The boy sauntered forward, his limbs moving with an easy grace that made it appear as though he were floating. He placed a hand on his chest and offered a mocking bow. “Arthur Alexander Ellington, but friends call me Artie, which meansyoucan call me Arthur. And this here is—” He had begun to gesture to the girl next to her when a sudden wave of recognition swept through Wren.
“Quinn,” Wren whispered, staring up at the girl in disbelief. “Quinn Woodrow.”
How could she not have recognized her sooner? Quinn had vanished shortly before the Decennial opening ceremony, though everybody knew what her disappearance had actually meant…that she’d abandoned Blackwood Academy in favor of the Demien Order.
“Huh.” Quinn snorted, crossing her arms. “The great and magnificent Wren Loughty actually recognized me.”
“Of course,” Wren whispered defensively. “We…we had classes together. I was so sad to hear that you—well…that you…”
“Condemned my soul for all eternity to join the Demien Order?” Quinn supplied with a wry smile.
Wren flushed. “I wasn’t going to say that.”
“But you were thinking it, weren’t you?” Arthur teased with a grin, a slight crinkle appearing at the bridge of his nose.
“Well…” Wren looked between them, sighing. “I suppose we should just get it over with.”
Quinn raised a brow. “Getwhatover with?”
“I assume you’re here to take me to Edith.”
“Nope,” Arthur said, placing his hand on Wren’s back and not-so-gently ushering her forward. “Turns out our benevolent High General has decided to offer you a break.”
Wren staggered to a halt.
“A—a break?” Wren glanced between them in confusion, though a part of her already knew why.August.She had been right. He must have somehow managed to convince Edith to stop the sessions. But how, and at what cost, Wren wasn’t sure. “Why would she do that?”
“Does it matter?” Arthur scoffed. He practically skipped to the entrance of the tent, swiveling on his heels. He wore the same training leathers as Quinn—an armored vest fitted over his torso and laced armguards slipped over the sleeves of his black tunic. Though most of his skin was covered, Wren could still see a sliver of shadows slinking up and down his neck. “Look. The fewer questions you ask, the better. Why don’t you just count your lucky stars and follow us.”
“But where are we going, then?” Wren asked in bewilderment.
Arthur gestured dramatically to the tent, twiddling his fingers. As soon as he moved, the entrance to the tent appeared.
“It’s time for the grand tour.”
Wren stilled, waiting for the punch line. “But…I’m supposed to be a prisoner.”
“You are,” Arthur replied. “For the most part. But considering you’ll eventually be one of us, we may as well get you acclimatednow.”
An ember of fury burned in Wren’s chest. She crossed her arms, glaring up at Arthur. “I will never be one of you.”
Arthur, however, seemed completely unfazed, simply rolling his eyes and saying, “Yeah, whatever, sweetcakes.” He dismissed her with a perfunctory wave, strolling through the opening of the tent without a glance back. He called to her over his shoulder, “Just keep up, will you?”
Quinn grabbed Wren firmly by the wrist, nails digging into her flesh. Before Wren could protest, the pink-haired girl gestured to the tent with a tilt of her head. “It’s enchanted to keep you in. If you want to cross through, you have to have physical contact with a Demien.” She tightened her grip as if to make a point.
Wren groaned and resisted the urge to scream. “Fine. Just…go.”
From one stride to the next, the empty tent became a noxious blur of smoke and leather. A cacophony of noises replaced the chilling quiet—raucous laughter, echoing shouts, the crackle of magic. It was like stepping into a raging current; bodies pushed past Wren, paying her no mind, a stream of Demiens coming and going from all directions. Wren had never seen the main hub of the encampment before. Edith would simply relocate her to the torture sessions, dragging her from one tent to the next. But now she could see that the heart of the encampment was a buzzing hive, the spacious cavern overflowing with bodies. There had to be hundreds of them.
“This way!” Arthur snatched Wren by the wrist, pulling herforward. “Come on. We can’t let the prophesized catalyst of destruction get lost, now, can we?”
They zigzagged through the sea of Demiens, darting past an array of tents occupied by different specialty tradespeople—blacksmiths and leatherworkers—and tents brimming with magical explosives and other volatile potions. Throngs of Demiens gathered around fire pits, the glow of firelight illuminating the unmistakable river of shadows gliding beneath their skin. Woodsmoke and warm pine filled the air, an earthy scent that reminded Wren of walking through the forest in the dead of winter.
As they approached the mouth of a large tunnel carved into the eastern side of the cavern, Quinn and Arthur came to an abrupt halt. They spun around to face Wren, angling themselves closer.
“Listen carefully, because I’m only going to explain this once,” Quinn barked, snapping her fingers to get Wren’s attention. “The Order is divided into four Units—Silver, Emerald, Sapphire and Onyx.”
“Quinn and I are in Silver,” Arthur added, pointing to the silver pin clipped to the front of his leather vest. It was fashioned into the shape of a glistening sword with the Demien Order’s sigil carved on the hilt. “Which is where we’re heading now.”
