“Who controls the past controls the future. Who controls the present controls the past.” — George Orwell, Nineteen Eighty-Four

  ???

  The Grand Combat Hall of the Imperial Officers Academy, like most of the school, was grand, with crimson banners bearing Alathia’s symbol draped across the walls. The chamber was vast and cavernous, capable of holding hundreds of students, and often used for the end-of-year practical examinations.

  The students, both first years, who were either waiting for their names to be called or chatting with their new friends, and upperclassmen who were all seated in the bleachers, their eyes bright with excitement and anticipation. Even the third year students watched from the observation gallery above like hawks circling a fresh kill.

  The placement tests for the first years had long since turned into some kind of exhibition spectacle. Instructors called out names from the clipboards in their hands, pitting new students against upperclassmen to assess their skill.

  “The point isn’t to defeat your upperclassmen or even kill them,” The head instructor had told them earlier, explaining the format of the practical placement tests. “This is to gauge your skill and ability level, and to determine, along with the theory placement tests that each of you sat for months ago, whether you’ll be placed in the Advanced or Standard classes.”

  And so, Rem sat stiffly between Nathan and Leighton in the front row of the bleachers, acutely aware of the dozens of eyes drilling into the back of his head, as he watched the ‘ass-kicking’, as Nathan called it, unfold.

  ‘Is this going to be my life for the next three years?’ Rem wanted to groan, resisting the urge to turn around.

  There was a reason he’d insisted on sitting at the very front. Better to face the scrutiny of his fellow students than the entirety of the Imperial City. There were several reasons Rem disliked venturing into town, preferring the quiet sanctuary of the palace library, and a good fictional novel during his breaks.

  It was clear that the upperclassmen were holding back, wielding wooden swords or blunted weapons to minimise injury. Most of Rem’s fellow first years were no match for them, with most matches ending in under a minute. Still, a few first years stood out by holding their own, and even winning in some cases.

  “I can already tell who’s going to be in the Advanced classes,” Nathan said, resting his chin on a fist with a bored look on his face, looking thoroughly unimpressed. “I would have thought that those from the noble families would be better prepared, at least. But no. Too soft. No grit. No fire. Expect victory just because of their family name and status. Noble families outside the Imperial City, however…” Nathan’s eyes narrowed as Gale Valemire finished disarming his opponent in under thirty seconds. “They have the skill to back up their words.”

  “Gale Valemire,” Leighton murmured, watching the Valemire heir leave the sparring ring. “From one of the Ten Great Houses. Lords of the northwestern hills of Alathia. Known for logistics, supply, and diplomacy.” He recited like reading it from a textbook.

  Even Nathan blinked at Leighton. “You…memorised all that?” he asked, surprised.

  Leighton shrugged. “For commoners, it’s a necessity to know the names and what each noble house is capable of, especially those residing outside the Imperial City,” he explained. “Though honestly, it’s more a case of knowing who not to piss off.”

  Nathan nodded slowly. “That makes sense.”

  On Nathan’s other side, Rem shifted in his seat. He is uncomfortably reminded of a conversation he had long ago with Luca when they were children, back when Luca was still in the Imperial Palace, and was confined to his room for sneaking out again.

  “Why do you keep sneaking out when you know it’ll just make Father mad at you and get you punished?” Rem had asked, not liking to see his brother hurt.

  Luca had only shrugged, not looking all that concerned. “A king needs to see and experience his kingdom if he wants to lead it,” he had explained. “Even if not as a king, as part of the royal family, I need to know the people. I need to know how they think and feel. And what matters to them. Their fears. Their hopes. The things nobles and the royal family care about, for example, aren’t always the same as what matters to everyone else.”

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  Rem chewed on his bottom lip. Wasn’t that what Yulia told me before? He wondered.

  His thoughts were interrupted as the head instructor glanced at his clipboard and called out the next name, “Next, Yuliana Nightray!”

  The murmurings and chatters in the hall stilled just then, with every single pair of eyes, even those belonging to the other first years, instructors, and even the upperclassmen in the observation gallery, following the girl who walked towards the sparring ring calmly, indifferent to the scrutiny.

  Nightray.

  A name that carried history, power, and a sharp edge of fear. The shadows of Alathia. The blades of the kingdom.

  The ones you prayed never turned their eyes on you.

  Rem felt a dull pang in his heart as he studied Yulia.

  ‘Yulia…’

  “Yuliana Nightray?” Leighton’s brow arched, looking at Rem. Even the commoners in Alathia will know of House Nightray—that is how famous they are. “Nightray… Your guardian?”

  Rem nodded. “…Yeah.” His hands clenched into fists on his knees. “I haven’t seen her in a while.”

  The last time had been over a year ago, when Yulia had stormed into the Imperial Palace to berate him for not sending aid to the outer provinces. She hasn’t shown up at the Imperial Palace since. From what Rem knew, she’d been busy tending to her lands and territories.

