While my heart soars at the prospect of being under Karloth’s tutelage, another part of me growls. Indignation swims through my veins like a swarm of eels. Rejected from my own house, even after bonding with Boeru. What the hell is this?

  The part of me that despises my former home grows hotter.

  Do we mean nothing to you?

  Lordess Rayne looks me in the eyes like the decision to throw away her house’s only awakened in the last five years is trivial. Or is this Drydon character that special? To be worth the whole lot of us?

  What’s worse, he’s a spy for Lacor. The scorned, beaten-down orphan in me wants to blurt out the truth just to wipe that grin off Rayne’s face, but I hold the cards close to my chest for now. I don’t know the lay of the land yet. Lacor may still very well be the just ones at the end of it.

  Time will tell.

  In the corner of my eye, Drydon tosses daggers that stop abruptly midair like steps leading way up the whip symbol banner. He then flips onto the first, using them as stepping stones while simultaneously calling them back into their sheaths. The bastard is a master of shadow magic. So damn fluid.

  Once he’s at the ledge of the balcony, he re-dons his hood and falls in line with his new house.

  Cheers from House Kavoh’s section of the balcony make it feel like they’re celebrating my rejection.

  “Take your rightful place in House Sivus, Haledyn Winbridge. And welcome back, Jursento, Renesta.” Karloth smiles pleasantly at us, watching as we walk out of the center of the black stone chess board and onto the scale symbol. “I think you will not be disappointed. How your former lordess could let something so precious slip through her fingertips is beyond me.”

  Rayne’s eyes glow electric blue. “You scale-watchers are all the same. Pondering how to best balance what’s in front of you.” She flips her hair again. “While so obviously missing the truth tipping it in the wrong direction.”

  “And what truth is that, my lady?” Karloth’s purple eyes scan her.

  “A dragon’s spirit connects heavily to ego. And that one… is bruised.”

  My nose wrinkles. Beautiful bitch. She’s right. Ever since Boeru bonded with me, I’ve been less evenly tempered, less logical. She sees right through me.

  “He knows I tried to trade him. Unfortunately, I will find no loyalty in him for a long while for it. Karloth, I fear I did House Sivus a favor by crushing his spirit.”

  “And the realm.” Karloth smirks.

  Once the bickering dies down, Reebus—the scribe announcer—flips his parchment. “I do thank you, House Lords, for the entertaining squabble. Now, finally, if you please… Broggen Lor’fyre. Representative of all riderborn marked. Afflictions—Solfaticus. Spice usage—absent. Warring dark—expert. Lineage—elite household. Slain—seven.”

  Seven? He’s killed seven people?

  Layla nudges her shoulder into my back, exclaiming her dismay.

  Solfaticus—isn’t that a mind disease? I’m searching through the medical mythos in my head, but nothing assured comes up.

  “Let me stop you right there, scribe. Broggen Lor’fyre is not for trade.” Baenar stands proudly, nodding at Gen.

  “You won’t even hear offers?” Mistress Asentres bangs her podium, breasts jiggling.

  “A trickster’s tactic.” Karloth backhands the air. “He wants you to bid high.”

  “The trade… is off,” Baenar declares, facing the Head Magus.

  Reebus does the same, and when he receives a curt nod from Foren, he clears his throat. “So concludes the great exchange of batch twenty-eight. House lords, please direct your ring leaders to collect your new cadets and march them out of this hall.”

  Broggen stalks over to the crown with his crew of brutes and right-hand Tristian in tow. They handle themselves as a dangerous force, if I’m being honest, with that unstable shadowy essence of Noctus fighting to burst out of Gen’s skin. He poisons them all.

  A part of me fears what Baenar will do to him. Them, actually. Brutes on spice are bad enough, but throw the warring dark into the mix, and we all might be screwed with a bit of actual combat training under their belts.

  I have to stop thinking the worst. Truth and power await us. Surely House Sivus has something to offer.

  A man with an uneven red skirt over golden fish-scaled leggings struts forward like he’s about to roll into battle, stopping in front of the Rhylock cadets. He draws two silver-plated gladii and yells like the whole auditorium is watching, then beckons his new subjects out. Here comes another, leisurely using a sun-design-tipped cane to limp toward House Valor. The ring leaders are interesting characters, so far.

  “What’s next, a centaur?” Rogoshel smirks at us, then is startled back when a white tiger leaps into the hall from outdoors. The woman atop it has two blade-edged whips coiled around her, and her bared teeth are bloody. Spiced out of her mind, if you ask me.

