Page 16 of Stormbreaker

Winter has made her way over, glaring at me, and I close my eyes, wishing I could convey how much I’d rather it were her being manhandled instead.

Someone tosses a bun in the air, and Knox lurches to catch it, nearly yanking me from my seat.

“Get off,” I growl, finally elbowing him in the ribs. “I’m trying to eat.”

Knox rolls his eyes but lets his arm fall away as he stabs a fry and stuffs it in his mouth. “Relax,” he says, like this is all my fault. “We’re here to have fun. You’re always so tense.”

Thanks to the combination of the storm and my bottomless loathing for Knox, I’m this close to losing my shit. I inhale deeply, trying to center myself and resist the desire to scratch my arms and legs.

My parents think I’m anxious, too, so I spent years with a therapist, learning how to settle my pounding heart and restless limbs. Of course, she couldn’t ever know the true source of my distress, so her methods were only partially effective.

I stare around the room, taking in the air of excitement mingling with a dose of apprehension. My gaze slides to Knox, who’s pouting as he stuffs more food in his mouth. Why do I feel the need to apologize? He’s far too good at acting like a jerk and then convincing me I’m the one who’s wrong.

That’s when I notice a slight disturbance near the door, several heads turning that way.

The Solitude from earlier stands there in that strange, still way. He’s changed into an Amery uniform—a dark-gray T-shirt that stretches over his chest and fitted black pants with silver stripes running up the sides. His cowboy boots have been exchanged for the academy’s standard black leather. This close, I can see that his tattoos are actually maps with inked lines of topography and curving arcs representing rivers, lakes, and mountains. For some reason, they make me think of freedom, and I can’t help but wonder why he chose them.

The room begins to quiet as more and more people take note of his presence. Knox makes a sound in his throat that’s half scoff, half grumble. Verity glances at him and then meets my gaze, her eyebrows rising as if to say, Get a look at him.

The Solitude rolls his neck before he heads for the food counter and picks up a tray, whispers following his every move. Knox glares as he stuffs another bundle of noodles into his mouth. He chews slowly, intentionally. Like he’s planning something, and I already know it will be painfully senseless.

A moment later, a bullhorn slices through the silence, sending a collective flinch around the room. “Welcome, first-years!” comes a deep male voice from the far end, where several third-years in red and purple are gathered. I recognize the speaker as one of the Storm Guard cadets we saw earlier—­the one with the nice ass.

“I’m Devon Carter, student leader of House Fiama!”

The Solitude is forgotten in a chorus of cheers from Fiama’s side of the room, along with boos and hisses from the other Houses. Devon gestures to his left, where a woman with a deep-brown complexion is holding another bullhorn. Her platinum hair is streaked with plum and cut to her chin. Her eyes are ringed thickly in black, and if her physique didn’t already suggest she’s a Storm Guard cadet, her fitted purple tank top would.

“I’m Stevie Daniels, student leader of House Aria!”

Aria begins to cheer, and it’s everyone else’s turn to heckle their leader while I watch on in silence. Aria tries to drown out the room as they slam their fists on the tables, practically vibrating the ground. The noise does nothing to calm the incessant prickle shifting under my skin.

The student leaders of Houses Asale and Tera, both wearing third-year red, are also introduced to a chorus of boos and chanting. Oscar Cabrera from Asale with his bronzed skin and tousled black hair. And finally, Bellamy Macy from Tera, with his copper complexion and rows of tightly knotted braids.

Stevie waits for the ruckus to settle with a ferocious grin before Devon retakes the floor. “Many of you are used to your cushy little lives,” Devon hollers. “Especially Aria, Asale, and Tera.”

He winks amid an assault of jeers from the other Houses. A bun smacks him in the chest with a gentle thump, and he narrows his eyes at the first-year who threw it, his expression suggesting he’s not about to forget this.

After clearing his throat, he addresses us again. “You’re here to prepare for your futures, and the most important part of that is officially pledging your House!”

Now everyone cheers, even if three-quarters of the room do so reluctantly.

Oscar takes over, holding the bullhorn to his mouth. “In the next few months, you will face a series of initiation trials. The first will be one of four choices based on the House you choose to pledge. To continue, you cannot fail your first test.

“After that, you will have two chances to secure your position. The second and third tests are specifically tailored to your skills . . . or, more importantly, your weaknesses. You can’t be asked to perform the same test more than once, but this is where we decide if your chosen House wants you. The good news is you only have to pass two of the three trials for your desired House, so if you want to change your mind after the first test, because Asale is clearly the best House”—everyone either boos or cheers again—“you’ll have another chance.” He presses a hand to his chest. “Consider it a generous gift from The Shield.”

We spend our lives preparing for these tests, undergoing various forms of training: mental, physical, and technical, depending on the mandates of our House. The actual trials change from year to year to keep us on our toes, but the overall point is to push us to our limits. The Shield urges us to carefully consider our pledges, and everyone is given the opportunity to choose the one that best suits their desires.

But House loyalty runs extremely deep, and switching means cutting ties with your existing family and friends in favor of your new life. Newcomers are often regarded with suspicion until they can prove themselves. Thus, most people tend to opt for the familiar and stick with their family’s legacy.

Bellamy picks up Oscar’s speech. “At the end, your results will determine if you’re worthy of joining Tera.” He raises a fist, and our side of the room erupts into screams.

“Or Ariiiiiia!” Stevie shouts into her bullhorn, eliciting even more noise.

Devon and Oscar follow suit until the sound reaches a thunderous volume.

Initiation and our final pledges determine the entire course of our lives. Failing to earn a place in Society is a virtual death sentence. A perennial shame heaped onto your family.

It’s common for those who fail the pledge to simply . . . disappear.