Balor leaps down from the platform with fluid grace, landing in a crouch before rising to his full height. “Six circles mark the ground between you and your ranking within these walls. Your performance today will determine not just your standing among your peers, but whether you have what it takes to call yourself Shadowcarve.” He strides toward ring two, completing the circleof observers.
My pulse quickens as anticipation and bloodlust war in my veins. Part of me feels anxious, but the darker part—the part that’s truly my father’s daughter—is hungry for violence. It wants to tear everyone apart except my siblings.
Time to be Daddy’s little terror.
Chapter 9
Corvis
In the fouryears at Shadowcarve, this year we have the most students we’ve had in generations. Four out of seven of the Sovereign nest are here. Thorne opted not to take the war route—she wrote it at the bottom of her test even though, by right, she should be here. Lily didn’t want Abraxis riding her ass the entire time, so she opted out. Allister was not allowed to join because he’s in line for the throne.
Thauglor stands in the observation room above us, his massive frame silhouetted against the stone archway as he watches Balor address the students. The afternoon light filters through the narrow windows, casting sharp shadows across his face. It was his idea to use actual swords to cut the numbers down. Only the strong survive in Shadowcarve. The thought makes my chest tighten with worry for my mate. I’ve never seen her raise a blade in anger. She is probably the most gentle soul in that family, despite the darkness that runs through their bloodline.
“Azalea, Eris—ring six!” Another instructor’s voice cuts through the courtyard like a blade.
“Belle, Thomas—ring two!” He barks out several more pairings before the metallic ring of steel on steel echoes off the stone walls.
Azalea ends her fight in four moves, her blade finding its mark and drawing first blood from the fourth-year. The crimson droplets hit the sand with tiny puffs of dust. Belle’s match lasts much longer—she’s toying with the male, her movements fluid and predatory. Eventually, she draws first blood against the third-year, her sword catching the light as it arcs through the air.
The fights continue long into the afternoon, the scent of sweat and blood growing thicker in the courtyard. My silver scales along my neck prickle with tension as I wait. Finally, Raven’s name is called.
Before the instructor gets the chance to call her opponent, Allister enters the training area. His boots crunch against the gravel, and the familiar arrogance radiates from him like heat from a forge.
Raven rolls her sapphire eyes, the movement so subtle I almost miss it. She looks at the instructor, waiting with the patience of a predator for him to call her opponent. Thauglor makes his presence known just as Klauth walks in, shaking his head in frustration.
“Allister, you cannot walk out of a class like that!” Klauth’s voice booms across the courtyard, making several students flinch.
“Why? Don’t you want to see your heir apparent go against your oldest ally’s progeny?” Allister gets that cocky tilt of his head, and Raven shakes her head, black hair catching the dying sunlight.
Raven looks over her shoulder at her father. He nods, approving the match, and my heart nearly stops.Is he out of his mind?I stride over to stand beside him, my boots silent on the stone. “Sir?”
He glances down at me briefly, his sapphire eyes—so like his daughter’s—gleaming with something dangerous. We watch Allister slip on only a leather jacket, the material creaking as he moves. He walks around the courtyard looking for a sword, his movements casual and overconfident. “This has been a long time coming. He’s always belittling the females in the nest. Klauth and I agree he needs to be taken down a peg.” His eyes shift to those of his dragon, pupils elongating, and a malicious smile crosses his lips. “My progeny is stronger than she looks.”
Raven flexes her wings several times, the black membranes catching the air with soft whooshing sounds. Abraxis moves her to the larger sparring circle, his scarred hands gentle on her shoulders. She ties her mask in place and fastens her hood; the leather securing with soft clicks. All I can see now is the sapphire glow from her dragon’s eyes, burning like twin flames in the shadow of her hood.
“Oh, shit...” Thauglor breathes, and I whip my head toward him.
“What do you mean, oh shit?” My voice comes out rougher than intended. I glance from Raven to him, then back to Raven, my silver eyes reflecting my growing alarm.
“Her eyes. She’s tapping into the most primal part of herself.” I watch him step forward, his massive boots echoing against the stone. “You are not allowed to kill each other—do I make myself clear?” Thauglor stands between them, his presence filling the space like a storm cloud. He waits for them to nod, then backs out of the ring, letting Balor take over.
Klauth comes to stand near us, shaking his head, worry etched in the lines around his eyes. “My son is in deep shit.” He points to the wall where Mina perches, watching every move like a hawk. Her claws dig into the stone, leaving small gouges.
Balor goes over the rules in detail, his voice carrying clearly in the sudden silence. The tension in the air is thick enough to taste—metallic and sharp. They bump fists, the sound echoing like a death knell, then back up, waiting for Balor to start the match. Balor glances over at the two fathers. They nod, and he drops his hand.
Since Allister chose only one sword to fight with, Raven draws onlyone as well. The blade sings as it leaves its sheath, a sound that makes my scales ripple with recognition.
“Oh, come on, sis. You can use both of your little swords—I only need one to beat you.” Allister swings wildly, the blade cutting through air with a vicious whistle. Raven moves out of the way like flowing water, tapping his sword with hers in a gentle correction that sends vibrations up both blades.
“I’m good.” Raven’s voice is soft, almost conversational, and the hair on the back of my neck stands on end. The last time she said that, she kicked Abraxis’s ass in a sparring match that became legend. Abraxis cringes, his face twisting with memory, and Klauth shakes his head in resignation.
“My heir chose poorly,” Klauth mutters as we watch Raven stay on the defensive, her movements economical and precise.
“What is she doing?” I ask Thauglor, my hands clenching into fists at my sides.
“She’s letting him wear himself out. He doesn’t train like everyone else. He thinks just being Klauth’s heir grants him skill and strength he didn’t earn.” Thauglor’s voice holds both pride and worry as we watch Raven essentially toying with her brother. Her blade dances around his clumsy attacks, never quite engaging, never giving him an actual target.
The sound of claws shredding wood echoes in the courtyard like thunder. I look up—Mina is missing from her perch. Looking back at the ring, I see her pacing around the outside of the circle, watching her children with predatory intensity. “Stop toying with each other and finish the fight!” she roars.
