A shout echoed through the barracks, and the stariki rolled off their bunks. Klara pushed herself upright from her corner of the cold, hard floor. The stariki hadn’t even let them have blankets. Klara and the other new recruits had to sleep in their mud-caked coats.

  Around her, her fellow wardens staggered to their feet. Bleary-eyed and stiff, Klara rose with them. Every muscle ached after last night’s gruelling training. Then, to make it worse, throughout the night the stariki kept waking them to send them off on random tasks. Some had returned with more bruises. For herself, the salve Idalie had given her proved remarkably effective—she kept it well hidden from the stariki though.

  Across the barracks, she saw the spoiled Mikhail rise from his bunk and leisurely stretch before joining the stariki standing to attention before the row of bunks.

  Klara coaxed some life into her limbs and joined the line of wardens. Zin fell in beside her, looking equally worse for wear.

  It would have been nice if her father had warned her about that cursed towel. How had Mikhail known to use it? The little yutzi mucker had looked so smug while Nikolay fawned over him. But that was what Mikhail did best; amble on without thinking of others and get praised for it; run from his mistakes and leave others to take the fall.

  Yefimova and two defenders, both men, entered the barracks and walked down the row of wardens, inspecting them.

  Zin’s stomach gurgled with the enthusiasm of a pig in a trashcan and Klara struggled to keep her face rigid and eyes locked straight ahead. She breathed a sigh of relief when the defenders walked by without comment.

  “All right,” one of the male defender’s said, “13th, 23rd, 33rd and 43rd squad fall in.”

  The thirty-six stariki in the building jogged out after him, leaving the new recruits with Yefimova.

  “How’d you darlings sleep? Get plenty of rest?” Yefimova asked. “I hope so, because your training begins today.

  Great, so last night was just for fun?

  Yefimova lifted the clipboard she carried and studied it. “But first, you’ll form two new squads in Sayanskya Battalion, 4th Division. Nika Anoshkina, Borislav Avilov, Zinaida Barinova, Yeger Blinov, Matvei Demidov, Alarick Folkner, Maria Johann, Klara Koskova, and Irmina Meitz, you’re 24th Squad, with me. The rest of you, you’re 34th Squad with Osin Defender.”

  Klara’s hearts sank. Borislav—Mikhail—was in her squad. She should have known that’d happen given her luck the last few days.

  24th Squad fell in behind Yefimova, and Klara cursed silently as she realised the defender wasn’t leading them to the mess hall, but straight to the tunnel to Borovsk IV.

  Klara risked a glance sideways at Zin, noting the panic on Zin’s face as she realised they would start training without first getting breakfast.

  All her father had revealed about Sentinel training was that they turned you into the most lethal fighter in the world. He’d said nothing about them trying to kill you in the process. Klara supposed that was to weed out the weak, which made her wonder how long Mikhail would last.

  Klara pulled her shoulders back and set her jaw. Whatever happened, she wasn’t one of the weak who would go.

  They reached the giant, underground training ground of Borovsk IV which, according to her father, was a massive maze. Twenty yards ahead, a lofty stone wall ran the width of the cavern. Four arched doorways were set into the stone. Above the wall—and stretching back over the maze—hung dozens of hooded gaslamps. Above them, a platform was suspended from the ceiling. From the platform, trainers could watch the action in the maze. The hoods on the gaslamps kept the light from shining up and blinding them as they watched.

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  Klara fell into line with the wardens and stood to attention as Yefimova watched them.

  “When a Warrior goes into combat,” Yefimova said, “they know that the only person they can trust is themselves. They’re the best person to take care of themselves, and there is no risk of being betrayed.

  “However, you are training to be Sentinels. And Sentinels are different. The monsters we fight are so vast and beyond us that we must fight as one—as a family. Your life is in your comrade’s hands, and likewise, theirs is in yours. No matter how you may feel off the field, the moment you enter combat your life is not your own. If your comrade dies, you die.

  “In the early years of the gates, before the Sentinels were formed, I watched many a Warrior try to fight a dragon—or a Beskharak—as if by themselves. To one, they died. Only Warriors who banded together survived those monsters.”

  Yefimova paused and eyed the wardens. “Who here wants to die? No one? Good. Look around you, you see the men and women standing by you? They are your family. You are 24th Squad. You will train together, live together, and fail together.”

  Suddenly, Klara understood. The wardens had all been divided into small, nine-unit families. The only way the new wardens would rise above the abuse was by forming tight-knit families of their own with their squad mates.

  “Now,” Yefimova said, “since you’ve all been ingrained with the mindset of trust no one, we’ll start small. You only need to trust two other squad members in this exercise, everyone else you can fight as you normally would. The goal is to make it through the maze first—as a team.

  “Throughout the course, there are caches of items you can use to overcome the obstacles in the maze, and they will also require you to work together as a family. Combat against other teams is permissible, but any serious injuries inflicted will be penalised.”

  Klara wondered what constituted a serious injury. Loss of a limb? Or just drawn blood?

  “You will be monitored during the challenge, and your scores will be tallied at the end. The winning team might earn themselves some respect from the stariki.” Yefimova’s lips curled up in a slow smile. “The rest of you will enjoy a leisurely evening cleaning up the mud you trekked into the Central Circle yesterday.”

  Put me with Zin, and I’ll win this.

  “All right, your teams are Matvei Demidov, Irmina Meitz, and Yeger Blinov—team one. Alarick Folkner, Nika Anoshkina and Maria Johann—team two. Zinaida Barinova, Klara Koskova and Borislav Avilov—team three.”

  Klara choked back a frustrated growl. She was cursed, there was no other explanation. She’d never escape Mikhail. But how the depths had he managed to get himself put with her for a third time? Is this some kind of bizarre joke, Sovereign Sculptor? If it is, I don’t approve of your humour.

  Zin and Mikhail joined Klara as the other squad members broke into their teams.

  Klara leaned close to Mikhail and whispered, “If you ruin this for me, I will make being driven mad in the uzhas mines seem like a trip to paradise.”

  Mikhail’s face betrayed only the faintest flicker of emotion to indicate he’d heard her. Though not the emotion she’d expected. Fear or anger, yes. But amusement? No, she wasn’t going to lose her temper, not now. Just ignore him.

  “Follow me,” Yefimova said after she finished dividing the teams up. She led them to a rack filled with rope, shovels, crossbows equipped with grappling hooks, knives, staffs, and more.

  “Each team may choose one tool to start. Team one will choose first.”

  Klara watched Irmina, Yeger, and Matvei head to the rack. Matvei, a short, scruffy man with a nose that’d been broken at least a dozen times, grabbed a sledgehammer. This earned him an evil glare from the brute, Yeger, who had been reaching for a crossbow.

  Team one retreated from the rack.

  “Team two, choose your tool.”

  Maria, Alarick, and Nika selected a thin cord with a weighted end on it.

  “Team three.”

  Zin darted to the rack and grabbed a crossbow before sashaying back to Klara and Mikhail with a grin so wide it made her squint.

  “What the depths are we going to do with that?” Klara asked.

  “Shoot things!” Zin said, stopping beside her. “By the way, Borislav, don’t mind Klara’s grouchiness. It’s nothing personal.”

  Oh, it’s personal.

  A hint of a smile flickered over Mikhail’s face. “Thanks.”

  “Teams, prepare,” Yefimova said.

  Klara leaned forwards, ready to sprint.

  “Begin!”