The girl smiles and points to the left side below the stage. “Everyone is waiting there.”
Sure enough, a crowd of young people stands in a slightly raised, roped-off area. I don’t know why I didn’t see the spot before. Probably too nervous. I recognize several faces from my shop’s neighborhood.
“Thanks,” I say as she turns and steps forward to the check-in station.
“Next,” a plump woman calls out.
I walk toward her and hold out my hand. Without a word, she takes my wrist and places my palm down on what appears to be a plain metal plate.
Electricity jolts through me for a split second, and then she releases my hand. “Arabella of the House of Garin.” As she announces my name, an ‘L’ written in calligraphy—symbolizing the House of Lore—appears on the back of my hand.
“This marking is your ticket into the waiting area. Once you have completed the Ceremony and if you remain unchosen, the mark will disappear.” She waves me on to the holding area.
I follow behind the freckled-face girl and watch as she holds up her hand, showing her marking to the Guard at the entrance. Quickly, I catch up with her and do the same. The Guard grunts and allows us to pass.
“What’s your name?” I ask the girl, hoping to stave off some of my nervous energy by finding someone to talk to.
“Esme,” she answers. “House of Cole.”
“Are you nervous?”
Esme smiles. “I think I might fall over and die, I’m so nervous.”
Just knowing I’m not the only one helps me feel a bit better.
Up on the stage, a woman with tightly drawn-back, jet-black hair nearly floats to the center. She wears a long, turquoise, satin gown with gold brocade at the bodice. Her neck is draped by a matching sash and the hem of her dress sweeps the ground, as if she were walking on air. Like all those associated with the Royal class, her Transfer marking is on full display through a window styled on the sleeve on her arm. The marking is hard to see from here, but it’s a fancy pattern. The intricate details create a sense of importance, and is probably why most of their clothing is designed to show their Transfer markings off. By her wardrobe and the way she hold her head high, it’s obvious the woman is highborn.
A hush falls over the crowd when she raises her hands to command their attention.
“I’m Lady Albright from the Council of Lore. Today we are here to celebrate the Transfer of Life Ceremony,” she says in a superior tone. “This sacred ritual grounds the Queendom of Lore in both tradition and magic.
“In the year of 254, after the Breech, five of our Elders have passed on. This means we will require four recipients for the Transfer of their Essences.” She gestures down to us.
Please, not me. Please, not me.
“You candidates represent the future of our great land,” she continues. “You will gain purpose and fulfill the House of Lore’s great tradition by becoming more than you are now.”
Her smug words are meant to inspire, but they’re nothing more than a fancy way to talk down to us.
She paces from one side of the stage to the other. “Today we honor those passed. A Royal Alchemist, an Executive Lore Maiden, a Weapons Engineer, and a Lore Traditions Keeper. Their purpose and skill will live on in those selected.”
The jobs are important, but never ones of real power. The pool of candidates for positions like the Council or the Queen herself are taken from a much smaller, less random selection. But there’s still some mystery in the process . . . not even Princess Thea is guaranteed to sit on the throne, if her mother were to die.
Lady Albright gestures to the Guards and they dutifully move the box to the front of the stage, setting it on top of a large table covered with a blue silk cloth before falling back in line. She unlatches a delicate clasp and slowly lifts the lid. I instinctually stretch my neck, but I’m unable to see the Talisman from this lower vantage.
Slowly, Lady Albright lifts the jeweled trinket from the chest. The Talisman shimmers in the early morning sun, sparkling with every slight movement. No bigger than her hand, she presents the ornament to the crowd, and murmurs flutter through the gathering. A tightness in my chest forms and I glimpse back, desperately trying to find Asher and Mama, but onlookers block them.
Lady Albright places her free hand over the top of the Talisman. A soft purple aura shines out from all sides. She removes her hand, but the bright glow remains.
“We are ready to proceed,” Albright says. “Bring up the first in line.”
