In the distance, the stands—once crumpled into the water, dumping the spectators into the same misery we experienced—had been rebuilt.
But we had been left to fend for ourselves above the dark water.
The arena could have been restored. This was the Fae kingdom, where stone rebuilt itself and water obeyed.
This felt like a message. A threat.
Floating just above the murky surface, dozens of marble platforms glimmered like pale moons. The other recruits stepped across them in silence.
I jumped from one to the next, the impact of my boots echoing over the flooded ruin, until we all stood isolated, with one person per stone, suspended above the wreckage as if another round of terror waited hungrily below.
Then we waited.
The silence grew thick, heavy enough to press against my ribs. I risked a look toward Kiegan. His gaze was locked forward, jaw set, shoulders rigid with worry he’d never admit. My stomach twisted. He’d always tried to hide his fear, but here, in this stillness, it radiated off him like heat from a forge.
Across the water, the clan leaders assembled in a jagged line, cloaks snapping in the wind. Behind them, their clans stood in proud ranks, banners unfurling in jeweled colors, rippling like living things. My eyes found Bismyth’s purple banners before I realized I was searching for them.
Before I admitted I was searching forhim.
Fieran stood with the other clan leaders, but he might as well have been the only one there. The pull of his presence felt like the relentlessness of gravity. I was tangled with Bismyth now, with Fieran’s fate.
And we waited.
The queen had not arrived yet. My stomach twisted with anxiety.
How did I get my brother out of this world?
Tension rippled through the clans, as if every banner had shuddered in unison. The air changed as the shadows pulled apart, surrendering to a blaze of light, and my eyes winced shut even though I wanted to see.
The queen stepped through onto the platform.
The light faded, but the last bright remnants of it clung to her, limning her in shimmering veils of gold. Tay stood at her side, dressed as finely as yesterday. There was a smile fixed on his face as he watched her, and for some terrible reason, I thought of the adoring dog we used to have when we were very small.
Every clan leader bowed and kept their heads lowered when they straightened. Fieran sketched a bow of his own, but even when Fear bowed, it looked like a mockery, like a game, like a lie.
As if he could never truly be humbled.
“Recruits.” Her voice was soft, melodic, carrying to every corner as if she were standing right beside me. “Today you will be selected by the clans. They will place the sigil in your hand that you will offer to your dragons. The clan who chooses you now determines the clan your dragon descends from, your destiny, and the family who will be closer to you than your own.”
I stiffened at her words. Bismyth would never replace Tay and Lidi. Her smiling words felt like an accusation, even though she spoke them to a hundred of us.
Did it feel so raw in part because part of medidlong to be one of Bismyth? To be chosen, to belong? As the queen went on, my gaze slid past Fieran to the clans aligned behind them.
To Bismyth. To Anayla, who had slipped past my jaded defenses. To Dairen, with his bright smile and easy diffusion of tension. To Asrael, who seemed like he didn’t give a damn and then whispered just the right thing to me when I needed to hear it.
I didn’t want to care for them any more than I wanted to feel the slow softening I had for Fieran.
My gaze went back to Tay. There was a yawning pit opening in my chest, the feeling of doom casting its long shadow.
“My beloved recruits,” she went on. “You have sacrificed years of your lives training for these Trials and for the sacrifices beyond. For serving our kingdom and saving our people from the incursions of the vile things that seek to destroy all of us, Fae, shifters, and mortals alike.”
Well, I was clearly not one of her beloved, given that I had arrived last week.
“Your sacrifices, your suffering, your pains, and your victories—they are seen.” Her voice was warm, honeyed. “You have endured so much. The Trials are cruel, and yet here you stand in the wreckage they create, rising above it. You are strong. Sharp. Forged like steel.”
Gently, she went on, “I do not wish suffering on any of you. But I will not deny its value, either. Suffering shapes greatness. And only the great deserve to be claimed, first by these clans who have proven themselves in battle, then by your dragons. By yourpower.”
“Clan leaders, I know you have been watching even more intently than we all watch our heroes. You’ve decided who will fight alongside you. Choose well.”
