banner with the kraken at the top and see my name, well, Alayne’s name, appear on it. “Is that bad?”
“No. Not at all. None of the Orders are bad, really. It’s just a matter of personality.” She takes a quick swig of wine, exhales, then reaches out for her egg. “All right. Let’s do this.” Her hand touches it and it glows, and when it crumbles, there’s a black stone there, just like mine.
Fyl’s face falls. “Nethro?” she whispers, lip trembling. “Shit. Really? Shit.”
“I thought you said all the Orders were the same?”
“That’s when I thought I was getting into Javellos! I was being nice!” She slumps forward, face in her hands. “Wow. The first Potts to not even qualify for Javellos. Nethro. Nethro.”
I know it’s irrational for me to be offended given that I’m not really Alayne, but I can’t help prickling. I take my black stone in my hand, turning it over. It seems ordinary enough. “What’s so bad about Nethro?”
Fyl sighs. “The ambitious political kids? They get put in Vanguard. The cunning kids go to Javellos. The bookworms go to Selura. The athletes to Zartan. And Nethro… it’s the reject Order. Where they send all misfits and outcasts and, well, new Marks. All the students they expect to fail.” She takes another sip from her goblet, realizes it’s empty, and angrily tosses it aside. “You know what my father always used to say? Vanguards lead, Javellos greed, Seluras read, and Zartans bleed.”
“And what do Nethros do?”
“Absolutely nothing.” Fyl angrily shoves her stone aside. “Gods. My parents are going to be devastated.”
I lean back, taking it all in. I’d always thought the world was divided into two groups: Humbles and Wizards, the powerful and the oppressed. I’d assumed all Wizards had it easy. But it’s clear to me now that I was wrong, that the structure of power is so much more complicated. Hierarchies within hierarchies, ladders within ladders, a never-ending nesting doll of social climbing. Fyl probably has more money than anyone I’d ever met in my first seventeen years, but within these halls, she’s treated like a nobody.
It’s hard to believe, but it makes so much sense. We’ve been students here less than an hour, and already we’ve been sorted and divided, judged arbitrarily and shuffled into factions. It’s cruel, unimaginably cruel, but I can see the purpose. Already I find my eyes roaming the room for other black stones, seeking allies. Already, I feel hatred blossoming toward the Vanguards, Marius’s faction, for no other reason than he’s one of them.
It’s the way of Wizards, summed up. Under the table, my hand clenches involuntarily into a fist, and I long for the cold grip of my Loci. This world is wrong. Every part of it.
I need to focus, so I turn back to Fyl. “Do the Orders really matter? What do they get you?”
“Status?” Fyl says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Social worth? The validation of our parents? And, you know, the Great Game. If you care about that.”
“The what now?”
“You would’ve heard it if you’d been here for Headmaster Aberdeen’s talk,” Fyl teases, not realizing how close I came to making sure Aberdeen never talked again. “The Great Game is a big contest held over the course of our first year. There are three challenges, one every few months, where all the Orders compete for points. And at the end of the year, the Order with the most points is crowned the Order Triumphant. They get a big celebration where the Grandmaster honors them on the floor of the Senate. It’s a whole thing.” She shakes her head. “Not that it matters, though. Vanguard wins every year.”
Fyl turns away, flagging down a Humble for more wine, which is good because she doesn’t see the look on my face. The whole world seems to grow quiet and still as the weight of her words, thrown off so casually, wash over me. The Grandmaster honors the winning Order on the floor of the Senate. The floor of the Senate.
The Revenants have been around, in one way or another, for a century. We’ve had our share of victories: a garrison burned, a Wizard assassinated, a labor camp liberated. But the Senate has always been the crown jewel that’s eluded us, the conquest we’ve never even come close to claiming. We’ve tried, oh, we’ve definitely tried. But the Senate of Marovia is the most secure building in the world, nestled in the heart of the impenetrable Arbormont, hidden by layers and layers of protective Glyphs, guarded night and day by an army of Enforcers. Whispers long abandoned hope of ever attacking it directly.
She sent me here to learn the secrets of magic. But even she had no idea of the real prize at play. If I can keep up my act, if I can rise through the ranks, if I can win this stupid game, I’d go where no Revenant has ever been. They’d welcome me into the Senate itself, past the wards, past the walls, past the Enforcers. They’d bring me onto that floor and surround me with all of the Republic’s most important and powerful people. They’d leave themselves wide open.
