“What happens if we aren’t?” Kasper asks.
“Some are dropped into the infantry. Glory can still be found there.” The distasteful look in Amaya’s gaze makes me think it’s a death sentence. “Some may find a financier. Open a business of their own, that sort of thing.” She looks between us all doubtfully, though not unkindly. “I’ve never seen one run by a changeling, though. There are also less sought-after jobs, all necessary to keep the kingdom running. Not earned or honored.”
“Like manual labor?” Morgan guesses, his stack of cards shifting under the silvery power in his palm.
My leg bounces. I hate being the last in our small group to draw my card.
“Yes. Mining, building, infrastructure, scullery, housemaids, gardening, that sort of thing,” Amaya tells us.
I stop, thinking of a life stuck scrubbing floors, powerless and surrounded by the powerful. I’d rather die than spend my life serving these bastards.
“Great, I’m guessing that changeling scabs get chosen for those unfavorable jobs over the cushy ones,” Kasper groans. Silence settles over the group as we wait for Amaya’s response.
“No, actually, changelings are usually chosen first by wealthy families because—”
“Amaya Penderghast.” Professor Anstead’s stern voice causes me to jump, resounding right behind my ear, and the others jolt, too. I notice a thin scar marring her face like a split in a river, crooking its way from above one eye to the hollow of her cheekbone. Her gaze does not sway from Amaya, who shrinks in her seat, shoulders hunching. “Show me your draw.”
Amaya’s hand quivers as she lets it linger over her stack. After a moment, the Death card floats unsteadily from within the pack into her palm.
Professor Anstead narrows her stunning emerald eyes. “Now summon a shadow.”
“I … don’t know how yet.” Amaya’s eyes dip to the floor.
“I guess you don’t know everything, then,” Professor Anstead says icily.
I glare at her tone as she turns on her heel and marches away. Amaya stares at the cards stacked before her, hands trembling over shining gold-leaf surfaces. My curiosity grips me, and I lean forward.
“What were you going to say? Why would the rich prefer changelings?” I wait, but Amaya only shakes her head, focusing on her work. “Is this something to do with the Curse?”
Wynter clears his throat, looking away. Ember, Kasper, and Morgan all meet my eye, suspicion gathering there.
What the hells are they keeping secret that involves changelings?
8Training
I wonder what the full extent of druid might is, with their arcane magic. Is it something our scientists can ever replicate? Or do they stand shoulder to shoulder with the gods? I can only foresee one way of stopping them permanently. We must match their magic with that of our own. By whatever means necessary.
—Personal diary of uprising leader Kieran Ceres
DAYS LATER,I stand across from Amaya in the sparring ring, still curious about what she almost let slip. The focus in these first weeks of brawling seems to lie solely on training our new bodies to withstand physical combat. Though none of the druids have been exactly accommodating to us changelings, at least Amaya hasn’t tried to kill or pin me to the mat in an embarrassingly fast way, like Mira. It’s more than I can say for Ember, who is currently being looked over by an Empress Arcana, healing a collar bone a druid has broken. Over the last few days, I’ve had both my femur and elbow snapped, the first courtesy of Mira, the second a freak accident when facing Felix, who hasn’t stopped apologizing since.
Thank the gods for healers.
Although I was trained in fighting by the Blades of Westfall and know most of the introductory material, my new body is stronger and faster than my mortal form and I feel as if my muscles have forgotten their former skill. Amaya swings at me, and I dart my head to the side, dodging her blow. Watching over us is a third-year student with a Strength Arcana that allows him to channel precisely that. His body is muscled in a way anyone would envy, his skin flawlessly toned mahogany, and he’s one of few druids at the Forge with wings. When hethwaps the back of my knee with a staff, I adjust, stalking farther into the ring.
“Watch your footwork,” he barks. “You nearly stepped out of the circle.”
“Yes, because I’ll be seeking thinly drawn circles for all the fights I plan to get into—” A cracking pain hits the back of my head before I can finish.
“Environment is as much an obstacle as your enemy. Use it to your advantage, or be humbled by it.” He leans on the staff now. His hazel eyes flick to something behind me, and I duck, turning and smashing my fist into Amaya’s ribs. She stumbles back, cupping her left side, hunched over, teeth grit in pain.
“Oh shit, I’m sorry.” I grimace, taking a tentative step closer.
Amaya slinks into a spinning kick, sweeping my feet from under me. I collapse to the mat, my body marred in stinging pain. I’m still wrapping my aching head around the maneuver as she helps me up. She smiles and teases, “I’m surprised you fell for that one.”
“You sold it well.”
“Maybe you’re just gullible?” She bumps me with her shoulder.