  She commands her tiger to roar on its hind legs before dropping in front of the Kavoh cadets. “Your punishment has only begun, small prey. Come, let me make you strong.” She whips the ground and spins, commanding her subjects out.

  I eye Relias still lingering in the corner of the room. He watches us curiously, making me wonder again whether the Danes are a sort of exiled folk not meant for tier one of Miria. He did say he was wounded by a rival mage. Perhaps there’s a sense of shame attached to him?

  But his power… how could it be ignored in war?

  A man with a round belly and a soft chin ambles in with a tome under his arm, stealing my attention. He can’t be a day over twenty-three. His crown of platinum feathers displaces his curly blond hair, and the feathered quill in his free hand speaks anything but war. Not that the other ring leaders aren’t odd, but this one in particular takes the cake. Marching down the carpet without a care in the world of the others whispering behind his back commands a small sort of respect.

  He stops in front of us and tilts his head—the scale insignia on his robes giving his house away. “The skies of tier two echo down to our own, whispering the power of another awakened Winbridge.”

  My blood runs cold. Another Winbridge awakened? Kane?

  My father? Mother?

  Also bonded?

  “Excuse me—” I try.

  “There will be time for questions, I promise.” The pudgy man bows his head. “But not here. With me, cadets of House Sivus. Today is an exciting day.” He turns on his heel, leaving my crew to all side-eye one another.

  We’re marched off our black stone board and onto a carpet of deep purple designs wrapped in gold lining. Chatter breaks out everywhere now that the ceremony is over. Students of Elshard Sanctum flock to our section of the hall to see us out. The balconies, roped-off rows on the main floor, steps on the far end… they’re all flooded.

  I’ve never seen so many people in one place. It’s daunting, like I imagined the kings of old being praised by entire towns. Is this what a city feels like? Where do all these people even live?

  My mind does some quick math, counting a few rows, then extrapolating it out. “Nearly four thousand students, our age or higher.”

  “Students, or soldiers?” Jurso asks.

  “Or fodder, judging by some of them.” Rogo snarls at a woman looking his way.

  “I wouldn’t underestimate them.” Misty cracks her knuckles. “Tier one looks like they have their own toughness about them.”

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  “Pride, more like,” I say, glaring at the pristine cloaks and high chins.

  “Either way, we have our work cut out for us. I’m going to hit the bags hard.” Misty throws some air punches, then shakes her hands. “Damn, still broken from the climb. Screw it, keep going anyway.”

  “You sure you’re not on the spice, kid?” Layla rustles her hair.

  “Again, older than you, brat.” Misty grabs Layla’s hand and twists herself onto her back, pretending to beat her head.

  We all chuckle, until someone louder than the rest grabs our attention.

  “Barbarians hoarding stolen armor. That’s all you are.” A muscular man with silver coils around his biceps grabs the rope blocking him off from batch twenty-eight and leans in close. “How dare you wield our warriors’ weapons?” He spits on the carpet before us. “You earned nothing, pale, deranged folk under the black sky. Crawl back where you came.”

  Rogo goes to lunge at him, but Layla holds one arm while I grab the other.

  The man laughs. “Ruled by the spice.”

  “Rogo, now’s not the time,” I say through gritted teeth.

  “I’ll tear this place to the ground when I’m done,” Rogo growls. “High-born shits. I thanked the gods for not being born in times of old mythos. Now that I’m here, I think I figured out how I’ll enjoy it.” His eyes bore into the highborn’s. “Killing pricks like you.”

  Our ring leader steps in between us, staring our way. “If we are to succumb to every taunt in the sanctum, I fear no work would ever get done. You are of House Sivus now, Rogoshel Gardfire. And we didn’t sacrifice our most cunning dark wielder for nothing. With me.” He turns to lead us a second time.

  We wisely ignore the rest of the chatter on the way out of the hall, approaching the darkness of the giant doorway’s shadow.

  Right as we’re about to exit, Relias steps into our path.

  Lay growls amidst some of the other gasps.

  “Blood spiller,” Misty snarls, only to be pulled back by Jurso.

  He arcs an eyebrow at her, then directs his attention to our leader, standing a foot taller than him. “Ringleader Aster Red, a word with the awakened?”

  “You would dishonor our house and get me in trouble, Sir Dane?” Aster glances over his shoulder, likely to make sure Karloth isn’t looking.

