PRINCE DRAVEN SAUNTERSforward before I can retort, leading the way with Commander Soto. I realize the prince is taller than the other druids, muscular but not bulky. My fists clench as I watch him, and he glances at me over his shoulder, eyes crinkling in the corners like he’s laughing at me. Unrelenting prick.
“He sure seems interested.” Ember falls in line with me.
“Not sure why I’m so lucky,” I grumble.
“I don’t know, but whatever you’re up to … keep it up,” she says.
As if getting Draven’s attention is something I want.
She must see the outrage in my eyes because she shrugs her nimble shoulders. “It could be a good thing to have the prince’sinterest. He could be an ally or a tool.” She tucks her fiery hair behind her newly pointed ears. Those emerald eyes are wide, stark against all the lava casting orange and red over this place, and she seems mesmerized by the grounds.
“I hadn’t thought of it like that,” I confess. She has the mindset of a Wraith. Our language is secrets, blackmail, anything to survive. My gaze travels to Draven and I realize she’s right. I hate the immortals so much that the thought of charming one to be of use never even occurred to me. I take in the jutting spires and daggered points of the castle as we cross the onyx bridge. “So, what the hells is this place? They’re really going to train us in tarot magic?”
“Well, it’s not like we can use it against them.” Ember bites her lip, bright eyes taking in everything. “Not with that oath in place. We can’t run.”
Morgan sidles up beside us. “Makes sense they want us to be useful.”
“Yeah, at what fucking cost?” Kasper snarls, and I look back at him, watching this place as if demons will crawl out of the lava river below us.
The wyvern on the rim of the canyon roars, and I eye it, my breath a stunted thing in my chest as the beast takes flight and lands somewhere within the castle. I ask, “Did that commander guy say he headed a wyvern legion? They actually fly on those things? Most have wings themselves—why do they need them?”
“I don’t know. Maybe they breathe fire?” Ember wonders, flinching as the volcano rumbles in the distance.
I’ve never seen a map of Arcadia—they’ve been banned from the mortal lands. I need to get my bearings, learn more. Hopefully, this Forge has answers.
As we cross the onyx bridge, I crane to take in the sheer breadth of the dark castle. I look around at the nervous expressions ofthe others. It’ll be a miracle for them to survive this place. Even with allies. Even with friends.
I’m not sure my odds are much better.
The magnificent arched doors open on their own at our approach. The entry hall has sleek obsidian walls—the floor is black marble with gold and white veins. A stunning twin staircase with crimson carpet curls up to the second floor. A set of double doors are propped open to a courtyard beneath them. Large ruby banners with fiery golden crossed daggers … no … wands, four stars printed above and below them, the symbol of the kingdom, hang on the walls, nearly floor to ceiling. Tables line the hallway, with neatly folded clothes stacked in piles upon them. Unmasked druids, all of them more refined than average mortals, await us in a line, clearly expecting us. Even their plainest are pleasantly attractive. My steps falter as I notice large bins for rubbish behind the line of druids.
“To be part of this institution, you all need to dress appropriately, ready for training, sparring, and integration into your new kingdom.” Commander Soto holds the attention of every person with the slightest raise of his voice. “Any items you’ve carried this far from your old lives will be destroyed, cast into the fires as an offering to our holiest god, Azazel. For today, you start a new life. You may keep the shoes on your feet unless you do not have a decent pair, in which case you will be provided one standard issue.”
Everyone waits and he looks around at us expectantly.
“The sooner you change into your new attire, the sooner you will be able to turn in to warm beds and full bellies.”
I stare in disbelief, but I’m one of the only ones. Many here are poorly clothed and hungry. Commander Soto turns to Prince Draven, not paying attention to the rest of us.
“You heard the commander. Get moving!” one guard shouts, so close it feels like a needle in my ear canal.
I shuffle forward, panicking as I grip the little figurine of the broken king in my pocket. I received it when I was five, from Four Kings Day on the Isle of Riches, a celebration of the time the four great kings of old, three immortals and one mortal, sailed across the Great Sea and divided the continent.
We’d dress up as the kings, leave out boxes of hay for their mounts to eat, to be replaced at night with sweets and toys. I was so happy to find the little figure of the mortal king in my crate the next day, but my brother Remus wanted a closer look and his arm snapped away. It was our biggest fight. Now it’s my only token of him. I have so few of my family.
I didn’t bring much, and I’m sure they want us to strip to be sure no one’s brought any weapons. But I’m not ready to cast my old life into the fires of some immortal’s god. Subtly I pull it from my pocket, and as I take off my boots to change clothes, I slip it inside, carrying them along.
Morgan branches away from us, asking for new boots, his own ragged and the soles worn. Kasper follows him hesitantly, lining up at the men’s attire, and he looks down at the selection with his nose up, even though the craftsmanship is so fine that the gold pins on the collars look as if they’re the real thing.
“I think the women’s clothes are this way.” Ember leads me past the men’s and gender-neutral fits to ones catered to female bodies.
As I make it to the front of the queue, a druid guard demands I strip down. Everyone else is doing so, but still, it’s violating. I check, but Draven isn’t watching—no one truly is. Begrudgingly I set my boots on the table, undress, and slip on black, form- hugging leggings. The crimson tunic has a herringbone patternup the front and a collar that hugs halfway up my throat. The front clinches my chest tight, the fabric stiff. I wonder if armor is secretly hidden inside. I pull my trapped hair out, my necklace emerging. When I search for my old clothes they’re already in the rubbish bins.
“Those are my boots.” I point to them and the guard begrudgingly hands them back, but the little broken king is gone. My face scrunches up as I try to hold back my fury at the violation, the outright theft. I jerk them from his hands and turn away.
“Wait a minute.” The guard points to my throat. “Give it here.”
Shit.
