“Welcome, champions of Vallenna,” the judge said, her smooth voice sounding clearly around the arena. “We stand here now in the 76thYear of Fire, a time of transformation. Over three hundred years have passed since the Arcanth was shattered into the four Shards: Earth, Water, Air and Fire. Our ancestors forged the first Arcalon in honour of that decision, and in celebration of the unity of our realm.”
She paused, surveying the delegates.
“You are not here by chance. You stand here as the strongest of your Houses – chosen not for age, but for skill, courage, and magical aptitude. The Arcalon seeks not the eager, but the capable. The eight magics are known. What is not known is the strength of those who wield it. You have been selected by your Lords and Ladies, and watched now by all of Vallenna.”
She walked to the stone basin set before the Council seats. The Vessel of Threads. It was filled with a dark swirling liquid – the ingredients a mystery to all but Fatàn. She pulled back her hood, revealing long white hair that spilled over her dark robes, and pulled a drawstring pouch from her pocket.
“Now, we hand ourselves to Fate.”
The judge poured soil – and a quiet magic hummed, lighting the Sorrel and Durent podiums in a dark amber glow.Water came next, and a soft blue light shimmered around Navyr and Lyra. She breathed over the Vessel and mint-white magic danced around Caldris and Hale. The hairs on Kara’s arms stood up. Air, her element. Finally, flame erupted over the Vessel, and crimson red light surrounded Thorne. Kara watched as Sebastian looked at it with mild interest.
A moment of silence. Then the judge spoke, under the watchful gaze of the High Council. “Let the Threads speak, who will be first?”
At her words, multi-coloured ribbons of light burst from the Vessel, purple, yellow, blue, green, orange, white and red. They shot towards their respective Houses and wound themselves around the wrists of the ones chosen. Thomel was pulled forward from their podium, his wrist wrapped tightly in green. He gave her a small nod as he passed. The same happened for all the other Houses, many watching the magic in wonder. The first team, one from each House, gathered to the far left of the arena, the coloured threads releasing delegates’ wrists to unite above them, making a golden number one in the air. She noted, with discomfort, that neither Henry nor Sebastian had been picked for the first team.
The Fatàn judge nodded her approval and stepped over the Vessel once more. “Let the Threads decide, who will form the second team?”
The ribbons shot out again. Alys’s wrist glowed green. Henry’s, white. The second team formed, under a golden number two. Kara let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. The performance postponed. For a few days anyway.
“The Threads will now give us the third choice,” the judge’s voice echoed. The red strand danced around Sebastian, but veered away, binding the woman beside him. Emric’s wrist was wrapped by the green, and Anya’s yellow joined him under the glowing number three. Kara closed her eyes for a moment. When she looked up Sebastian was grinning at her.
Well, that’s just perfect.
The last threads erupted from the Vessel on the judge’s command, and snaked towards the one delegate left standing on each podium. The warm green ribbon coiled itself around her wrist and she watched the red one wrap around Sebastian. All seven gathered beneath the golden number four.
“You didn’t have to join the Arcalon just to spend time with me, Healer,” Sebastian said as they drew closer.
Then he winked. He actually winked. Arms folded, blade at his hip, eyes on her. She mashed her lips together and turned deliberately away, but she could still feel his amusement. Alys was stood across the arena, Henry by her side, her shoulders shaking with barely suppressed laughter at the sight of her stood with Sebastian Thorne. Kara sighed inwardly.
Thanks, Alys.
The rest of Kara’s team was a strange mix, that was for sure: An older man from Caldris with quiet composure. A young, wide-eyed girl from Lyra. A short, dark-skinned man from Durent, weathered and strong. A motherly looking Sorrel woman with dark hair, and a roguish-looking young man from Navyr, with wind-tangled ginger dreadlocks and sea-worn leathers.
He looks more pirate than delegate.
“The Threads of Fate have spoken. May the Four bear witness,” the judge announced as she took a seat.
Her father rose, voice solemn. “Delegates. The casting is complete. For Vallenna, the Arcalon has always been a reminder of what binds us. Sorrel, who feed us. Navyr, who chart the seas. Hale, who heal our wounds. Durent, who raise our walls. Caldris, who guard our knowledge. Thorne, who bear the sword. Lyra, who give us our song. Fatàn, who guide and shield us. Together, we are whole.”
Pride swelled in Kara at his words. All the Houses and their people carried their share.
Her father’s face darkened. “Be warned, this year, the trials will not be softened by restraint. Vallenna is strong, this is true, but strength must be proven. You will show us what it means to stand for this realm.”
Confused glances and anxious murmurs followed his words. Kara searched her father’s face for clarity. He had mentioned nothing of this. He met her eye and for a heartbeat – and only a heartbeat – his composure cracked. Regret, maybe. Then he was stone again. The Council had decreed this, and Alaric Hale would never bend in public.
Her father gestured sharply for the noise to die. “Take this day to bind yourselves. Speak together, show your magic, forge unity. For tomorrow begins the first two trials. May the Four guide you.”
She knew exactly what he expected of her.
Do my duty. Make him proud.
As soon as he’d finished, the murmurs began again, sharpening into disbelief. Kara wasn’t surprised.
This didn’t sound like a celebration of Vallenna’s unity.
This sounded more like a call to war.
CHAPTER 4
