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“You figured out the riddle, right?” Morgan ran her fingers through her blonde hair, which I noticed she’d styled since we’d emerged sweaty and slightly singed from the maze.
“Sundown at the Stacks.”
She nodded. “A little simple, but maybe they’re being kind after the trials.”
“Kind would be good.”
Morgan laughed, a hint of bitterness in the sound. “After almost being killed many times over, I won’t argue with that.” She gave me a brief up and down glance. “You ready? It’s almost time.”
I pulled my hair back and looped it into a low ponytail, which was my version of styling it, and nodded. “Let’s do this.”
We left my room side by side and walked briskly down the tower stairs, across a high stone bridge, down more stairs, and across the large, main hall. Other cadets passed us heading in different directions, and I wondered where the other schools were holding their initiation ceremonies. I noticed a few cadets walking with heads down and remembered that not everyone was chosen for a school. Even worse, not every cadet had made it through the trials.
When we reached the tall, wooden doors of the Stacks, Morgan and I paused outside them. Unlike the modernized doors throughout most of the ancient school, these doors did not slide open at the touch of a hand. They had been left heavy and looming, only to be parted when you leaned against them. The bottoms scraped against the stone floor and the hinges protested and creaked, more evidence that they were as ancient as some of the rolls of parchment held within.
Now that we’d reached the place, my heart thumped, and my pulse skittered. Familiar nerves teased me, telling me that this was a mistake, I wasn’t good enough, I wouldn’t succeed as an Assassin. I brushed aside the dark doubts that plagued me, just as I had every time before. I’d earned my place at the academy and in the School of Strategy. I deserved to be standing in front of the terrifying doors.
“Do we knock or go in?” I whispered to Morgan, already adopting the hush tones I did inside the Stacks.
Before she could answer, there was a resounding boom from inside that made us both jump. Then the doors slowly opened, both sides being pulled from inside at once.
I cast a glance at Morgan, who reached for my hand and gave it a squeeze. Once the doors stood fully open, we walked inside, our boots tapping softly on the stone floors.
The long tables had been pushed back so there was an open space surrounded by the towering bookshelves, and inside the open area was a circle of figures wearing Drexian dress uniforms. They held daggers to their chests, and glittering, gold masks covered their faces, an echo of the school’s emblem. The light from the overhead chandeliers glowed faintly and cast shadows around the Assassins, making them look even more sinister.
Another boom of the gong sounded from deep within the Stacks as more cadets walked in behind us. When we were all inside, the doors were pushed shut.
A masked Drexian that I was almost certain was Admiral Zoran stepped forward to the center of the circle. I hadn’t noticed the figures that had come up behind us until a blindfold was wrapped around my eyes and given a tight pull so I could see nothing.
Then the admiral’s deep voice echoed off the walls and the books. “Welcome to the Assassins.”
Chapter
Three
Torq
I’d never been in the atrium of the School of Battle, even though it sat in the middle of the building. The main corridor leading into the school fed cadets to the sparring rings, holo-chambers, and climbing walls that surrounded the atrium, but the central space was kept closed. Except for special occasions. Except for now.
I stood between two cadets I knew from first term as we walked slowly into the round room with weapons strapped to the walls: glinting, curved blades; long swords with ornate handles, shields with the School of Battle crest embossed on the metal. Shadows stretched long fingers across the stone floor from the only light in the space, a tall, bronze brazier in the middle with a blue flame dancing high in the air.
“The eternal flame,” one of the cadets, Kort, said under his breath, as much to himself as to anyone else.
I shot him a quizzical look. “How do you know that?”
“My father was a Blade,” he said in a reverent hush. “He told me about the eternal flame that honors the fallen Blades. We’re the only school to have anything like this. As long as Blades fight for freedom and honor throughout the empire, the flame will burn.”
I’d never heard about this, which made sense. My ancestors had been Wings, and I knew that the School of Flight had no such flame. Even though the ancient fire was not part of my personal heritage, I felt my heart swell with pride as I imagined generations of Blades defending Drexian honor all over the galaxy.
This now represented me and my Blade brothers. This eternal flame was part of my story, my pride.
“They say that the flame is cool to the touch,” the other cadet said, leaning closer to me so he didn’t have to raise his voice.
I glanced at Zenen, who had been with me in introduction to engineering class but had evaded much of my notice because he was not high born. Now that we’d both survived the trials and been chosen as Blades, that did not matter so much.
“How many cadets have tested that theory?” I asked.
He grinned. “I did not say it did not burn, only that it would feel cool as it melted your skin from your bones.”
