The entrance hall opens onto a large oval lawn divided by a walking path and surrounded by beautiful houses, each with a grand sculpture at its front. Expansive stone and brick buildings rise behind the homes, likely containing classrooms. My feetfalter at the sight of hundreds of other druids already standing at attention along the crossed path dividing the open space, all maskless, all of them beautiful terrors.
We are ushered toward an empty quadrant on the field.
My breaths are shallow, my lungs hollow in my chest as I take in the furious stares at the front of the crowd. The druid guards move us into disorganized columns. Beside the others, we’re undisciplined. The druid students glare at us like they want to skin us alive.
Draven falls into a phalanx of initiates that have left a space for him. I notice a blond male and female druid lean over to him, whispering his way as if they’re all old friends, bright smiles on their faces. He brushes them off, facing forward. I follow his attention to where Commander Soto stands at the center of the open space, finally removing his mask and clipping it at his hip.
He has the appearance of a man in his forties, though I wonder how many centuries he truly is. He’s got light brown skin, sweeping salt-and-pepper hair tied in an intricate bun, dark catlike eyes, and a neatly trimmed beard around his jaw. Like so many of the druids born of Sedah, tattoos creep up his neck, swirling in waves, complex patterns connecting each line with symbols I don’t recognize.
“Welcome to another year in the Forge, this one marked by a large joining of Selected,” Commander Soto says.
The tension of those around me is a palpable thing, thick enough in the air to choke on.
“It’s my duty to remind immortals to refrain from harming changeling members of your class. We understand that time-bound traditions established by our ancestors allowed for competition at the Forge of the highest levels.”
Commander Soto turns in place to take in every Sedah-born druid, and a ripple moves through the audience at the warningin his glare. “However, changelings still have significant disadvantages to those fully druid. It is against conduct, as it always has been, to attack any student in their bedrooms, classrooms, or anywhere outside sparring and training sessions. With the development of the Selection, know that you are expected to grant respect to your peers and recognize one another’s contributions to our sacred kingdom of Sedah. We need each other, especially as tensions rise to the North. The success of one is the success of all. So, I ask you to remember your true enemy.”
My skin prickles, sweat beading my forehead. Fuck. Against conduct? Judging by some of the looks blazing our way around this audience, I don’t think that will deter them.
Draven and his friends look comfortable, as if they’ve already been here a year or more. I notice all of them wear pendants at the high-collared necks on their uniforms. Draven has two, though others have three or four of those daggered wands, the handles spindled. There’s only one on my own collar, so they must indicate year.
But even those Sedah-born druids in our column with only one pin at their collars look more than capable of breaking us with ease. And like they want to. Commander Soto’s limitations of keeping attacks to training sessions don’t exactly ease my mind.
“Tonight, you will claim your beds in your appointed chambers, called Hearths, alongside those with the same Major Arcana,” Commander Soto informs us. “Your assigned classes will be posted in your Hearths in the morning.” He looks around the Oval at all of us, and my back straightens beneath his unimpressed gaze.
Good, underestimate me. Better men have made the same mistake, not realized it until far too late. So long as I get what I came here for. My family, and if not them, my vengeance.Theremust be some kind of trace or record of the other Selected that have come to Arcadia before in this place. Colleges have libraries, knowledge. It could even be possible my mother is here, or maybe in a town close by. I look around the space with renewed interest at the labyrinth of buildings, with their vaulted arches and gargoyle sentinels.
“Find your Hearths. Get some rest, you’ll need it,” Commander Soto orders.
All at once, everyone’s moving, and I fall into line beside Ember and Morgan. I hiss, “How are we supposed to know which ones we go to?”
“I don’t know, but I don’t think they trust everyone to settle in for the night.” Ember watches the druids over her shoulder, the guards still lingering in the crowd. She scrunches her eyes closed, then forces them back open, looking as tired and overstimulated as I feel. It’s odd to see the Selected with such changes, and I notice a young man take off his glasses, look them over, and then discard them. Being a changeling will have advantages, but beyond surviving using magic, I don’t know what else yet, and no one’s bothered to explain.
They haven’t even told us any details about learning their magic.
Druid guards shout orders directing us, as the Sedah-born druids walk by us with little sympathy to how lost we all are. I hear one guard growl to someone, “Higher-powered Arcana are at the top of the Oval. Lower ones like yours are toward the entrance hall.”
“How do we know if they’re high or low?” Morgan asks us quietly.
“Mine had a number, did you notice one on yours?” Ember chews her lip.
I barely glimpsed my card.
“Just look to the giant stone statues.” Kasper’s gaze narrows on a house on the right near the entrance hall. A marble statue of a holy woman with her hands raised to the sky stands outside it. The house beyond, or Hearth, doesn’t look particularly imposing, yet Kasper hesitates to go to it.
Huge castle walls extend beyond this open central space and the buildings for classrooms, cradling the campus up to the sides of the mountains and volcano. They’d be impossible to scale, and the only apparent exit is the bridge we walked in on. I trail Ember as Kasper takes off toward his Hearth, Morgan and I searching for our own. The king acted as if mine is rare, so I’m betting it’s at the higher end of the Oval, where the house is smallest.
Prince Draven lingers at the back of the column with a cabal of older students. Few druids have wings or horns, but he and his friends all do. None of them have familiars like the guards, though. Are those something earned? His gaze lightens as we lock eyes, coy lips curling, his stride so utterly, annoyingly confident. I turn away, seeking out a statue that matches that tarot card I drew, the World card.
“Oh, this is me, I drew the Star.” Ember points to a tall golden star statue with four long points, smaller rays radiating between them. Carved in finely printed letters above the door are the wordsThe Star’s Hearth. She turns to me. “Maybe we’ll have classes together tomorrow?”
“I hope so.” I’m hesitant to put too much optimism into the thought. I like her. She gives off a calming, friendly energy, but I haven’t had a friend in years, not since Kiana, and she wasn’t merely a friend. The thought of her is like a weight sinking, a reminder of pain. I push the memory of her away. I can’t thinkof her, or the Lord of Westfall, and what he did to her when he sensed how close we’d become. She’s the one person I can no longer search for. I turn away from Ember quickly.
“Shit, I think I’m over there.” Morgan stands beside me, craning his neck across the Oval. My eyes sweep over the Hearths as he points at one of the statues. “Does that look like the Moon to you?”
“Definitely a crescent moon.” It glimmers, made of a pearlescent opal.
“What did you draw?” he asks.
