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Audria’s hand shot up in the air.
Alura glared at her. “I didn’t open for questions, Ather. Keep your hand to yourself.”
Audria slowly pulled her hand back down. Her cheeks were pink. She looked like she’d never been spoken to like that by anyone before. Likely she hadn’t.
“I’ve structured training thus. You’ll begin with a thirty-day bootcamp that includes morning workouts with me,” she said, pacing back and forth in front of them. “And weapons training with masters who have graciously offered their assistance. You’ll have an hour for lunch and then magic training each afternoon. Each day will feature a separate element—air, water, earth, and fire. Friday afternoons will be open for self-guided training.”
Which meant working on the things that they were the worst at. Kerrigan had learned that in the House of Dragons, nothing was really free time.
“After the first month, if I determine that you are all sufficient enough, we’ll move into training with your dragons. As well as a full slot of classes to prepare you to take your place as a government official in Alandria. The three main areas will be: government, philosophy, and history. Everyone takes one elective: maths, literature, or languages.”
Roake scoffed.
Alura arched an eyebrow. “Have something to say, Brevard?”
“No, sir.”
“Spit it out. You know you want to,” she said lethally.
It was not an invitation. Though he took it as one.
“You expect us to take four classes and train with our dragon? When will we have the time, sir?”
“No,” she said with a smile that said this would be unpleasant. “I want you to take four classes, train with your dragon, weapons, and magic, and keep up your workouts.”
“All at once?” he gasped.
“One in three dropout rate,” she reminded him, and he snapped his mouth shut.
Alura stared at them, as if waiting for someone else to talk out of turn. But none of them said anything. She could have heard a pin drop, as they’d all stopped breathing under her scrutiny. The next year was going to be plain torture.
“At the end of your year training, if you make it,” she taunted, “you will earn the title of Master or Mistress. Only then can you turn in your training robes for full Society robes.” She caressed her own robe around her dark shoulders. “Only then can you join our ranks. So, let’s begin.”
Kerrigan fell to her knees on the edge of the training room. Sweat poured down her face, and she had the distinct impression that she was going to be sick.
“Get up,” Fordham barked at her.
“I need a minute to breathe.”
“Alura is going to make you run the lap again if you don’t get moving. One foot in front of the other, halfling.” He flung the stupid nickname at her to get her moving.
She jerked back to her feet. “I hate you, princeling.”
He snapped a smile at her. “I know. Now, let’s finish this lap. You can run faster than this.”
She could.
She had in the past—when she was running for her life. But there was nothing chasing her here, except disappointment and possible expulsion.
If she hadn’t used up all of her energy, trying to take down that stupid wall, she would have been keeping up just fine. Fordham wasn’t even breathing hard. It made her look like an amateur. An amateur who didn’t belong here.
But there was nothing she could do about it. She’d been incapacitated for more than a day. Her magic flickered in her gut, but it wasn’t an inferno by any means. And her strength was practically nonexistent. Not to mention, her coordination. Whatever had happened in that spell had broken something in her. She had to hope that it would all come back.
“Argon,” Alura snapped. Kerrigan cringed at the sound of her father’s name in Alura’s mouth. “Are we taking a rest or completing the circuit?”
“Completing the circuit, sir.”
“Get to it.”
Kerrigan gritted her teeth and finished. Last but at least she finished.
“A sloppy mess,” Alura said. “Gods help us if the lot of you make it through training. Luckily for you, the sword master has already shown up for class today.”
And then a tall, dark figure walked into the training arena. Kerrigan’s heart dropped. Scales, it was Lorian Van Horn.
Not only was he Alura’s father and a revered sword master. He had also been the single loudest voice of dissent for allowing her into the Society. He would stop at nothing to get her to drop out of the program.
She squared her shoulders. Not happening.
16
The Masters
Lorian snapped his black robe off of his shoulders, revealing the silver metal attire of Venatrix. He was over six feet tall with black skin like his daughter, a shaved head, and a defined beard. He had a blade strapped to his belt.
Kerrigan had heard stories of that blade. A black blade with a vein of ancient Tendrille steel at its core and a pommel that melded to his hand. It had been in the Van Horn family for hundreds of years and had won him the dragon tournament against Kerrigan’s father. Lorian had defeated Kivrin Argon in combat to secure his place and keep her father out of the competition.