The gathering of candidates surrounding me begins to stir. A Royal Guard beside the stage hammers his staff against the ground, grabbing our attention. He points at the first boy that’s closest to him and nods toward Lady Albright. The slender boy glances over his fellow candidates, his eyes wide with uncertainty, before slowly stepping up. His features are still childish with his chubby cheeks, but only seventeen-year-olds are forced to do this. His mop of brown hair shields his face, but with his gangly arms locked at his sides, I know he’s terrified.
Lady Albright moves the Talisman closer to the boy, but nothing happens. I watch as his chest lowers in a deep exhale. He’ll be able to go back to whatever life he’s chosen for himself. A forced smile ekes its way onto Albright’s lips before she directs him to leave the stage at the opposite end.
One by one, the candidates’ mixed emotions collide with the gravity of the situation, but no one is chosen yet. A subtle warmth of fear rolls over my body as candidate after candidate is paraded up.
A light brown-haired girl, wearing a delicate blue dress, strolls to the front and a flash of light bursts out of the Talisman. Over the device hovers a symbol of a calligraphy pen and open book. The girl flinches and clutches at her arm. A soft red electrical pulse forms on her shoulder before fading away and revealing an identical symbol etched into her skin.
“We have a new Lore Traditions Keeper!” Albright exclaims. “We welcome your service to the Queendom.”
Tears pool in her eyes. Albright naturally treats them as tears of joy, as she congratulates her. But I know better.
Shaking slightly, the girl walks off the stage and is greeted by a Royal Guard, who leads her away and out of sight. Again, I try to find Asher in the crowd, but just as I catch a glimpse of his familiar green eyes, another burst of light draws me back to the stage.
It’s Esme. She’s been selected as the Executive Lore Maiden. Shock locks her mouth open while her eyes dart from side to side. She doesn’t even move as the silver marking forms on her arm.
“Executive Lore Maiden is a highly respected position at the castle,” Albright says. “We welcome your service to the Queendom.”
Esme studies the crowd and turns back to meet my eyes. I can do nothing more than mouth the words, “I’m sorry.”
A moment later and she’s gone.
I manage to fall back deeper into the group. I receive a few nasty looks as I bump into others while backpedaling away from the stage. Not that order will change anything, but I just can’t manage to face the possibility of what might come.
Several minutes pass and no one else is selected. Nearly half the candidates still shuffle about in the cramped space.
A tall boy with shaggy dark brown hair lumbers up the stage. A burst of light halos around his large body before the illumination fades. He pumps his fist in the air and lets out a deep bellow of joy. Not everyone dreads this process, like I do. And who knows, as the Royal Alchemist, maybe his new future really will be a better life than the one he previously knew.
A few more survive unscathed and I find myself fast approaching the line’s front. There’s no more room to filter to the back this time. Peering over my shoulder, I estimate there are nearly forty or so candidates remaining and just one more spot left to fill. Fairly good odds.
I’m at the head of the line now when another candidate passes through unchosen. My throat runs dry as I struggle to swallow down the lifelong fear right in front of me.
It’s time.
>
The Royal Guard points his long staff at me, directing me to Albright. I take each step as if in slow motion. Rising higher now makes it easier to spot those in attendance. Asher has his arms around a petrified Mama. Our eyes meet and he mouths, “You got this.”
“Step closer, dear,” Lady Albright insists, but my feet don’t want to move.
I inhale deeply and then exhale a slow, shaky breath as I reach her. Albright’s deep brown eyes lock with mine. She moves the sparkling Talisman closer to me.
This is it, my life is in her hands now.
My legs grow weak as fear seeps into my core, pulling at every muscle. I will myself to take a step closer when a piercing siren blares, pulling my attention away from the Lady. Torn in two, I try to focus on the siren and keep my eyes on the Talisman.
Queen Isolde is dead. An emergency hearing will take place at the castle shortly. Check in with your Royal Authority for further instructions.
The words resonate through the air and a shiver travels up my chest and neck. All the blood seems to drain from Albright’s face, and she pulls the antique back.
The announcement stops and murmurs from the crowd increase. Several Royal Guards step into the crowd, barking orders at the people.