  He shows Relias respect while metaphorically slapping him in the face. Why?

  “In the next chamber, please.” Aster tilts his head for us all to disappear into the shadow of the door.

  “Mmph.” Boeru crawls off my back and extends in my mind’s eye, following a trail. “This place is ripe with deception, mortal. The stench is rancid. Keep that blade sharp.”

  The next room is more of an outdoor walkway than chamber, albeit a massive one. Brass columns extend hundreds of feet up, easy, connecting archways that let in rays of blindingly bright light. The golden sun… I still can’t believe it.

  Shielding my eyes from it, I inspect everything around me. Both sides lead to wide-open, landscaped greens that are roped off, and people along the path only walk in one direction—away from the giant Elshard Sanctum Hall—most of whom are my siblings from the sub-tier who’ve just been traded.

  Aster steps in front of me, motioning for me to move aside to the shaded corner where the Dane waits.

  Relias looks out of place even near the light, yet fails to waver in his commanding stature.

  “Be quick, please, Sir Dane. I have a strict schedule to keep.” Aster beckons the rest of the House Sivus recruits toward the rope, leaving me and Relias alone.

  “You going to stab me like you did Horo, Master Dane?” I ask. “Nearly got him killed.”

  “If not for you, he would have surely died.” Relias folds his arms, green wisps of poisonous essence lifting from the exposed bandages beneath his robe. “You offered him answers, and the courage to wade outside the prescribed path. If not for that, he would have strangled to death with the other two cowards.”

  “Cowards? Not everyone is a warrior.”

  “That wasn’t their choice to make.” He lifts his chin.

  “Their parents sacrificed them…” I reiterate. “And you carry out the orders. Who’s worse? I don’t even know anymore.”

  Relias clenches his jaw. “This is a cake walk compared to what’s out there, awakened. Best to remember that.”

  I sigh. “How can I help you?”

  “Now that your trials out of the sub-tier are over, you would be wise to hear your brother’s fate from me.”

  My heart skips, then stalls. Kane…

  I think back to his strong presence and helping hand whenever a sibling went down. He was too good for the conditions of Kavoh. The day he was marched out of our house is still the darkest in my mind. It replays often, once a night at least.

  Please tell me he didn’t fall from the spire. That can’t be the last time I saw him.

  “I’m sure with your wit, you put together that Kane Winbridge was among the batches of the last awakening.”

  I swallow past a lump in my throat, feeling the blood drain from my face. “Is he—”

  “He is bonded.”

  A huge weight lifts, but Relias holds up his finger, sensing my relief.

  “Though it has changed him dramatically.”

  My brow furrows.

  “He is a ghoulborn, Haledyn, wrapped in the spirit of Krenick the Vile. The man you knew is no more.”

  “Where?” Tears begin to well up, but I hold them back.

  “Awakened of his caliber are often called to the war-tier before their time.”

  Blood turns to corrosive acid in my veins. Even Boeru’s voice is drowned as my heartbeat thunders in my throat, muffling my hearing. “Send me there, then.” I ball my fists. “He’s my brother.”

  Relias narrows his eyes, glancing at the group awaiting their dragonborn to return. “It would be wise not to wear your heart on your sleeve. Elshard tends to be a place of politics as much as combat ascension. I’m sparing you a critical misstep had someone else told you first. Contain your emotion. Process in your own quarters which, indeed, are coming.”

  My brother, awakened? I look at my palms. “Why would he accept an evil soul?”

  “Why did Broggen Lor’fyre accept a chaotic one?” Relias counters. “The prospect of being an all-powerful tide turner is not something rejected lightly. Think of yourself in my Sept chambers. Would you not have done anything to flip your fate around?”

  I shake my head. “I refuse to believe he’s changed for the worse. He’s the strongest person I know.”

  The Dane ignores me. “You’ve been granted a rare gift, Haledyn. House Kavoh seems to have fine-tuned the process of tempering blood, retaining favor for nearly a decade. Your bond is stable. Do not waste it. Miria needs you more than you know.”

  I barely recognize the man talking to me. Just days ago, he was shouting that he’d kill us “orphans” himself if we didn’t agree to murder one another. Having access to healing auras and not using them? This man is evil. And a fool. I don’t care how powerful he is.

  “Sir Dane!” Aster calls. “The ceremony is at an end, it’s time.”

  Relias nods.

  “You were wrong about what drew the Torn Wing to me,” I offer, wondering if this may save a life in the future. “It was an act of kinship. Not tempered blood.”

