I’m conscious of Thoren drawing to a halt beside me while Braddock leans a little closer. “I once heard a whisper that the coal is volatile because it doesn’t want to be disturbed. These rocks have a soul. A soul filled with fire and it wants to punish us for digging it up.”
Behind us, Nero has stepped up into the doorway and glares at us.
Braddock takes a quick step away from me. “Let’s go.”
With that, he strides ahead of us, shouting, “Clear the path! Coal coming through!”
The people on the walkway ahead of us instantly make themselves scarce.
My muscles continue to bunch as I pull the crate as smoothly as I can.
I fight my fear with every step.
Thoren keeps pace on my right, his muscles visibly straining, especially on the upward slopes.
By the time we navigate off the main path and into the western part of the city, my muscles are stretched and sweat pours down my face, chest, and back.
Braddock calls quietly to us. “Go carefully now. We’re entering the residential sector. The Academy is located beside House Silverspun while House Copperstream is farther west.”
It’s impossible to miss House Silverspun. It’s a large building that appears to be made from white stone and stretches several hundred paces in each direction. The placement of the windows indicates that it’s as many as three stories high.
A smaller building rests beside it, but it reminds me of a lesser version of Malak’s castle with towers at each corner.
Braddock gestures to the wide-open doors into the smaller building. “Right through there, you’ll find the courtyard, where the students train. You’ll see an empty crate on the right side. Replace it with this one.”
“Okay.”
He catches my arm. “There’s more. You’ll be expected to fill their bowls with coal—three pieces each. You’ll find a pair of tongs hanging over the side of the empty crate and a bowl to carry chunks of coal. Be careful about it.”
He doesn’t have to tell me twice.
As quietly as I can, I pull the crate through the doors and take stock of the white, pebbled courtyard.
The layout of the anvils is very similar to how they were placed in the northern field: all waist-height and set out in neat rows with large, black bowls that sit on pedestals to the left of each anvil.
These bowls are cold and empty, waiting for coal.
I recognize many of the students from the field, nearly twenty of them, all milling about the courtyard, many standing in groups.
They all appear to be my age or slightly older and wear their hammers like I would wear a dagger, in a sheath at their waist.
But unlike before, they’re also now wearing a band of metal on their left biceps. Their first medallions.
I’m unhappy to see Landon Copperstream with two other students, all leaning against the empty crate I’m headed toward. One is a young man with an amethyst-colored hammer that matches his hair and the other is a young woman with ruby-red hair.
Their focus is immediately on me.
If I thought for a moment that Landon knew I killed his father, I’d be significantly worried.
I take a chance to check Landon’s expression. No sign of tears or mourning.
Landon lifts himself off the crate, his lips stretching into a grin. “Well, fuck,” he says loudly to the other two. “Looks like we have a strong one.”
“He’s sweaty,” the girl replies, her mouth tugging up at the corners as she looks me up and down. “He could be fun, Landon.”
The boy with the amethyst hammer also sizes me up. “He might actually put up a fight.”
Landon narrows his eyes at me, his focus falling on my night pass. “Maybe.”
