The end of Tesstalia’s testimony was met with thunderous applause. Elshard Sanctum, for all its bloodthirsty lust, wasn’t without a sense of justice.

  Or was it luck?

  Either way, the cadets now filter out of the arena at the command of the assistants escorting them, leaving me atop the strange Elden magic dais of twisted branches and upside-down leaves.

  My neck cranes to the chuffing dragon growing impatient on the perch above me. Chayref’s snarls are almost louder than his beast’s. He’s furious with the outcome… of course. His last four years of sponsorship may as well have been for nothing with Izfael being all charred ashes. He whips his dragon to lift off to the sky, turning his back on the sanctum with a huff. Hookvos, on the other hand, keeps his gaze lingering on me for a long moment, before he pats his phoenix to carry him to the sky.

  Head Magus is beside himself still, even with my name mostly cleared in the eyes of the donors. There’s this great quote in mythos that I wish Tesstalia had said to wrap up my case—“Lay the blame on the dead, especially when they deserve it”—but I’m being picky. I just wish the Head Magus could find it in his angry-thick brain to perceive this as a win for the sanctum, given the awful event. But he’ll never see it that way.

  In truth, I’m surprised Vigil wasn’t paraded out to speak against me. Perhaps he fell unconscious? Or worse?

  One thing’s for sure—today marks a new era for House Sivus.

  Head Magus snaps his fingers, summoning icy steps one by one for him to descend. The house lords gather to await him far below me, and I’m not sure whether I should just remain here at the top. I assume whoever the Elden mage they have in their midst would’ve unsummoned this tree by now if I was dismissed, so I guess in the interest of not further pissing everyone off, I’ll sit here.

  Plopping on my backside, I turn to my friends waiting at the ledge of the arena, and Tesstalia—my unlikely savior. “Hey,” I mouth, waving one hand.

  Layla shakes her head at me, but I can tell she’s happy this is all over. Or at least part one of the fiasco. Who knows if Foren will still entomb me in a blanket of ice and ship my head off to Lacor. He’s an evil man, to his core. Cold, calculated, and wanting the perseverance of Elshard above all.

  Maybe that’s the kind of grit needed in the war-tier. I’m not sure, but I’m sure as hell not going to be making excuses for the prick.

  One look at Jurso—his weak frame, the way he holds one hand to his chest—reminds me of mortality. I took life today, from a sanctum I call home. The unstable energy courses through my veins whenever I think about it, threatening to emerge again.

  I stifle it with a deep breath. I’ll control this power, and use it to protect those around me. Death is part of war. And I was under attack.

  Foren shoos the other house lords away, except for Karloth. This is it. My fate being decided in real time as I sit uselessly with a natural spotlight falling on me. There’s anger in his body language—finger pointing and the like. Boeru has the nose, Dovesier has the sight. Why couldn’t one of you dragons possess ultra-hearing or something?

  “It’s a shame you didn’t shoot your mouth off,” Dovesier hisses in my ear. “Another storm would’ve cleansed this space of the weak.”

  Gods. I have a sociopath dragon in my head. Might as well be a spicing brute.

  “Can you get the hell away from me? Go take a lap around the mountain, or whatever it is you do.” I swat at him like a fly.

  “Perhaps I’ll tear off my brother’s only good wing, if he’s dragon enough to show.” Dovesier swipes his maw back and forth in my mind.

  “Cut the dragonshit, Dove. I’ve seen Boe’s memories. It’s you who’s afraid of him,” I challenge, and immediately recoil when sparks huff across the back of my neck. “I know you’re just trying to get me killed so Boe’s bond is released. Ain’t happening!”

  On cue, Foren turns his orb into a disc beneath his feet and flies up to my level—angry mist swirling around him. He stares at me with gold flashing irises, saying nothing before hovering higher into the ceiling hole.

  Fssh!

  He’s gone, leaving snowflakes and mist swaying over me. And in a flash, the tree unsummons like a waterfall of dust. My stomach flies into my chest as the solid tree stump is swept from under me, and I’m flailing through the air as the arena sand comes rapidly closer.

  Pmmf.