  Relias smirks at me… that wickedness within him returning. “Maybe so, Haledyn. But the warring dark is deaf, dumb, and blind without bloodshed. You would be wise to remember that. Farewell.”

  I want to ask for more time as my fists clench, but pissing off my new ring leader on the first day doesn’t seem wise. Besides, the Dane is done with me, walking leisurely into the shadowy doorway from which we all came. My guess is he’ll be hopping right down that giant portal to coerce some more “orphans” into murdering one another.

  “Come, Haledyn. There is much to see.” Aster taps the felt cover of his tome.

  As I fall in line, the crew asks me questions about what the Dane wanted. I tell them politics, cautions, the like, but Layla knows I’m holding back. Now’s not the time.

  Boeru forms from my shoulders and extends his long neck to see past the ropes confining us. “The mortal sky of Shroh. Yet something is amiss. This is not the sky I guarded long ago.”

  I glimpse into the blinding brightness, trying to look up. Through spotty vision, I glimpse a sky of crystal blue, and a sphere that looks more like a giant fireball than a comforting light. I’ll take the dragon’s word that something’s off. Because to me, everything is off.

  Aster looks both ways, then focuses on us as he walks backward down the endless walkway. “My cadets. Turn, marvel at the grandiose of Elshard.”

  We do as he says, gazing at the gigantic stone sculpture of a long-bearded wizard extending his wooden staff forward, frozen in determined wrath to vanquish his foe.

  “South entrance to Inductus Hall, one of six major halls of Elshard.”

  “Are we still in Elshard?” Jurso asks.

  “We are not. The four houses that make up this section of Miria have sponsored castles interlocked with Elshard. A shame we were funneled out of the south exit,” he laughs nervously. “We have the longest stroll to our northern quarters. At least we’ll get a brief tour of the others as we go.”

  “Will we have access to true mythos in House Sivus?” Jurso asks.

  “Jursento, your days of false readings are over.” Aster faces forward, directing us to turn left at the intersection. Landscaped shrubbery on either side of the long-carpeted walkway makes me feel like we’re in some sort of old mythos kingdom, marching to see the king.

  We walk for ten minutes, taking in the scenery, the sky, adjusting our eyes to a world so foreign it hardly feels real, and listening to our ring leader explain the lay of the land. There’s a break in the endless archways, marking the entrance to the first house decked with lavish fountains and rows of gargantuan warrior statues. Beyond it a castle sparkles in the sun, being scrubbed by workers, or maybe cadets on duty. One leans over the balcony to get a hard-to-reach crevice, while another uses a leafy vine growing out of her hand to wipe away dirt in a high crevice.

  “House Rhylock’s quarters,” Aster presents. “You won’t find a house more lavish, nor more financially frivolous. They live for the show.”

  “Someone sounds salty,” Layla says, and we all wait to see if our leader is amenable to humor.

  He laughs, holding his belly. “They attract their new cadets, I’ll give them that. A promised road to glory and to a reigning house is something that first must be met with the eyes. All I say is, an astute coin manager would do them good. They spend as much as they rake in. And falling out of favor won’t keep those walls clean, that I assure you. Mistress Asentres should have—ah. Getting ahead of myself. Here, see those statues, they represent…”

  Aster clearly knows his history, for sure, explaining not only the names and origins of each statue, but the type of architecture techniques as well. Jurso and I are entranced by every word, while the others seem like they might actually fall asleep standing up if they have to hear another fact about tier one.

  Finally, after another ten minutes, we arrive at a set of interconnected, iron-plated flat towers with a massive Sivus signet etched in the center. The grounds are moderately uniform, with an archway entrance showing a book and sword in a teetering scale, and mythos scripture quotes on podiums lining the way down to our new home.

  It’s enormous up close, yet somehow inviting with its dainty waterfalls falling over each side. The white noise soothes me in a way I didn’t know I needed.

  “As you’ll see in mythos, Miria is only as sturdy as our houses. We compete with one another, not only to grow strong but to uphold the melting pot of ideals that ultimately hold the great faction together.” Aster lifts his hand, activating a pulse of red air that reveals a magical lock in the ten-foot iron doors. We all gawk as he opens it.

  Layla rubs her finger over one of the quotes on the door, then eyes me like we got thrown into the wrong house. Meanwhile, I couldn’t disagree more. Your guide will grow strong here, Lay. You’ll see.