  “Yuliana Nightray…” Nathan studied Yulia’s form with narrowed eyes. “She’s closer to my brother. I think I’ve only spoken to her three times in my life. Cassian is close enough with her to call her by her first name. I still call her ‘Nightray’.”

  “Isn’t that because you got some kind of inferiority complex towards her?” Rem muttered. He never liked it whenever Nathan expressed some kind of displeasure towards Yulia, though he could understand where Nathan was coming from.

  Who would enjoy being constantly compared to someone their own father favoured more than them, especially someone not even of the same blood?

  “What was that, Your Highness?” Nathan asked sweetly, fixing Rem with a very polite smile and frosty eyes.

  “N-Nothing.” Rem quickly backpedalled.

  He remembered hearing that Cassian Hunt had helped out House Nightray periodically with issues in their territories, even back when Cassian Hunt was still a student in the Imperial Officers Academy.

  Lord Alaric Hunt had looked after Yulia since the passing of Lord Hamilton. And in turn, House Nightray supported House Hunt through trade, despite being notoriously selective about their business dealings.

  House Hunt didn’t have an official alliance with House Nightray, but it probably didn’t matter to the members or bannermen of either House. It’s merely a formality at this point. And by default, House Valemire and House Rovaryn would follow House Nightray in what they decided, as they’ve done for generations.

  Leighton gave a dry laugh. “I’m sure that I heard that Yuliana Nightray had been busy rebuilding border villages that Parliament had conveniently forgotten to fund,” he commented. “I’m surprised she’s even here. I thought that she would be busy with running her territories.”

  Rem said nothing. Leighton’s comment only reminded him of the last argument he had with Yulia over a year ago.

  He watched as Yulia faced her opponent—a third year student who had so far outclassed every challenger. Like all first years, Yulia wore the Academy’s navy and white uniform. But unlike most of the noble girls, she had no unnecessary adornments. No jewellery. Not even an earring or necklace.

  The third year inclined his head politely to Yulia—a first, much to Rem’s surprise, and the rest of the hall too, judging by the murmurs rippling through the hall.

  “…Never seen Eric bow his head to anyone before, especially a noble.”

  “Idiot. He’s facing a Nightray. The heiress! He’d be lucky not to find someone waiting for him in the dark if he disrespected her.”

  “Isn’t a Nightray in his class, too?”

  “Someone from the branch family, I believe.”

  Eric straightened, tightening his grip on his wooden sword. “It’s an honour to face you, Heiress Nightray,” he said formally. “I’ve got a Nightray in my class, so I know how formidable your House is. I won’t hold back.”

  Yulia’s lips quirked slightly, adjusting her grip on the blunted weapons she was given—a pair of twin swords. “I don’t expect you to,” she replied.

  The head instructor looked between them. “Same rules apply,” he announced, his voice echoing through the hall. Even the other participants in the other sparring rings were paying more attention to Yulia and her opponent. “No maiming, no permanent injuries, and no killing. I will step in if I feel it necessary. This is a skill assessment, and not an official duel.” He gave Yulia a pointed look, and she nodded. He raised a hand before letting it fall, leaping out of the sparring ring. “Begin!”

  Eric was moving the moment he was given the signal, bringing his wooden sword down towards a vital spot. Yulia, however, dodged it simply, deflecting with practised ease.

  Each and every single movement that she made was sharp and precise, with no wasted movements. A feint to the left, a swift sweep of Eric’s feet, and then followed by a quick wrist lock by twisting his sword from his grasp.

  Within thirty seconds, though it likely felt more like a lifetime to all those watching, Eric’s wooden sword skittered across the floor, and silence fell like a shroud. And then, stunned applause erupted, even from the senior instructors watching by the sidelines. And dear Goddess, is that the dean of the Academy that Rem sees there?

  Several of the instructors looked impressed.

  “Well, guess we know which class she’s going to be in,” Nathan snorted, even as Yulia helped Eric to his feet, with the third year grinning like a loon, not looking all that perturbed or annoyed that he had lost to a first year. “Shouldn’t be surprised, though. She kicked my ass in less than ten seconds the first time Cassian made me spar against her. We were twelve. Never again.” He winced, rubbing his arm, as if in remembrance of some phantom pain. “I call that ‘spar’, as Cassian calls it, the closest I ever came to staring at death in the face. No wonder House Nightray are known as the kingdom’s blades. The shadows. The notorious assassins.”

  Leighton chuckled, but Rem remained silent, even though the seats behind them were all breaking out in whispers. He followed Yulia’s trek with his eyes as she walked towards where Gale Valemire and Elias Rovaryn were seated.

  She hasn’t changed, Rem thought. Her eyes haven’t changed. Still sharp enough to cut right through me. And still having a way with people. Still able to command the respect and loyalty of others. Even Nathan, for all his misgivings, respected Yulia.

  Yulia never hesitated to do what needed to be done. Just like his twin. Just like Luca.

  It was always me who hesitated.