Lory leaned back in her chair. There seemed to be a lot of expectations going around that day.
“Over the next few days, you will all go through assessments of skill and knowledge, and your schedules will be assigned accordingly. You will be measured against the other colors, and I expect blue to stand out—and not in a negative way.”
A few small chuckles sounded from the front rows where the voluntary students followed each word like this was a religion, while Lory slumped further into her chair.
“Assessments start in a few minutes. Bellmont, Heener, Seine, and Vednis, stay here. The rest of you, follow theblue line.” Dunveil gestured at the blue line appearing on the floor, and the first few rows started shifting nervously in their seats. “You are dismissed.”
As Lory watched the room empty, Thal and Brycon started talking over the back of Thal’s chair. Frost, on the other hand, remained stoically in his seat.
“Aren’t you going with the others?” She had paid attention to the list of names when they were sorted into colors, but she still didn’t know which one of them Frost was—because it surely wasn’t his real name, or she’d have heard it.
“He saidBellmont, didn’t he?” Frost’s face was as icy as ever.
“Aiden? Your name isAiden?” Lory chuckled.
“Call me Aiden and I’ll bite your head off.” Frost just held her gaze with an expression that suggested he’d heard enough of a really annoying tale.
“At attention, ashlings,” Dunveil called, and the four remaining people in the room fell silent—five.
A shudder ran down Lory’s spine as she noticed Falcrest in the corner of the room, leaning against the wall, foot crossed over an ankle, and playing with a slender, silver pen. His eyes were on her, a brow raised in a silent prompt for her to follow Dunveil’s order.
Lory instantly regretted having looked at him because her stomach did a flutter that had nothing to do with the fear of the man who’d been there to watch her execution. His commanding, untouchable presence was impossible to ignore, yet he should be the last person she felt drawn to. He’d probably use that pen in his hand to kill her if she asmuch as set a toe out of line—he didn’t say it that way when he’d dumped her in the windowless room, but the message was the same. One wrong move and she’d be back at the butcher’s block.
If he’d turned his attention somewhere else, perhaps she could have peeled her own gaze away more easily.
Dunveil cleared his throat, making heat shoot into Lory’s cheeks.
Damn that beautiful mouth and the shameless smirk tilting it up as he held her captive with his piercing eyes.
“This is Captain Falcrest,” Dunveil said, and Lory felt like he was mentioning it to personally taunt her. “He will be helping me with assessing your gifts.”
Falcrest flipped the pen in his hand, pushing away from the wall and strolling to the front of the room. Guardians, he moved like a predator. The youngest captain in history, but also a transfer from the common military. What, by the Guardians, he was doing in this place when he could probably have taken his pick of places to serve Brestolya, she had better not consider. Perhaps it was the brutality and bloodlust of Ashthorn Ward that had called to him. The way he marched out the late ashlings every morning surely suggested he had a taste for it.
“We have four ashlings in this room,” Dunveil continued, perching on the desk once more while Falcrest took a stance by the wall behind the table. “Each of you was chosen for a different reason.”
Frost shifted in his seat, wiping his palms on his thighs.
“Ashling Seine.” Brycon shot to his feet at Dunveil’s prompt. “What can you tell me about Ashthorn Ward?”
Lory could have sworn Brycon’s hands were shaking as he held them at his sides. “Ashthorn was founded over a thousand years ago by Lontio the Starborn, first king of Dunai and later of all of Brestolya. He dedicated this place to training soldiers, healers, and priests who won him not only the southern provinces of Brestolya but also pieces of the Northern Continent, Eherea. While in the beginning, Ashthorn trained all sorts of military, it soon became an academy for the military elite, and with the Great Purge, which marks year zero for Brestolya, all magic was forbidden by King Ulder the Ancient, our current king’s ancestor of eight hundred years ago.”
“Very good, Seine,” Dunveil praised with a flat tone. “So, if all magic is forbidden, how do we still train magic wielders in here?”
Brycon looked a little green as Dunveil—obviously a Knowledge Hand, or he wouldn’t be tormenting them with historical facts and speculations—kept pressing for more.
“The Great Purge cleansed the lands of magic wielders. Thousands fled the continent or were executed for their magic when the ruling families felt threatened by the superiority of commoners gifted with abilities to influence the elements, move objects, or even the human mind. A few families, who declared their loyalties to the king, were left to live, but they also pledged the use of their magic as a weapon for the ruler, and nothing else. That’s how Ashthorn started training magically gifted soldiers. All of them but fire wielders. With their highly volatile power and their history of rising against the king, the Flame-born are to be executed on sight.”
Lory swallowed. While she had heard more than her fair share about the Great Purge, she had never heard about a military elite or the use of soldiers gifted with magic. The only thing she knew was that the Flame-born had nearly destroyed this kingdom before—a hundred years ago; and before that, when Lontio the Starborn had freed the city of them in the Starborn Siege. Flame-born had all but disappeared from the continent since then, the only reminder of their era of reign being the everlasting flames burning on the limestone columns marking the edges of Dunai districts and that of the largest pyramid in the palace premises, the king’s residence.
“Correct, Ashling Seine. It seems you’ve used your time at Ashthorn well so far.” Dunveil gave him a rare half-smile.
“The library is truly inspiring, sir.”
Lory watched Brycon’s hands relax at Hand Dunveil’s praise, and she wanted to ask where she could find that library so she could do some digging of her own, even if it would take her weeks to dig her way through a book with her level of reading.
When she glanced at Falcrest, he was studying Frost across the room, a slight crease between his brows and lips pressed into a thin line.
“Now that we’ve heard a little about our academy, let’s see what sort of magic you all have, shall we?” Dunveil walked around the desk, standing in front of Brycon with the book in his hands. He offered it to the ashling with a curious expression on his face. “They say you can absorb information, Ashling Seine.”
