“Hey, I heard that,” Brycon complained from where he’d been walking behind Jarek.
“Good,” Lory muttered, wondering if there was anything these people didn’t find to be a game or a bet, if they were aware thatliveswould be lost.
When they entered the training grounds, the yellow ashlings were already there, their light, black shirts decorated with the outlines of bright yellow squares.
They didn’t stop in the middle of the sparring area where they did a workout consisting of flowing movements and shadow boxing Hand Sil calledash artevery day. Lory’s hip was still hurting from the stretch involved in the wide stance that was the first position of ash art. Naturally, Tabi and Thal knew half the movements already, given their upbringing in ashmarked families, while Jarek, Eira, and some of the others struggled a little more. Besides her, Frost seemed to be the only one at a loss when it came to the seemingly endless sequences of cutting their flat hands through thin air and knocking out invisible opponents with their fists. If only they were allowed a knife or a dagger, Lory wouldn’t feel like she needed to constantly watch her back.
Left and right, greens, reds, and purples were doing their ash art exercises as they crossed the courtyard, approaching the slightly elevated, secluded area at the back of the training grounds, right up against the foot of the pyramid. Lory took one good look and swallowed.
Tall poles reached into the sky, thick ropes running between them in straight and diagonal lines, right beside the facade of a fake three-story building. Along the yard, panels of wood and rock lay like a gargantuan staircase, dwarfing even the walls and ladders at the left of the space, waitingto be conquered by whoever wasn’t afraid to break a limb or their neck.
“Falcrest wasn’t joking about regretting our life choices,” Thal said, his grin—for once—hiding behind an expression of respect, if not fear.
“Ready to give up and go home yet?” someone called from the back, and Lory didn’t need to turn around to recognize Ricca.
“Shut it, Ricca.” Lory was quick to defend one of the two people who hadn’t actively tried to broach the subject of how she’d ended up at Ashthorn, and when she turned around, Ricca wasn’t the only one glaring at her across the sandy yard.
The yellow ashlings had arrived, their group dispersing into clusters of four to five people while the blues remained at the side of the parcours, their attention whipping from Ricca to Lory, who instantly regretted having taken a side. On the streets, declaring loyalties was dangerous—a death sentence if choosing the wrong group—so she had avoided it after Evven’s death because Evven had been family, and she’d lost him.
Ignoring the ache in her chest, Lory watched Falcrest sprint a few paces up one of the wooden walls at the side, then push and jump onto the first platform—a stone one—where he landed gracefully, the hilts of his sabers glinting in the sun as he rose to his full height and surveyed the assembly of ashlings, not bothering to brush back his wind-torn hair.
“All right, blue, yellow, meet Hadrian Bleek, Perredin Washings, and Anees Frier.”
Lory’s heart leaped into her throat as the woman from the brig followed two inconspicuous men in black Ashthorn uniforms onto the platform. Her raven hair was bound in a tight bun at the back of her head, and two sabers were crossed over her back, the same as Falcrest’s. If Lory had believed her dangerous when she’d stabbed the ashling at breakfast, now she was the image of a blade-wielding desert shadow, moving as toneless as Falcrest himself, and appearing not a fraction more merciless. Her mouth set in a thin line was nothing like the woman she’d met in the neighboring cell when she’d waited for her verdict. But Aneeshadbeen the one to first mention Ashthorn Ward to her, now that she was thinking about it.
“Bleek, Washings, and Frier are phantoms. For those of you who don’t come from traditional Ashthorn families,phantomis the rank for elitetested. Don’t ask me what you need to do in order to achieve phantom—if you deserve it, you’ll know.”
“What doestestedmean?” Lory whispered to Tabi, the one person most likely to answer her questions without cracking a joke or judging her ignorance, while simultaneously noting the silver square frame crossed by two diagonal silver lines on the three phantoms’ shoulders.
Naturally, her words didn’t go unnoticed by Falcrest.