And I smile. Not the fake smile I’ve been forcing all night, but a real, genuine smile, because I just can’t help myself. I look up at the professors, right at Aberdeen. He’s leaning back in his chair, laughing as he sips wine from a jeweled chalice, not a care in the world. A minute ago, that would’ve made me livid. But now, I see it for the weakness, for the vulnerability, that it is. His guard is down. He has no idea that his destruction, his ruin, is sitting just on the other side of the room.
My calm gives way to resolve, to confidence, even. I’m going to fulfill my mission. I’m going to learn all their secrets. I’m going to be welcomed, welcomed, onto the floor of the Senate. And then I’m going to destroy it.
Aberdeen boasted of the order he built before killing my parents? Well, I’m going to make him watch as I burn it down around him. I’m going to set his entire beloved Republic ablaze before his eyes.
And then? Then when I’ve taken everything from him? When I’ve made him feel a taste of what he did to me?
Then I’ll going to kill him.
CHAPTER 7
Then
I am seven years old when I find my new home.
After my parents are killed, after I scream and howl at that beach, the next few days are a blur, a daze half remembered through burning eyes. I stagger through the streets with Sera, hiding from patrolling Enforcers. We huddle in dark alleys, drinking water out of puddles, eating discarded scraps from the market. We beg strangers for help and catch only averted gazes and scowls of disgust.
And somehow, somehow, as dawn rises three days later, we find ourselves on the other side of Laroc, in the slums, where wooden shacks grow off one another like barnacles, where the air is hazy with smoke and noisy with the chatter from brothels. I shove the paper my father gave me at a bleary-eyed drunk who points us to our final destination, an old warehouse with a high roof and walls of crumbling red brick. I stagger toward it, my messy hair caked to my head, my clothes tattered, my face blackened with ash and dirt. Sera follows, head down, hidden behind her tangled red curls. She hasn’t spoken a single word since the night that our parents died, no matter how much I begged her, no matter how hard I cried.
I’m afraid she’ll never speak again.
A massive blond Velkschen man stands guard by the warehouse door, a hand resting on the wide flat blade sheathed at his side. In the years to come, I’ll know him as Crixus; I’ll learn the art of the blade from him; I’ll cry when he dies. But for now, he’s just the terrifying man blocking me from the place I need to go.
I approach anyway. What else can I do? “Please, sir,” I say. “I… I…”
“No money,” he says with a guttural accent, and I can see how awful I must look by the revulsion in his eyes. “No give.”
“My name is Alka Chelrazi,” I choke out. “This is my sister, Sera. Our father was Petyr Chelrazi. He sent us here. To talk to Whispers.” I collapse to my knees, because I can’t go any farther, and if this doesn’t work, nothing will. “Please.”
&
nbsp; The man stares at me, alarmed. “Wait,” he says at last, then ducks inside. Minutes pass, long minutes in the hot sun, and then he comes out again, looking no more certain. “Whispers not here, but… come. Come!”
He pushes aside the door and ushers me in. Sera and I follow him into the cool shadows of the room, and right away I understand we are somewhere secret, somewhere dangerous and forbidden. The warehouse has been repurposed into a barracks. Dozens of men and women fill the place, sitting on catwalks, poring over maps and papers, chatting softly under rickety awnings. Weapons in racks line the walls, swords and spears and crossbows. At the far end of the room, on a raised platform, a lean woman spars against a shirtless man, circling as their wooden blades strike with resounding clacks. Was this where my father would go during the days? What had he been involved in?
“Wait here,” the guard says, gesturing us to a bench. “Whispers back soon.” I slump down on the bench, aware that the room has gone silent, that the fighters have stopped fighting and the plotters stopped plotting, that everyone is staring at us. I don’t know what I’m doing here, don’t know where here even is, don’t know what happens next. I just know that my parents are dead and my world is shattered. I just know that nothing will ever be right again.
I put my head in my hands and I cry.
“It’ll be okay,” Sera says.
I stop and slowly look up from my hands. Sera’s sitting next to me on the bench, and she’s brushed her curls aside so she’s looking at me with her big eyes. For days, every time I looked at her they were bleary and bloodshot, but right now, they look clear, focused, determined.
“You talked,” I whisper. “I was so scared you wouldn’t talk anymore. I was so scared.…” I look around this big dark room, at the surly faces watching us, at the jagged weapons and dirty floors. “I’m still so scared.…”
“We can’t be scared,” she says. Her voice is determined, serious, older than it has any right to be. “Papa said we have to be strong and brave. He said if we came here, we’d be safe. So we’re going to be safe. Because he said so.”
It Ends in Fire Page 7