Page 27 of Veiled

“Tell me it’s Sunday. Lie to me, please,” I beg Matt.

“Sorry, Lee, it’s Monday, and we have our first Vanguard class today.”

I retreat to the bathroom to get ready while Matt makes himself comfortable, like always.

I’m brushing my teeth fifteen minutes later when there is another knock at the door.

“Can you get that?” I ask, with toothpaste foam dripping from the side of my mouth.

He snorts as he swings the door open, letting Sasha in to join us.

“We’ve got thirty minutes before formation, and I desperately need breakfast. You ready?”

Another week of training, bruises, drills, and whatever hell the instructors have in store for us is about to begin; who wouldn’t be ready for that?

With a nod, I grab my bag, throw it over my shoulder, and lock my door on my way out.

“Kline?”

“Here, Sir.”

“Platt?

“Here, Sir.”

The way every squad is required to take attendance and turn it in to the Commander each morning makes me laugh. It’s like being back in elementary school with the teachers taking morning attendance and asking if we’re eating hot or cold lunch to report to the cafeteria—if only they were taking our lunch orders here too.

Do they think students who volunteered for the Kings’ favor are running away in the middle of the night and forsaking their posh lives?

Up until now, only Bravo Company recruit names have been called and not immediately accounted for, but I have no doubt that will be changing for Charlie Company far too soon.

And on that happy thought, we’re dismissed.

The morning passes without anything disastrous happening.

In Combat Class, we go over the basics of wielding swords and pair up with partners to practice. Apparently, sharp swords that leave a few students bleeding are a gentle introduction to the mercurial blades that we’ll start working with next class.

Mercurial Blades are just one of the many weapons that all Vanguard, Riders, and presumably Ghost Walkers are required to master. With their ability to shift form in less than a second—dagger to sword, sword to whip, etc.—they are the spelled version of a Swiss Army Knife’s versatility.

Combat Medicine drags on forever as usual. Healer Alric lectures us on how blood flows and what that means for field IV’s, head injuries, and how fast we can expect our patients to die if any of their major arteries are severed.

By the time lunch ends, recruits are buzzing with rumors of what we should expect on day one in Vanguard. So far, I’ve heard everything from basic fighting formation practice to live rounds being fired over our heads while we crawl through mud.

One particularly dramatic guy even claims his sister's company had to dig their own trenches on their first day and were forced to sleep in them every night for a week. While I wouldn’t put anything past the instructors here, that seems a bit far-fetched on our first day, since it would scare people away from the track.

On second thought, that kind of survival-of-the-fittest testing would be perfect for getting rid of the recruits from the get-go. As the frontline fighters, masters of shield formations and devastating with spell-enhanced weaponry, the Vanguard fight alongside the infantry but operate as a single, coordinated force. When the fighting hits the ground, it’s the Vanguard who commands the line.

Maybe I’ll pack a few protein bars, just in case.

Sasha, Matt, and I regroup outside the barracks after picking up our Vanguard gear issued to us on the first day. Packs are slung over our shoulders, water canteens are clipped to our belts, and the sheaths strapped to our thighs are filled with two standard daggers.

By the time we reach the Vanguard Training Building, where our weekly classes will be held, two dozen recruits from our company are already standing in small groups talking in front of the building, and a cluster of Bravo Company recruits are waiting by stacks of weight plates.

I should have known he would be here.

Arms crossed, already watching my every step, is Lucas. He smiles as I recognize him, leaning toward one of the recruits beside him and saying something under his breath. The guy snorts, glancing my way.

Luckily, a sharp whistle cuts across the glen before I have a chance to spiral at what this will mean for me.