  I land awkwardly, my joints snapping as I roll once to ease the pressure on my knees.

  “Could’ve used a wing, asshole,” I shout to Boeru.

  I hear pattering of footsteps running up to me, and when the dust clears, my friends all stop mere feet away from Karloth holding up his hand.

  “Haledyn,” he says. “The donors complain about their investments going belly up, but I do not. If you possess the power to strike beyond the Elden’s ranking system, you have potential beyond that of any other awakened.” He lowers his hand. “But I am not here to fill your head.”

  I side-eye my marked, and stand straight to hear what he has to say. “Sir?”

  “Foren agreed to leave you in my custody. Once Vigil finds consciousness again, there will be follow up on the investigation. All remains have already been moved to the Salt Wing for forensics. This is far from out of your hair, Haledyn.”

  My stomach sinks, but it’s nothing too unexpected.

  “For the record, however, I believe you acted in self-defense, and hereby invoke the war regulations of dominant domain until proven otherwise.”

  My eyes widen. That means… “Sir?”

  “Izfael’s chambers are now yours. Oaths, treasures, merits, and all.”

  Rogoshel’s jaw drops open. Layla quietly gives Jurso a waist-level fist bump, and the subtleness is dispelled when Misty jumps high in the air and shouts, “Woo!”

  Karloth’s gaze shifts to her. “Celebrating the death of a world-renowned cadet will not be tolerated.”

  “Sorry, House Lord.” Misty grits her teeth.

  “The man was a raging prick with no leash,” Rogo barks, only to by nudged hard by Layla. “What? House Lord knows it.”

  “Hm.” Karloth raises his chin, then turns his eyes to me. “I trust you will not evolve into a similar insufferable cadet, will you, Haledyn?”

  “It’s not in my nature, sir,” I say.

  “Let’s make sure it stays that way.” Karloth reaches in his robe pocket and hands me a golden key. “This transfers the house wards of those quarters from Izfael to you. Keep it safe,” Karloth says, sweeping his gaze over all of us. “I paid dearly to get you all into this house. Drydon and now Izfael—two who have risen Sivus to the top. You have big shoes to fill.”

  “Yes, sir.” I can barely contain my excitement.

  “Dismissed.”

  ***

  Stepping up to the ornate door leading to Izfael’s chamber sends a shiver down my spine. I just absorbed a dragon’s lightning and unleashed it upon a couple of well-decorated bullies. They’re dead because of me. And for a lot of reasons, this gift of my would-be killer’s chambers doesn’t feel earned.

  Layla’s hand finds my shoulder. “Glad you’re alright, guide. And if I’m being honest, I’m glad it was her who was with you.” She nods to Tess, who shrugs.

  “Was either make a show of it, or I was going to be right next to you in Head Magus’ frozen coffin,” Tess says.

  “Gods, no more getting whipped out of bed by the other students next door.” Jurso paces in front of us. “No more shouting an hour before sunrise—like we haven’t been in the arena all night. Privacy? Maybe I can actually have a wank—”

  “Jurs!” Layla goes to hit him.

  “No meetings in his room from now on,” Rogo cackles.

  “Yeah, like you don’t find the time?” Jurs replies. “You breathe like a stable beast sitting still. We know when you’re going at it.” He then jumps on Rogo’s back, and we all laugh a bit.

  “Gods, if you were all servants of Izfael, you’d all have ten lashings by now,” Tess comments.

  “We got our lashes already, highborn. Got the scars to prove it.” Rogo pulls down his tunic to reveal discoloring all over his chest.

  “Oh, didn’t know the whips hurt more in the sub-tier than they do up here.” She rolls up a pant leg to show her own scars.

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  “I think this one will fit right in.” Misty throws an arm around her. “She might be the best decoy of our whole crew.” She pushes under one of Tess’ breasts, and everyone laughs again.

  “Alright, alright.” I pull out the key, watching the faint ward alt-magic glow to life. “Anyone study alt-magic mythos?”

  “None of us are attuned,” Jurso says.

  “Alright, well, we’re risking it then.”

