The field before the first ward had been turned into a spectator ground, sporting an arena bordered by seats that rose three levels, occupied by eager, excited faces.
There was an area in the middle of the arena for the administration—Coterie members, and a few faces I didn’t recognize.
I searched the stands for Drayven and found him in the upper row with Brek, Jay, and the other Thropes. Cami was among them and waved when she spotted me. I waved back. She’d be taking her grading in a year, and hopefully, I’d be there to help her through it. My gaze tracked back to Drayven, hoping for a smile, but all I got was a dip of the chin.
Fine. If he wanted to act like we hadn’t had a connection, then so be it.
I had Horrors to hunt.
If only they would let us out of the fucking wards. Around me, the other students from my Combat 101 class shifted from foot to foot, nervous and excited to begin. We were the first group to take the grading this way. The group to lead the charge of change, and I was certain the students from Sterling’s other classes were keen to see what it was all about.
My stomach churned in a mixture of dread and excitement, an internal conflict that would only be resolved with action. I needed this test to begin already, but we wouldn’t set off until sunset, and the sun was still making its descent.
I flexed my toes in my new boots—thick leather with steel caps at the toe—not broken in yet and waiting to give me blisters. My whole outfit felt stiff and new—from the linen shirt under my long-sleeved, fitted tunic, to the breeches hugging my thighs.
I scanned the crowd again, eager for a distraction, and found the Unwoven in the stands to my right, their faces pale smudges of anxiety, and our conversation on the way here scrolled through my mind.
“It’ll be perfectly safe,” Clary had said, her tone overly cheerful. “The Horrors are carver-made, so they won’t kill you.”
“But they will do serious damage,” Benedict reminded me. “I spoke to one of the Carvers this morning. He was tight-lipped about the whole thing, but he said this grading was as close to a real hunt as you could get without…you know, going on a real hunt.”
“You’re making her nervous,” Clary chided.
“She should be nervous,” Dori said. “Nerves will keep her sharp.”
Yes, nerves would keep me sharp.
The air crackled with static, and then a voice blared, “Welcome to the first True Grading.” Walter Regent stood in the stands, a megaphone held to his lips. “Thanks to the hard work of the Carver Initiative, today, we will administer our first True Grading, where students will hunt real Horrors. These are Carver creations, designed to operate and function like any other Horror. Combat students will be required to work together to hunt and subdue a Horror of their choosing to pass the grading. Active hunt teams will allocate marks based on your performance, which will be watched through our corvus speculum.”
A shimmering wall shot up between us and the Coterie, and the next moment, a flock of ravens appeared overhead. The shimmering wall flickered, and an image of the arena appeared, shifting with the unnatural tilt and glide of the ravens’ flight—watchful, tracking, capturing every movement below. The image zoomed in on Vitra’s face—his mouth set in a firm line, gaze hooded—before shifting to Sterling, who looked bored out of his skull. Then it flashed over to Tamina and her Haematophage cronies. She looked bored, too, like she’d prefer to be anywhere else but here. The image panned away, settling on a tall, pale woman with inky eyes and dark hair streaked with gray.
She wore a high-necked coat, fitted to her upper body but flaring at the hips, falling loosely down to her calves.
“Hello, students.” She did use a megaphone, but her voice carried regardless. She must be using magic. “For those of you who do not know me, my name is Helena Grimani, and I am Master Carver here at Nightsbridge. The Initiative has worked tirelessly to create accurate representations of what you will face outside the sanctity of our wards. Make no mistake, these Horrors will want to harm you, just as real Horrors will. Although they cannot kill you, they can maim and maul and bring you to the precipice of death. This grading is the closest representation to what you will face as a Hunter.”
The image swung away from her and back to Walter. “Maddox, Murder, and their flock will keep watch as you progress through the hunt.” The ravens cawed as if in confirmation. “The hunt will end at midnight, when the Horrors will be recalled by the Carvers, and you will be free to return to the Academy.” The last rays of the sun died. “Make your way to the wards now.”
The wards rippled, preparing to fall.
“Move!” A pair of older students, probably hunt members, ushered us toward the wards.
Panic gripped me, digging its claws into my lungs. I was about to enter a hunt with people I didn’t have any connection to, some of whom hated me and wanted me dead. Sterling had done his best to keep me separate, never allowing me to get to know the others. Never allowing me to build relationships.
Deliberate, no doubt.
But if I was going to pass this grading, I’d need to find a way to integrate and work with them.
My skin prickled as the ward dropped, and we stepped through. Moonlight spilled over the dense forestland waiting in the distance across the vast frosty plain.
We jogged across the frozen ground, ravens flying overhead, before the group slowed.
“If we’re going to do this, we’ll need a team leader,” a student named Poppy said. Small and delicate looking, she was fearsome with a sword. I’d studied her form plenty of times. She was also the oldest in the class, aside from me, at nineteen. A late starter to Nightsbridge.
“You should do it, Poppy,” Bryce, a short, stocky Thrope, said.
“Like Fel,” Tyler snarled. “I’m not taking orders from a fucking kappa.”
Poppy’s eyes narrowed. “Then maybe you’d like to take a fist to the face instead.”
