Page 3 of Under Restless Skies

Today is the last day of the Trials, and my time is the last slot, but I tell myself it doesn’t mean anything. Doesn’t mean I have bad luck or that Foros is singling me out or trying to ruin my chances.

Plus, of all the gods, I pray the most to Vigorlu, for strength. That is something I can control.

I go down to the kitchen, pat my brother’s shoulder, then walk outside, into the perpetual ocean breeze. From the narrow cobbled street, I look down at the Claw Bay and the ships docked in our port. My chest still knots when I see the approaching vessels, an echo of the pointless hope that used to eat me from the inside. Time has mercifully corroded it.

Now, when I look at the docked ships, all I see are merchants bringing gold, precious stones, food, and spices from other kingdoms. I no longer try to find a face I’ll recognize.

A scent of wings catches my attention, and I look up at the sky above the bay. From among the clouds, Auranius descends, gliding towards the city and his lair, his beige skin glinting in the sun, his gigantic wings casting a shadow on the water. My breath stills as I hear the subtle whoosh above me. I’ve seen our dragon protector hundreds of times, and every single time I’m taken by a pang of wonder and awe and admiration.

And yearning. I want to glide in the sky, feel the wind on my face, look at our city from above. How can a want be so overpowering that it hurts? Oh, it’s dangerous, they say. Because they don’t know what it feels like not to fly, they don’t understand the constant pain.

What hurts more is the unfairness of it all. Why should I, who wants to join the Sky Academy like I crave air, be denied? Meanwhile, they take in every idiot who applies.

I step harder onto the stone path towards the training grounds as I watch Auranius land on top of the hill by the academy, as if waiting for me. Splendid and impressive, he’s the largest and most powerful dragon in the world, guarding us from certain extermination—except when he sleeps. But when that happens, the Sky Guard resists.

They operate ballistas from the ground or in towers to hurt or kill the invaders, but the real battle happens in the air. Suspended by wings of linen and bamboo, the sentinels confuse and disorient the invading dragons and their riders. I’ve never seen them stalling an attack, since we always take shelter when the warning bells ring, but I’ve watched the sky sentinels training, jumping from the Outer Hill, then gliding in the air like birds.

Like dragons.

Powerful. Free. Majestic.

I close my eyes. It’s going to be me there, one day, brave and fearless, defending my land. Protecting my kingdom.

The Castle Hill rises in front of me, the academy and castle etched on its rocks. With the numbered note in my hand, I approach the wooden gate leading to the training grounds, my pulse quickening. A guard points to the side stands, where five rows of stone seats are partially occupied by other aspiring sky sentinels and their families. In the middle, small canopies cover four tables standing on the sandy grounds by the white stone walls of the academy.

Two towers of about five stories each stand on each side. They can be used for defense and have ballistas and windows on top, but they’re mostly for practice—and for the Trial.

The setup hasn’t changed. Applicants approach the table, reach into a curtained box, and pull out an hourglass. That timer dictates how long they have to scale the left tower, grab a flag from the top, and get back down. I never had any issues with that part of the Trial, but I’ve seen confident applicants fumbling this simple task. It’s true that it depends a little on luck, as the hourglass can be for thirty, forty, or sixty seconds. If you get the smallest one, you need to be extremely fast.

That part doesn’t worry me; I trained for it. It’s the second test that twists my gut: the table in the corner with three cups. Guess which one hides the ball. A test of Foros’s blessing, they say. Not everyone has to take it, and I’ve never figured out why. Never figured out why I was always sent to that table, when most people aren’t.

The last candidates from the one o’clock batch are running up and down the tower, and none have been sent to the Foros table yet. A wave of relief hits my chest. Maybe they won’t send me there today. The instructor standing behind the cups looks young for his position, although he’s wearing the typical black academy uniform in rigid leather, with a dragon skin patch on his chest. His dark hair isn’t pulled back like most sentinels, leaving his black waves loose. He looks up—and his gaze meets mine. Dark eyes with eyelashes that are long like spider legs. Stunning spiders.

I realize we’re staring at each other and look away. I don’t want to flirt with a young Sky Academy instructor, and I don’t want to desire someone like that, too beautiful for me. It was just a glance. I doubt he even noticed it.

My eyes focus on a skinny young girl, wearing loose linen pants, a white tunic, and a white lace headband. She reaches into the box and pulls out a small hourglass. Thirty seconds. Her eyes widen, and she turns and runs to her tower as the instructor clicks open the connection in the hourglass, allowing the sand to flow through the opening.

Every grain is a physical marker of the time she has. We can’t see inside the towers, so I don’t know if she’ll make it or not. When the final grain drops, she comes out, flag in hand, breathless, reaching the table right at the last second, perhaps slightly after it.

A gray-haired woman takes her flag and looks at the man beside her. I wonder if they’re going to tell her she failed or send her to the Foros table.

The woman points at the forsaken table, and the girl’s shoulders slump as she heads to that corner. My eyes follow her—and meet the instructor’s eyes again. There’s no question that he’s staring at me, but it makes no sense. I haven’t seen him before, not in my last two trials, nor anywhere in Dracolius City. Even if I had some note on my file saying “stupid girl who doesn’t quit,” he wouldn’t have read it. Not yet, at least.

I look away at another applicant, a bulky boy, probably seventeen, but who seems much younger, pulling an hourglass from the box. He’s lucky and got a white, fat one, which should give him more than enough time to climb up and down the tower.

Still curious about the skinny girl, I look back at the table with the cups and see her covering her face with her hands, as if they could hide her shame.

My body feels rigid like old bread. For a second, I’m that girl, staring in disbelief at the empty cup. For a second, despair clouds my thoughts and taints my mind, as I’m unable to accept that I’ll need to go back to the restaurant—if Laristella even accepts me back.

“What now?” echoes in my head. What now? The dreadful question that once shook me to the bone. But that moment is in the past. Today is different.

The girl walks to the stands and hugs an older woman. Her mother, likely. We couldn’t be more different. A bitter taste fills my mouth.

The bulky boy hands over his flag, and the instructors wave him toward a large table where the newly-admitted recruits are bent over their paperwork. They’re getting in. Candidate after candidate clears the tower without trouble, waved straight to sign their papers. The only exception is a tall boy who takes too long in the tower and is dismissed. Not much later, a young man is sent to the Foros table.

I don’t dare to look, trying to avoid that instructor’s eyes, even if I convinced myself I’m just imagining that he’s staring at me. And yet I have to see what happens, and focus on the boy. To my surprise, he picks the cup with the ball. The pretty instructor smirks, sends the boy to sign his papers, then looks at me.

His stare feels like soft fingers trailing my neck, but I pretend I don’t notice it and turn my attention to the other tables and the line of aspirants.