  “I know how it works.” Tess stops us. “You can sway the magic to detect unwanted presence, seal the door beyond physical means, things of that nature. But it’s dependent on rank, so… you being in charge wouldn’t be very intimidating on its face. However.” She raises her eyebrows. “Given the entire sanctum knows what you can do thanks to little ‘ol me? I’d say your quarters should be pretty safe among Sivus.”

  “You underestimate what it’s like to be in the spotlight,” I sigh. “C’mon.” I press my hand on the mahogany door, and it opens smoothly to a row of fifteen servants bowing at my feet. “The hell is this?”

  “Karloth did say the oaths transfer,” Jurso reminded.

  The idea of having pledges boils my blood. I’m not a gods-damn tyrant of old mythos. “You’re all fre—” I wave my hand to release them, but Rogo catches it mid-swing.

  “Yo. Are you mad?” he hisses. “This is free laundry and cooking. We don’t have to eat that slop on night fours anymore.”

  I swing out of his grip. “So, readymade to be a king, are we?”

  “When the treasure chest is dumped over your head, yes.”

  “I’m with Hale. It’s not right to be bowed to,” Lay says. “We’re damn glass, for gods’ sake.”

  “I don’t know.” Jurso rubs his chest with bliss. “Getting a foot rub by a second year sounds nice right about now.”

  Renesta hums at our backs, inspecting the polished woodwork to her heart’s content and ignoring the issue entirely. Jenny acts similarly, running to the forger room of polished weapons. Her heart’s not in dueling, but it sure is in the tools that run them.

  “You’re all being ridiculous,” I say. “We’ve already scooped up our share of luck since the Sept and then some. I’m not going to let you all become lazy and wasteful.” I turn to the servants. “I release you from your oaths to Izfael. You’re free.”

  Four immediately shed their cloaks and rush past me, shouting their glee. Three leisurely rise while neatly removing their robes and picking up those belonging to the servants who bolted out.

  “Thank you, Dragonborn.” One bows before hanging up the crimson-gold cloth over a hanger and stoking the hearth one more time before exiting.

  Eight still remain, bowing, leaving a strange taste in my mouth.

  “Um?” I clap to see if they’re in some kind of trance.

  They only bow closer to the floor, and one even quivers in place.

  “What did Izfael do to you?” I furrow my brow, taking a step closer.

  One redheaded woman raises her head. “It’s not that, Mister Winbridge.”

  “Please don’t call me that. That’s my father’s name—whom I never knew existed,” I say through a chuckle.

  “Right. Sub-tier. Forgot. Sorry.” She winces and bows her head, soft-looking ponytail draping over her head. “Haledyn. We wish to stay.” She motions to the others. “We spoke about it on your way over, and we’d much rather live in the best of Sivus’ quarters as servants, than in the bunks as regulars.”

  “Aye. I feel that way too.” Tesstalia winks and breaks from my marked, presenting the redhead. “This here is Mara Day. She’s a little clumsy, but she always cleans up her messes.”

  “We’d be useful.” A tall man raises up, towering over all of us. He has crooked teeth and thin, cracked lips, but eyes even kinder than Layla’s. “It’s a large quarters to take care of with just the lot of you. Besides, you can do your plotting without thinking of the mundane stuff.”

  “That there is Hermox Filip.” Tess points.

  “Listen to ‘em, Hale. They’re practically begging to be our slaves.” Rogo gestures.

  “All a damn brute like you could ever dream of, I’m sure,” I say. “Listen, ladies and gents, I’m not going to kick you out if you really want to stay, but I’m not going to have any of you bowing to us either.”

  “But you’re the dragonborn.” A stout man with chubby cheeks blows a stray hair out of his face. “You’re a good one to bend for.”

  Layla tilts her head at me, saying he’s right.

  “Well, thanks. Nonetheless. It stops now. Up. Please.”

  The last one rises, and they all stand at attention like I’m some kind of war-tutor. I’m not.

  “I call this room.” Renesta points to a dark hallway leading to a one-window bedroom.

  “Done,” I say. “That was easy.”

