Page 8 of The Fifth Heir

He was still smiling when the headmaster stepped onto the dais.

The old dragon wore a black ceremonial mantle edged in the seven elemental colors represented at the academy. He had led Crown Wing for almost sixty years, although his broad frame and clear voice made him appear younger.

Behind him came Keeper Malcolm, the Keeper of Trials.

His mantle was white rather than black, marked only by the golden crown embroidered over his heart. A metal staff struck the floor with every measured step he took. Malcolm’s face held the severe stillness of a carved monument. When he reached the Prism, he positioned himself to its right while the headmaster faced the gathered candidates.

“One hundred years ago,” the headmaster began, “four heirs stood in this Hall and received the call you have gathered to witness today.”

His voice carried without effort. The old acoustical runes embedded in the gallery walls were doing their work, delivering each word to the highest seats without producing an echo.

“Those heirs entered the Dragon Trials as rivals. One emerged worthy to bear the crown. Under King Edric’s rule, our territories have prospered, our borders have held, and dragonkind has remained united.”

The candidates listened without moving.

“His reign approaches its natural end. The crown must pass before it becomes vacant. Today, as it has throughout our recorded history, the Prism will choose four heirs from among the realm’s most worthy dragons.”

A faint sound came from the galleries—the shift of fabric, a restrained breath, someone adjusting in their seat.

I glanced at Camilla.

She was staring at the Prism.

“The choice does not belong to bloodline,” the headmaster continued. “It does not belong to wealth, rank, military accomplishment, or the judgment of this academy. No dragon may claim the title of heir until the Prism has recognized them.”

Mother’s posture stiffened.

The words were part of every recorded Choosing address, but they sounded almost like a warning today. Preparation could place Camilla before the Prism. It could not command the light to find her.

Keeper Malcolm lifted the metal staff.

The base came down against the floor once.

All four ceremonial torcs rose from their display cases.

I had known they would move. I had cleaned their cases, verified the awakening instructions, and watched Master Orin test the runes beneath each stand. Even so, my breath caught as the torcs floated across the Hall and stopped in the air around the Prism.

For one suspended heartbeat, the clear stones in all four torcs remained colorless. Then light began to gather inside them, too faint and changeable to name.

Every candidate watched them.

Camilla watched the Prism.

“Those chosen will reside at Crown Wing Academy for the duration of the Trials,” the headmaster said. “They will be tested in power, judgment, courage, and command. The Prism chooses those fit to contend for the crown. The Trials reveal which heir will bear it.”

One crown. Four candidates. A century of rule resting on Trials no living participant had seen.

Keeper Malcolm raised the staff again.

This time, when it struck the floor, every lamp in the Hall went out.

Darkness covered the chamber.

A few startled breaths broke the silence. The candidates had been warned, but knowing the lamps would extinguish did not make the sudden loss of light less complete. Even the galleries disappeared.

The Hall’s low hum stopped.

For one suspended heartbeat, there was nothing.