Page 21 of The Fifth Heir

Once the headmaster dismissed the Hall, I assumed Keeper Malcolm would take me to an examination room, confirm that I possessed no dragon magic, and allow me to return to the records chamber. Instead, an academy attendant collected my spare robe and work satchel while another informed my parents that I would be housed with the chosen heirs until the fifth beam could be investigated.

Mother protested.

Father asked how long the investigation would require.

Camilla said nothing.

I had been escorted away before anyone received an answer.

Now I stood beneath the painted dome of the Crown Tower rotunda, surrounded by four men wearing heir torcs and a dozen academy officials pretending that the problem in front of us had an ordinary solution.

The four heirs occupied the chamber as differently as their elements.

Leander waited beside the northern door with perfect patience. Sebastian moved from lock to lock, studying each failure. Rafe had abandoned formality entirely and leaned against the stair rail. Torren remained on his feet near the center of the room, positioned where he could see every entrance.

I stayed close to the outer wall with my satchel clutched against my side.

Four arched doors opened from the circular chamber. Each led to one of the traditional heir quarters: North, South, East, and West. The rooms were identical in size and status so no candidate could claim the academy had favored a particular heir before the Trials began.

Every door was sealed.

Keeper Malcolm pressed the end of his staff to the eastern lock for the third time. Its runes flashed red, violet, silver, and blue before going dark.

“The wards recognize all four torcs,” Sebastian said.

Malcolm looked over one shoulder. “I am aware.”

“They are refusing the command because the sequence is incomplete.”

“You cannot determine that from a single failed ward.”

“Four failed wards,” Rafe corrected.

He shifted against the railing, apparently unconcerned that we had been standing in the rotunda for nearly half an hour. Someone had removed the formal silver fastening from his collar, leaving the top of his Storm uniform open at the throat. The torc rested against his skin, its gray-blue stones flashing with each movement.

Leander’s attention remained on the northern door.

“The sequence cannot be incomplete,” he said. “The four torcs awakened, selected their heirs, and closed. Whatever occurred afterward did not change the original Choosing.”

Rafe tipped his head toward me. “You mean her.”

Leander’s gaze moved briefly in my direction. “I mean the unexplained fifth discharge.”

I lowered my eyes to my work satchel.

He had not spoken to me directly since the Hall. None of them had, though I had felt their attention whenever an official asked me to repeat what had happened beside the western lamp.

The fifth discharge.

The phrase had appeared quickly. Malcolm used it whenever someone called me an heir, and several academy officials had begun doing the same.

I preferred it to fifth heir.

An accidental discharge could be corrected.

An heir had to enter the Trials.

Torren crossed the rotunda and stopped beside Malcolm. “What happens if we force the doors?”