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“You wouldn’t be fit for one anyway,” Roake said with distaste.
Roake Brevard was from the south in Elsiande. Traditionally, those from the south believed that magic should be used for nothing, but the younger generation was pushing back on that notion. Roake was the leader of that faction and had won the tournament to prove his point. He was also obsessed with Audria and made his distaste for Kerrigan clear.
“She would too fit,” Audria said. “Don’t be mean, Roake.”
He looked at her with pure devotion. “Of course. I wouldn’t think they’d let half-Fae participate.”
“We’re not prejudiced!” Audria insisted.
But of course, the louder and more often she said it, the more Kerrigan cringed. If they weren’t prejudiced, she wouldn’t have to announce it. It would be obvious.
“What’s the Season?” Fordham asked as he and Noda, the winner from Concha, joined them.
“It’s a mating ritual,” Noda said dryly, adjusting her teal headscarf.
Audria gasped, covering her mouth. “It is not!”
Roake tried not to laugh. “It’s an aristocratic courting system.”
“The young ladies are presented to society, and then there are parties in each season to help them get to know the gentlemen,” Audria explained. “At the end of the year, weddings are announced for those who courted the whole season.”
“And weddings throughout for those who end up pregnant at each season event,” Noda added.
Audria’s cheeks turned pink.
Roake nodded. “It happens.”
“But the best part is that the events take place at different palaces all over the continent,” Audria said. “But it all starts in the summer here, on the Row!”
A throat cleared at the front of the room. “Trainees, are you here for the Season events or Society training?”
She was tall and lithe with onyx skin. Her textured hair was braided back off of her face in a protective style that accentuated her high cheekbones and hard eyes. The many braids were pulled into a high, tight bun. Her clothing was fitted black pants and a tunic with overlapping silver metal coins over top. It was the traditional garb of the Venatrix war tribe. It looked heavy, and yet she wore it with such grace. The black Society robes hung comfortably loose on her shoulders.
Hastily, the five riders bolted into a straight line and muttered an apology.
“I am Alura Van Horn,” she barked. “And you will address me as Mistress Alura or, preferably, sir. So, let’s try this again. Are you here for Society training?”
“Yes, sir,” was barked from all five of them at once.
She grinned at them, showing off the bright whiteness of her teeth. “Better.”
Alura paced in front of the five winners. She didn’t seem impressed by what she found there. Kerrigan was intimidated. Five years ago, three dragons had been up for grabs in the tournament. Alura had won along with Cyrene and Dean, who had both disappeared with their dragons, back to a world in more danger than this one. Which left Alura as the only competitor in her class. And arguably the most talented.
“Society training is not like anything else you have ever experienced before,” she said plainly. “You’d be shocked to learn the dropout rate is thirty percent. A full third of all winners can’t hack it.”
Kerrigan’s jaw dropped. Dropout rate? She’d never heard of anyone dropping out of the program. It must have been the most humiliating experience of a person’s life to win the tournament and not survive the next year. She wanted to ask what happened to the dragons. Bonding was for a lifetime.
“Look to the person on your right and left.” Kerrigan looked to Fordham and then Noda. “One of you won’t make it.”
Kerrigan gulped. That wouldn’t be her. It couldn’t be. She didn’t have anywhere else to go.
“I say this as someone who went through this training alone for the first time in Society history: we will not go easy on you.” She bared her teeth at them. “We are preparing you for the most important job in all of Alandria. You cannot just be good. You must be the best. Because the moment you put those robes on, you are more than yourself. You represent all of us. You are the Society.”
Kerrigan shivered at the words. Wasn’t it exactly what she’d thought that day in the tavern when she was in a fight? She couldn’t do that anymore. Even provoked, it would look wrong. She had to be better. Which begged the question, which Society member had turned traitor to kill Basem Nix?
“As I was the last person to go through training, I am set to manage your training.”
Roake groaned. Alura’s eyes snapped to him.
“Do you have a problem with that, Brevard?”
“No, sir,” he chirped.
“I thought not,” Alura snarled. “Everything that I endured over my year of training will be carefully honed to make you five representatives of the Society.” She curled her lip. Her eyes going flat. “I have my work cut out for me.”