  Then it hits me why she might want to be closed off from the others. My cheeks flush hot as I think back to the ocean of warring dark—her wanting to seduce me. That was all a lie though, wasn’t it?

  My head dips. If it was… then that means my fight against Kane was a fallacy too.

  Don’t be an idiot, Hale. She wants to commune with her house father, or whatever it is she does as a shade.

  Now’s not the time for falling into chaotic whirlwinds of thought. I’m exhausted from the echoes, from fighting Izfael, suffering Foren’s ice.

  “Please point me to where the oaths are penned. I’ll review them once I get settled, and we’ll free you of your debts.”

  “Mm.” Tess raises her eyebrows. “Some of us have been promised great things, and have been working a long time to receive them. Perhaps writing them off won’t suit some of us best.”

  I narrow my eyes. “Point taken. But I’m not making any decisions while my eyes still contain shards of Head Magus’ ice.”

  ***

  The next day is full of chaotic energy. I’m stuck on my back on the cushiest bed I’ve ever had the pleasure of resting on. The servants assure me they washed the sheets four times over to make sure not a hint of Izfael remained. Meanwhile, I feel like I’ve been run over by a stampede of stable beasts. The noise around me might as well be wyverns shrieking. Tesstalia lays out the servant’s oaths on the desk next to my bed. Rogoshel and Misty keep dropping handfuls of elite weaponry on the pristine wood floor, and Jurso is pacing at my side, nearly ripping his hair out reading the mythos Izfael had stored away.

  “Ugh.” I wince, looking to my right to find Layla sitting with both hands over the top of her shield.

  “You went through a lot yesterday, Hale. Just stay where you are.”

  “Thank gods it’s an off-day.” I grimace as I try to turn. My head is still extremely fuzzy from the Shade’s Milk echoes, but I think… I hope they’re finally gone.

  “Mm. You’re going to have to keep an eye on these fools, you know. They haven’t seen this kind of weaponry since the Sept dungeon.”

  I try to lift my head to better see her. “Neither have we. Why aren’t you gloating with them?”

  She blows air into her cheeks. “You know why.”

  “Mmph.” I let my head fall back on a pillow. “Your Prominent still has you mastering stances?”

  She shrugs. “Yeah. She holds me specifically after class to check my form. Says I’m a wonder to the world. And when I ask what the hell she’s talking about, she says trust in my process. It’s a fucking joke. They’re just training the un-attuned to be waste as some tier-two city guard.”

  “I’m not going anywhere without you, Lay,” I promise.

  “Pfah. Stop living in a fantasy. You and I both know the old days of guide and guard are nearly over.”

  “What are you talking about? We toppled Broggen together, remember?”

  “Feels like a lifetime ago. Everyone’s made insane strides since then.” Lay motions to the others arguing over which sword is cooler. “And here I am—”

  “At physical peak?” I challenge her.

  “You’ve been to the arenas with me, Hale. Every night. I can no longer compete.”

  “Hale, look at this.” Jurso shuffles over with his finger underlining something in mythos. “Seals contain achwild serum embedded in the stone. That’s what links it to the afterlife. Remember in old mythos—didn’t they say achwild is found in—”

  “Full-grown phoenix wings,” I say.

  “Yeah. You don’t think—”

  “Hookvos gave him some?” I suggest. “Why not? Izfael was being groomed to become a legendary warrior of the war-tier. Maybe Hook thinks the warring dark is the way there. I mean, look at Scorius.”

  “More ways to skin a cat.” Misty slaps her hands on the foot of my bed, sending a vibration through it that makes me groan. “Head Magus is all high magic, like me.” She winks. “Hale, what you think?” She holds up a see-through, orange-tipped blade. “I’ll bet there’s a whole barracks enchanted into this one. Would work well with my wind, yeah? Going to kill so many Lacorians with it. Wshh! Wshh!” She swings it around.

  “No one is taking anything for free,” I scold. “Everything will be earned, or we’ll just become overconfident glass ranks to be ridiculed as the worst squad in history.”

  A cold snap webs throughout my body, causing me to grab my chest and fall back in the bed.

  “Hale?” Layla stands.

  “Fine.” I wave her away.