“If you have something to say, Vednis, share with the entire group.” The ice-cold mask of the captain fell into place as their eyes met across the crowd, and Lory could have sworn Ricca was grinning at her embarrassment. But Ricca wasn’t the only one amused.
Stopping to Falcrest’s left, Anees skipped her gaze to Lory, the corner of her mouth twitching up.
She should have known something was fishy when the prisoner woman in the brig had chatted her up. No matter how dire the circumstances, Lory knew better than to believe information was given so openly without a price.
Thiswas the price. She was trapped in a death factory where people were waiting for her to plunge to her behind Eroth’s Veil during training or be stabbed in front of the entire academy at breakfast. She was still debating which death would be preferable when Falcrest shook his head an inch. “I didn’t think so.” Gesturing at the young men next to him, he pointed at the shorter of the two.
“Perredin Washings has mastered every roof and wall imaginable in this city. Those of you who get to train with him will appreciate the experience he has gained during his short years here at Ashthorn.” He glanced out over the crowd, then held out his arm like he was about to cut them in two. “Everyone up to here goes in his group.”
Perrin waved the right third of the group to follow him to the side of the training grounds, where he immediately started explaining something in a voice too low for Lory to hear, but she did wonder if, perhaps, she should have hoped to end up in his group. Falcrest’s endorsement—no matter how much she feared him—meant he respected the man, and the respect of the youngest captain in history should mean something.
“You, up to here”—Falcrest sliced the air with his arm once more—“follow Hadrian Bleek.” Another half of the remainingstudents followed the calm, inconspicuous presence that was Hadrian. “And the rest of you are with Anees and me.”
Lory’s stomach bottomed out when Anees leaped off the platform, heading right for the center of the group, where she stopped between Lory and Frost, who stood in a row in front of her. “Familiar faces, great,” she chirped and gestured for them to follow her to the facade at the end of the area while Lory avoided the incredulous looks from Tabi, Thal, and Jarek, who seemed glued to Tabi’s side.
Brycon, on the other hand, had fallen back, walking with the yellows between Ricca and Nyla, a girl with umber skin and black pigtails, whom Lory had seen before in the mess hall, while Falcrest brought up the rear this time, eyes vigilant on the group as if he was concerned one of them might try to bolt.
With a glance around the yard, Lory marked all doors that might lead to freedom, all fences and walls she could have climbed if Falcrest hadn’t walked behind her, his weapons always within reach and their polished silver blades sharp enough to split hairs. Lory had noticed those little details the way she used to notice them on the streets of Dunai, where observance was her most valuable asset and knowing the layout of her surroundings secured her survival. They could take her freedom away from her, but they couldn’t take that.
The facade of the prop house provided a modicum of shade, grains of sand dancing along the ground in front of it where they came to a halt, the mix of blues and yellows facing Anees rather than the spectacular view of hand-to-hand training going on in the other part of the yard.
“My name is Phantom Frier, but you may call me Anees. I’ll be working with you over the next weeks until you have your first test, and since my success will be measured by the number of you surviving, I’ll be the closest thing you have to an ally in here until you either pass or die.”
A few people in the first row cringed, receiving a smirk from Anees, who propped a hand on a curvy hip. “Yes,die.We don’t use the wordfailhere because it equals death. If you aren’t prepared to succeed, don’t set foot on this parcours.” She grinned, raising a brow at her audience like this was a great performance that wouldn’t determine whether they’d survive the next day. “If you want to live, however, you’d better move your ass and show me what you’ve got. I need to see your weak-ass performance so I can help you improve.”
As if on cue, a line formed before Anees, Ronan, and Eira at the front, together with a few of the twenty ashlings. The blues were still at their full number of thirty-three since the first day, but yellow had already lost four, the last of them this morning, and Lory couldn’t unsee the blood pooling under the woman’s body as she’d sagged after the deep stab one of the thornlings had performed. It should have been alarming how quickly the threat of being killed instead of eating had become an expected part of her mornings, just as watching her every word had when it came to questions about her past.
