The list of ways I don’t fit in here is growing long enough that I’m going to start tripping on it soon.
It doesn’t matter. I won’t be here much longer, anyway.
Shoving my worries aside, I turn my attention to the food before me. It’s just as extravagant as it was last night, so this is just how they always eat here—at a table covered in enough food to feed a family of four for a week.
I try to sample different foods. A flaky pastry with chocolate in the center. A flat cake dusted in powdered sugar. Succulent sausage links. Actual fucking fresh strawberries.Coffee, for goddess’s sake. There are even some delicate boiled eggs with blue shells, right next to the platter of greasy bacon and a bowl with some sort of crisp fried bread I’ve never seen before.
I’m halfway through eating when my stomach begins to churn. This much rich food is actually starting to make me nauseous. How do they eat this every day?
“Okay?” Izabel asks, apparently noticing my discomfort.
I sip my coffee and nod. “Fine.”
She slides a small cup over to me; there’s one for every Rawbond. “Don’t forget this.”
“What is it?” I say, eying the viscous green liquid inside.
“Contraceptive draught. Everyone takes it. You don’t want to ruin your chances of passing the Trials by, you know… getting in the family way.”
The draught looks identical to the one I take from the apothecary at home, I realize. I knock it back without arguments. I won’t be here long enough to let anyone touch me like that, but I’m not about to raise eyebrows by refusing.
The door to Strategos quarters swings open. In strides Egith Hartsfeld, looking fresh and well-rested. “It’s orientation day! The one and only!” she booms, wasting zero time.
The other Rawbonds are already standing, chairs screeching and silverware clattering. I’m really just longing for a stupid bath.
“Strategos Rawbonds, follow me,” Egith says. I noticed that instructors have emerged from the other pack quarters and are rounding up the other Rawbonds accordingly. “You’ll be touring the facilities today. Don’t ask me stupid questions.”
Touring the facilities. Thank the goddess. I might be able to come up with a potential exit strategy if the straightforward method doesn’t work for me.
Egith doesn’t say anything else before turning on her heel and striding back out of the room.
“Woman of few words,” I remark as Izabel and I head for the door with the rest of the Rawbonds.
“If only some people could be just like her when they grow up,” Izabel replies, glancing at Tomison who’s already chattering away with his group of followers.
As we trail Egith through the castle, she talks about the various wings we’re passing through and their purposes. Something about kitchens and larders, medrooms, guardrooms, a tunnel to an undercroft.
But my eyes are carefully scanning for routes and noting landmarks so that I might navigate my ass out of here at the drop of a hat.
There are a few obvious servant passages that I could use. They’re marked by narrow, short doorways too small for even an unbonded to pass through without bending over. A direwolf wouldn’t fit one paw through, so there’s no way they’re used by anyone the Bonded consider consequential.
Our group steps into a wide hall with blazing braziers lining the walls. High above us, there’s a mural on the ceiling depicting two stylized wolves, one white and one black, spinning around each other in an impressively lifelike dance.
I’m staring at it, neck craned, when one of the Rawbonds next to me whispers. Footsteps slow. A hush moves over them.
They’re staring down the hall towards a set of wide open double doors four times taller than I am. Beyond those doors, there’s an expansive space with a floor of packed dirt. It looks like daylight out there, but there’s no frigid rush of air, so it’s likely a large enclosed space with glass ceilings. I can make out a line where the smooth edges of carved architecture meet the jagged stone of the natural rock of the mountain.
“As many of you have obviously already noticed,yes. Down that way is the arena where your remaining Trials will take place.” Remaining Trials, plural?! “Moving on.”
What the fuck? How many more times do we trainees have to face death and dismemberment?
We’re hurtling down the halls again, passing by various training areas dedicated to each pack. They’re labeled just as the quarters were. I only catch brief glimpses as we pass by.
The Kryptos training yard is basically just an obstacle course with high guard towers. Daemos has several practice dummies lined up and weapons lining the walls, the dirt gouged with claw marks and what looks like the charred remnants of vicious magic. Phylax is equipped with a massive, odd device that looks like a series of swinging pendulums, as well as some more dummies and sets of heavy weights.
Strategos is by far the most boring looking, filled with tactical gear like harnesses and hooks, as well as several strategy tables and maybe two dozen maps covering the walls. Exciting stuff, peering at maps all day.
We linger briefly at the entrance to the Strategos training area as Egith explains that we’re going to be spending a fair amount of our time here. My eyes wander beyond the dismal space. There are two tall doors on either side of a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows, beyond which snow slowly drifts.