“What’s going on?” I plead to Albright, but her attention is on the Guards in the restless crowd.
Did I just hear that right? The Queen is dead? My already weak knees buckle, and I lose my balance and stumble into the Lady. My arm presses to the Talisman and I try to keep myself upright.
“Get away from me, you wretch.” Albright elbows me and I stumble back a step. But I trip instead, landing in a confused heap on the stage behind the silk cloth covered table. All I see is royal blue, nothing more. Not even the crowd.
“I’m sor—”
Before the words exit my lips a bright golden burst erupts around the Talisman, blinding me. My body warms, and all my previous fear dissipates. Energy surges through me and prickles every bit of exposed skin on my body. Streams of vibrant, chaotic visions flood my thoughts. They move so fast, all I see is a blur of colors as my head spins. I raise to one knee as the light dims. A burning heat coils over my shoulder and I grab at the branded skin, willing it away, but it doesn’t work.
The flurry of sensations stops. I peer up. Albright’s back is to me as she shouts orders at the Royal Guards. I tug on her dress and she swivels my way, lips pinched in disgust, a tiny scowl appearing between her brows. Her eyes lock on my arm, then narrow into an intense glare.
“There must be a mistake.” Albright shifts her gaze between me and the Guards. “It can’t be.”
“What can’t be?” I whip my head toward my left shoulder. A golden symbol absorbs the sun’s light, glistening with beautiful detail—an intricate fleur de lis pattern topped with a crown. I don’t know what all the markings look like, but everyone knows the marking of the Queen.
Albright rips her sash from her neck and tightly wraps it around my arm, over the marking. Then she yanks me to my feet.
“I–I don’t understand,” I stammer.
“Take her to my coach!” Albright orders a nearby Guard while still holding onto me. “And say nothing to anyone.”
The Guard bows his head.
Before releasing me to him, she leans in close. “How in the Queendom did you forge the Royal marking?”
Chapter Four
The symbol burns like fire on my skin. I try to clutch at my upper arm, but a steel-faced Guard rips my hands behind my back and snaps a metal device around my wrists.
I let out a yelp.
“Walk,” he demands in a gruff voice.
From my vantage point, I gawk at the onlookers. Blue- and black-clad Guards line the front of the stage and push against the mass of panicked townspeople.
“Please return to your homes,” says an unseen voice. “The Transfer of Life Ceremony is postponed. Please return to—”
The voice repeats its message as I scan the mob for Mama and Asher, my eyes darting from one horrified face to another. My heart pounds and I gasp for air that won’t come. The whole scene blurs.
“This isn’t real . . . this isn’t real,” I whisper to myself. I glance over at where the golden symbol on my upper arm lies under Albright’s sash. Before I can attempt a closer examination, a hand seizes my arm again. A set of sharp nails dig into my skin.
“You better walk off this stage,” Albright hisses into my ear, “or I’ll kill you myself right now, you little traitor.”
I jerk back. Lady Albright’s now merciless face is only inches from mine.
Submissively, I lower my head and force my feet to follow her toward the stairs. Once I’m down the steps, a second Guard marches me toward a gaudy gold and blue carriage.
The driver opens the door and Lady Albright, now returned to her haughty, but calm demeanor, straightens her shoulders and quickly climbs both steps into the cab. I lift my shaking foot to the first step, but I’m not given the chance to ascend on my own. One of my Guards grasps me by the waist and all but tosses me inside.
I scramble to my feet, then fall into the seat across from Lady Albright. With my hands still secure behind my back, I wedge myself into the corner farthest from the exit.
As the carriage door slams shut, I snap my attention toward the Lady, who’s now straightening her skirt. Are they leaving me with her by myself? What if she murders me?
“Please,” I whisper, “I don’t know what happened. I just want to go ho—”
She raises a small dagger at me that begins to glow with a bright purple aura. Electricity weaves its way around her hands and blade, crackling.
