There’s uncomfortable shifting among the quiet, everyone wondering where the hells we are and what happens next. The king stands as immovable as if captured in stone.
Finally, he deigns to speak. “The children of this Selection will be taken to our Royal Court whilst the rest of you will remain here. Those of you under the age of eighteen, come forward.” His eyes are like scythes catching the silver moon. “Now.”
Children stagger forward, a few of them gangly teenagers. A druid guard enters my line of sight, gloved hands held out forthe child in my arms. He has cold copper eyes but grasps the child with surprising gentleness. I only clutch the boy harder.
“No.” I pull back, the child jostling, stirring.
The guard glances over his shoulder at his king, whose attention has swiveled our way at the commotion. Behind him Prince Draven watches me closely, those unsettling eyes lingering on me and the child. He shifts his feet, head tilted, and for a moment I get a view of the golden skin at his throat and intricate tattoos peeking out of his armor.
The guard presses, “The boy goes to the Court with the other children.”
“Take us together. I’m underage,” I lie.
Kasper scoffs at my gall. The guard hesitates and turns to King Silas, holding two fingers up. I meet the druid king’s gaze. Surely, I look young enough despite my snowy curls to slip among the youth. But his eyes narrow as he reads my face, like a passage from a book he dislikes—one that’s glanced over but fails to sink into the bones, bind the soul, or steal a breath. The king holds up one singular finger. The message is clear: take the boy, leave me.
I wince in pain and beg the guard, “Please, take us both.”
The guard shakes his head, so I let the boy go, swallowing my worry. He barely stirs as the guard picks him up and lets him lean into his chest before he lopes off to herd the children into a separated group. A moment later, a dark shadow blooms, and the druid guards shepherd the children through it. Fire burns within me, like a fanned flame. I can’t find the words. More children, lost.
I turn to pick up my glaring game with the prince and jump, hand flying to my chest.
King Silas stands before me, a cruel sharpness in his gaze. “How old are you really, girl?”
How did he appear so fast? So silent? If I had my daggers with me, I’d slice those ankle tendons and plunge one through his chest. I tremble in rage, a mantra repeating in my mind,All immortals must die.The king just moved to the top of my list. I bite down my fury, knowing I need to play nice until I find my family.
Finally, I grit out, “Does it matter?”
His head tilts to the side, waiting.
I swallow, hating the submission, but add, “Your Majesty?”
A hungry darkness flits across his face. “Good, youarecapable of learning.”
His words are begging for an equally cutting answer. I glance at Draven, still watching me with arrogant eyes. Apparentlyprickis a passed down trait.
The king prompts, “Well?”
“Twenty,” I answer honestly. If the rumors about their powers are true, he might be able to rip the answer from my lips. Trying my hand at treason twice in one day is stupid, even for me.
“Hmm.” He steps away, scrutinizing those left in his care.
The ground trails with burn marks wherever King Silas passes, a little flare of fire sparking as his boots graze a blade of grass. He takes us all in. Not a single person here is a child, nor is anyone old or frail. Prince Draven stands mutely, yet I swear there’s a glimmer of pride in those hooded eyes. Is this part of his design?
“You have all been Selected to join the druid kingdom of Sedah.” King Silas’s voice is sharp as a blade.
My heart startles. Join?
“Princes Draven and Ansel did a fair job, though I would not have chosen some of you. Count yourselves lucky.” He blatantly looks to me.
I can’t stop the simmering scowl I return. I don’t know how my training would hold against an immortal, but I want tofind out. My attention flickers again to Prince Draven, drawn into his orbit. His hands are clasped behind his back, watching the king with undiluted attention. He doesn’t seem to take his words about his choices as a slight. Perhaps his anger is eclipsed beneath that mask. Or maybe I’m just trying to humanize a demon. Maybe it’s the Wraith in me, but I want to unravel him, piece him apart, find out all his dirty secrets.
King Silas continues, “Before any of you can be allowed into my kingdom, you must take the Oath. This looks different in each kingdom, but the rites are the same. You will pledge your undying loyalty to my realm.”
My head jerks up—thisis why no one has come back. This forced allegiance, daunting as it is, kept my family from returning. Some of them might still be alive. That hope robs me of any misgivings.
“The alternative option,” he adds, “lies off to your right.”
Like dominoes, our heads all flicker to the place he gestures, where a plank has been affixed to the Wall, stretching out over the expanse of nothingness, a thousand-foot plummet to the flat, ungiving grounds below. The idea of it churns my stomach.