  Boom!

  The front doors of my new quarters bellow open—three large rooms away. No one is supposed to be able to trespass except for ring leaders, house lords, and—

  Boom!

  A black, plumy wing slips under my door and whips it flying open. Everyone freezes in place as Scorius’ mean mug sends waves of fear crashing over me. I have a lot to answer for. And judging by the looks of it, he’s not happy about it.

  “Leave us,” he growls.

  Dark feathers teeter through the air, fading to dust as they hit the floor.

  Rogoshel eyes him on his way past. Misty grabs my foot over the covers and stares at my Prominent. “Go easy on ‘em, Scary-ass. He’s been through a lot.”

  Scorius grunts and the rest rush out, except for Layla.

  “You going to be alright?” she asks, hoisting her shield as if she’d fight him if she had to.

  “Yeah. He’s on our side, I think. Usually.” I push as high as I can to my elbows, noticing my body paler than usual.

  “You too, barren one,” Scorius snaps.

  Layla begrudgingly leaves my side, and with a wave of Scorius’ wing, the doors slam shut.

  “I tell you to lay low so the echoes can pass… and this is how you act?” Scorius limps toward me. “You cracked a Seal.”

  I say nothing as his hawkish eyes scan me.

  “You emerged with lightning strong enough to destroy a steel-rank’s magical resistance.” He hobbles to the side of the bed, unblinking. “Whatever you found in your second trip to the afterlife was not the Torn Wing.”

  If I reveal the truth, I’m a dead man. In the Forbidden Archives mythos there were multiple accounts of dual-tempered bonds—symbiotic and antagonistic. They were all hanged for treason because they couldn’t be measured on the Elden scale. And a full-blown dual bond? I’ve never even heard of it.

  I’m harboring secrets not even written about.

  He bends over to be face to face, his eyes scanning past me, looking for something. Boeru. He could always see him in class. But now, it seems, he’s still nowhere to be found.

  “Prominent—”

  He claws my neck and lifts me, staring deep. “Where did you summon that lightning? Show yourself!”

  I’m shaken like a toy—my joints crack in his grasp, shockwaves of pain rushing down my body. I’m too weak to fight him.

  “Are you unbonded, Dragonborn? Have you somehow detached and lured another?” He squeezes harder, showing his yellowing teeth. “You may have fooled the Head Magus. But I know better.” His wing expands out of his back, looming over me. “Show yourself.”

  He squeezes harder around my neck to the point my periphery blurs. I can’t breathe. His grip is that of a dragon’s. He could crush me at any moment—

  Fff!

  He drops me onto the bed.

  “If Foren Torell discovers what I believe to be true, you will be entombed, never to be spoken of again. He will do it without trial and without warning.” Scorius lowers his voice, “We are at war, Dragonborn. Speak now, before it’s too late.”

  My warring dark pulses dangerously in his presence for the first time.

  I was wrong. He’s not on my side.

  “I don’t know what happened, Prominent. I blacked in and out of consciousness. All we have is Tesstalia’s testimony, and the corpses.” I rub my throat, lying through my teeth.

  “Is that so?” He sees right through me.

  We stare at each other for a long moment.

  “It is unfortunate. From here on, you are barred from my chambers until you’re ready to speak. You disappoint me.”

  He turns and hobbles out of my room, slamming the doors in the same fashion he arrived.

  Shit.

  I let out the cough I’ve been holding in, and as soon as I do, a powerful presence washes over me.

  “Boe!”

  The dragon grumbles in my ear. He’s holding Dovesier’s maw shut with one claw and keeping him subdued on the floor with his powerful wing. “My brother would have doomed you to certain death had I not intercepted. Why must you complicate things, mortal?”

  “I was just trying to help.”

  Boeru hisses in my other ear. “Scorius’ scent has changed.”

  “No… is that why my warring dark went haywire?”

  “He reeks of Lacor.” Boeru snorts. “A traitor to your realm.”

  “Impossible. He was handpicked by Head Magus.” I’m in disbelief. “It can’t be.”

  “The scents do not lie. Scorius the Unbonded… has turned.”