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“Fine,” I put up both hands. That’s good enough for me, maybe as good as I’ll get tonight.

By tomorrow, by the first trial, the point of allies will come into stark focus.

We will need each other then.

8

LESSON EIGHT

We are left to our own devices in the hall for about an hour.

After that, the first signs of panic start to show in our cohort. I estimate there’s two or three hundred of us, spread out through the hall’s massive tables. Maybe a third start to get antsy. I watch as a few move back to the colossal doors we walked through, and rattle futilely at them. There’s another door at the end of the hall, much smaller, but that’s locked too.

I might have been amongst the ones growing panicked, if I didn’t have to worry about my appearance in front of this little party.

Both the Londoners and the xenos—they’ve already seen me at my worst. Snivelling and weak. I couldn’t kill the manticore. I couldn’t save my brother. They know I don’t have the skill they’ve had to hone everyday, so I can’t afford to look any kind of weak now.

As for Victoria and Bellamy, their friendship has always felt conditional, as every relationship within the wards is. There is no true bond. There is only the game. And if both of them are going to sit stock-still and chat as if we aren’t locked in a hall, so be it. I won’t be the first to complain.

When the first cry sounds—“Oh, God, this is it. This is the first trial!”—the large doors swing open and a ripple of laughter sounds in the hall, all aimed at the poor sod who cracked first.

The dean walks in and summarily ignores the commotion. He has four people with him. They drip academia; they are snobbish, and disdainful, and old enough I know they’re practically one with the University. It sounds excessive, but they are here as little more than trophies: things the University has produced. Things you could become if you dedicate your life to study.

I know without the dean’s announcement these are the heads of the four departments; the specialties the University offers.

Over the giggling and chatter, the dean speaks.

“There’s more than three hundred of you,” the dean says. “To date, the University’s largest cohort has been no more than a hundred-and-fifty.”

Another jolt goes through the room, though this one is cautious and surprised.

“Hundred-and-fifty was last year,” I tell Leo. His face twists, and I imagine he’s worried about not cutting these trials. I pat his shoulder, perhaps overly-friendly. “Don’t worry. The University’s getting more desperate. Who knows, they might drop their standards.”

“Oh, for a hundred-and-fifty-one this year?” Leo quips, eyebrow raised. I only muffle a snort.

“Tomorrow, we will begin the trials that must be completed should you wish to study at the University. These will be brutal tests of character, strength, and wit — those characteristics you will need to face the threat of teras beyond London’s wards. As such, even this first trial will not hold back. I should remind all of you standing here that you have agreed to be here. You have agreed to participate by the University’s rules. You may not leave the trials once they are begun; that is what you agreed to by handing your blood to one of our resident Blood Hunters. Should you leave the trial without completion, you will be found and returned to campus.”

“What?” Silas hisses. It’s the first thing I’ve heard from him. Both he and his sister bristle, though Fred is more concerned with keeping Silas’ brewing outburst contained.

Similar sounds of confused and fearful outrage resound in the hall. The dean lets it happen, but it doesn’t quiet down.

He shoots his hands up. “Silence. I will have silence!”

Warily, everyone quietens.

“Be calm. The secrets of this University are many. Should you graduate, you will be charged with the highest of honours and responsibilities of this great nation: keep London safe, at all costs. What you learn here—yes, even from the trials—must be protected knowledge. We cannot have well-meaning citizens attempt to quell the teras threat. We cannot have undergraduates acting with their half-knowledge. The University is an institution that must protect its own. So yes. If you choose not to complete the trials, you will not be able to live within London’s wards.”

“What if we fail?” someone asks.

The dean casts his eye about, searching for the source. “As I said,” he speaks slowly. “If you do not complete the trials, you will not be able to live within London’s wards.”

I expect a cry of outrage or fear. Nothing comes. We are all here for the same thing: if not for the safety of ourselves and our families, then for a chance to better ourselves, to give us all a fighting chance to survive the teras threat. No one is naive enough to believe the safety London offers would come without consequence.

The dean affords us one last salvage. “Should anyone have had a change of heart, you must leave before the first trial begins.”

No one moves. An uneasy hush falls upon the crowd.

The dean tries again. “Leaving the grounds once the first trial has begun or been successfully completed will forfeit your position in the trials. You will not be able to leave the grounds. Do you understand? Once more I will ask: do any wish to leave now?”