“Thanks,” I whisper. She knows what it means when I wear it down. “I’m really glad to see you.”
“Where else would I be?” She releases my hand with a grin. “Can’t exactly say no to this. Plus, I wouldn’t miss Valor Reborn’s grand entrance for anything.”
I roll my eyes. “I’mcertainyou had your own entrance.”
“Father couldn’t come.” She shakes her head and shrugs. “He’s doing a patrol on the wall. The safety of Vinguard comes first. You know how it is.”
“I do.” It reminds me of my mother’s absence. My heart is already trying to beat out of my chest. There’s no way I’m making it through this without her tincture.
“I’d bet you’ve seen him more recently than I have.” She looksat me sideways. “Valor Reborn running to battle a dragon, huh? Pretty sure it was dead before I let you go.”
The vicar speaks, saving me from having to think of a good excuse, cued by the heavy doors shutting behind us. “You are now, formally, supplicants of the Tribunal.”
I take in the large hall we’ve entered. There are six tapestries hanging along the walls around the one dragon statue in the center, each one depicting a life-size dragon in embroidered detail so fine my fingers ache at the thought of the effort they took. Vicar Darius is perched upon a narrow metal balcony close to the roof that’s accessed by a spiral stair.
“Over the course of three weeks, you will be watched, examined, and tested as the inquisitors see fit, to ensure that you are not cursed to transform into one of the beasts that ravage our lands and attack our city.” Vicar Darius motions to the people who line the edges of the room.
All of them look young, no more than three or four years older than us. They wear stiff leathers in a rusty-brown shade, clearly a simplified variant of the plate the Mercy Knights wear up on the walls, and short capes with hoods that hide half of their faces. Their capes are dyed black, rather than the dragon-blood red that the Mercy Knights and curates wear.
The silver daggers at their hips, each pommeled by a dragon, tell the truth of what they are. Those daggers are laced with a venom so deadly it could kill a dragon—not that it would ever be able to penetrate one’s scales. But they’re not meant for dragons. They’re meant for humans.
These people surrounding us might be in different clothes, they might be young, but these are trained killers; these are Mercy Knights, and every one looks ready to administer that mercy should someone’s eyes go to slits. Because the mercy of death is better than becoming one of the beasts.
“In addition to the challenges the inquisitors present you here,there will be three greater tests that will bring you closer to understanding the truth of Vinguard—toearningour secrets to emerge as full citizens and join our society as contributing members,” he explains. I suspect this is where the “tri” in Tribunal comes from. “Those who make it to the end without showing signs of the curse will stand before the Font and receive their gilding.”
Restless excitement has supplicants shifting from foot to foot.
“There will be times during your Tribunal where others might come to observe—guild leaders, curates, and, of course, Mercy Knights. They might come to give you lectures. Or you might not even be aware of their presence. Even if you do not see them, know they could well be watching you.”
Every other supplicant continues to stare up at the vicar, but there is a new glint to their eyes. A spark ignited by what we all know—those observers will be guilds and masters searching for talent—but even more, they are thrilled by the mention of Mercy Knights watching, scouting. One cannot apply to be a Mercy Knight. They are only invited.
“All is to ensure that those who live within our walls are free of the curse, contribute meaningfully to our society, and are loyal to the cause of Vinguard alone.” The vicar stands slightly taller, looming. His words take on a harsher, more ominous tone. “Remember: The deadliest dragon is the one within.”
My skin feels too tight, stretched across sinew and bone that is suddenly dragon-sized. I rub my palms along my pants and glance at the other supplicants near me. Their faces are wide with smiles. What it must feel like to be one of them…
“Be prepared to be pushed to your limits to ensure that you are not cursed.” The vicar finally reaches his conclusion, voice booming. “And should you have indication of another being cursed, you are required to bring them forward or it shall be considered treason and both your lives will be forfeit. No childof Vinguard harbors a dragon or dragon sympathizer. May Valor bless your lives and mercy be swift at your death.”
I swallow the lump in my throat as the vicar descends the spiral stairs, the click of his heels echoing ominously throughout the cavernous room. No one moves, clearly unsure of what to do next. His departure invites my gaze to wander the atrium, settling on each of the six dragon tapestries.
A master weaver has captured each in an eerie likeness, poised for an attack in its own, unique manner.
There’s the green dragon that clouds the air with a noxious haze, its maw dripping with acid. That imagery is a little too fresh for my liking.
The purple dragon, a shade short of midnight, with its black eyes and roar that is said to spark madness.
Nimble, rare, a silver dragon whose scales might as well be hammered plate reinforced with artificer sigils, its claws sharpened steel.
A blue dragon with woven ice around its mighty talons. I can almost imagine the storm clouds that plume from every flap of its wings.
The largest of the group is the yellow dragon, a monstrosity whose size alone renders it formidable, but its shielding and healing auras also make it nearly impossible to kill. What it lacks in offensive magic, it compensates for in brute strength and defensive capabilities.
And the smallest but most fearsome. The nastiest dragon: the copper. The copper beast is nothing but rage and fire. That last one hooks my gaze longer than any other. My heart flutters, scar itching, skin suddenly too hot all over. I’m trying to force the memory away when my friend starts speaking.
“Wild to think that one of us could become one ofthem,” Saipha murmurs.
“It’s unlikely. There hasn’t been a cursed in the Tribunalin ages.” The words are scripted. I’ve said them to myself a thousand times to try and sleep at night.
I force my gaze away from the copper dragon before I’m consumed once more by the memory of the creature that attacked me that day…