Lady Albright’s cheeks flush. “Shut up, or I will kill you,” she snarls, then glances to the symbol peeking through the bunched sash over my arm.
I press my side further into the corner of my seat and look away from her. Out of the corner of my eye, the aura dims, and the sparking sound stops as she tucks the blade into a small satchel.
Tears burn at the corners of my eyes. Rotating further toward the wall, I let them fall. I draw in a deep breath, and with the increased oxygen, the pain in my arm surges again. I grit my teeth and close my eyes to fight the burning sensation.
Dizziness swims through my fogging head, and then I find myself racing down a corridor. New emotions flood me—joy, anticipation . . .
Confused, I stop and look down at my body, but it’s not me anymore. I bring up my hands and study my fingers. The digits are tiny, and the nails are perfectly clean and manicured. Not lined with dirt around the nail bed, like my own. The dress I’m wearing is white lace. I pinch the fabric, rubbing the exquisite detail of the weave between the pads of my fingers. I drop the delicate folds, almost afraid to touch the garment. This dress would cost more than my family earns in months.
“Ready or not, here I come!” I twist toward the child’s muffled voice, but they’re hidden.
I gulp, and the memory of what I’m doing comes back to me. I need to find a hiding spot. I step forward, and dizziness spirals me back into the horrid cab of the carriage.
“It’s begun, hasn’t it?” Lady Albright speaks in a low, gravelly tone.
“What?” I oddly feel a strong sense of duty. To what, I’m not entirely sure yet.
“The Transfer of memories. The visions start with the earliest and tend to work themselves to the present. But it’s different for each Transfer.”
Muted shouts come from outside as the carriage bumps over the road.
“Have you ever met the Queen?” she demands.
I shake my head, afraid to speak.
Her eyebrows knit together. “Been to the castle?”
Once again, I shake my head. “I’ve barely been outside Arlos. I have no idea what happened.”
“The Queen was murdered!” she roars. “You are the one who bears her marking. How could you have no idea of what happened?”
“I didn’t want any Transfer. Why would I want to be Queen?”
She tighte
ns her jaw and twists her head away from me. Lady Albright doesn’t acknowledge my existence for the next twenty minutes. Not until the carriage jostles to a momentary stop.
Albright cocks her head toward me. “We will arrive at the castle in a moment. When we exit the carriage, you will do as you are told. And without resistance.”
I bob my head several times as her pale, ice blue eyes pin me where I sit.
“The only reason you are not dead right now is because you are the Queen’s Vessel. Nothing more. A Vessel.”
“Yes, ma’am—”
“Shut up. If you do anything—and I mean anything—to make me think you will attempt to escape or risk the Queendom, I will have everyone you love tortured and then executed.” She pauses for a second. “Are we clear?”
Mama, Neil, and Asher’s faces flash in my mind, and my stomach twists with nausea. “Yes…” I start to reply, then slam my mouth shut and lower my eyes.
“Good.” Albright straightens and composes her expression.
The door of the carriage flies open and bright sunlight fills the space. I squint against the glow as Lady Albright stands and climbs down the stairs with the aid of an escort’s hand.
After she’s clear, the same Guard that forced me inside appears in the doorway.
Without being prompted, I jump to my feet and allow him to tug me from the cab. I nearly trip on the stairs, but his firm grasp on my arm holds me steady.
Outside, I almost expect to see another angry mob, but there’s only a scattering of Guards and what I’m guessing are officials of some kind. My escort nearly drags me past them as we follow Lady Albright toward the entrance of what must be the Castle of Lore.
The hulking building is three stories high and constructed of gray-flecked stone. On the roof, perched on steel watch towers, soldiers stand guard, staffs in hand. Vibrant green vines crawl up the sides of the castle like tendrils of organic magic reaching for the sky.
A tall, muscular soldier joins Lady Albright a few feet from the entrance. He appears around his mid-forties, with ash-gray hair creeping up to his temples. The sleeve of his uniform is lined with multiple gold stripes.
Crown of Lore (Betrayal of Magic Book 1) Page 3