Page 3

Chapter 2

A Test of Light and Pain

The pale stone walls seemed to close in as Mara and I faced each other. It felt crowded and far too warm. The sweat along my spine dried into a tacky film on my skin.

Taking deep breaths, I tried to force my rapid heartbeat to slow and my arms to relax. A litany of begging pleas to the goddess echoed in my head as desperation threatened to freeze my limbs, pinning me to the depths of the prison this room had long ago become. Remaining here had always felt like a choice—one I made every day because I was too stubborn to fail. Now I feared I would never leave it.

At a nod from Mara, I pulled my left hand up in front of me to join hers, stiffly interweaving our fingers together and cupping our palms. The touch was almost jarring. It had been so long since I’d been touched by anyone. Mara’s gaze locked on mine as a shared understanding passed between us, the knowledge that our fates were now inextricably tied.

Elder Welkin dropped a thick gold signet ring with a glimmering red ruby into our joined hands, then pulled two pieces of parchment from his pocket, proving this wasn’t an impromptu decision. He held one up in front of each of us, keeping the other hidden.

Perfecting the wielding of a complex sigil took weeks, sometimes months, and this was the most complex I’d ever seen. When you’d spent years working with sigils, it was sometimes possible to tell the intent of a new one from familiar curves. Only, this one didn’t borrow from any I knew. Mara’s furrowed brow told me she didn’t recognize anything in hers either.

Elder Welkin’s watchful gaze was calculating as he waited for us to question his demand or show any sign of unwillingness. A lapse like that would be unforgivable and would doom us both. When none came, he pocketed the parchments again, and I silently cursed him, letting a rare kernel of anger blossom beneath my growing panic.

For more years than I cared to count, I’d so rarely felt anything apart from an unrelenting numbness, shutting down any emotions that didn’t help me achieve my goal. Now, I could feel something long suppressed spark to life within me. A glimmer of warmth from a lone, smoldering ember.

Carefully, and aware of Mara doing the same, I started a swirling motion against my palm to draw what little natural light was in the room through me. I let my senses roam, embracing the light floating around me, and adjusted my breathing to its rhythm, as our instructors had taught.

Only, no matter how sweetly I cajoled, no lumis formed. Not even a shimmer. Not even when I begged, and eventually yanked, pitting my will against the light, as wrong as it felt.

Failing now was not an option. It would be impossible to stomach coming so far only to have the door slammed shut on me while standing on the threshold. All my hopes, forever out of reach.

More than that, though, I refused to let him take Mara down with me. I’d stayed away from her and starved our friendship in the hope it would protect her from Elder Welkin’s unreasoning wrath. It would all be in vain if she failed alongside me now.

Please , I begged silently as each second dragged out.

“Together,” Mara whispered, as if in answer to my unspoken plea. She curved our palms tighter and moved her swirling motion to settle above the cradled ring. Knowing she was the stronger wielder, I let her lead, following her motions as I matched my breathing to her own.

I expected Elder Welkin to intervene, but he was a silent oppressive sentinel willing to draw this out—secure in his belief we would fail.

Blocking him out, I let everything else fell away too, until there was only Mara, me, and the ring in our joined hands.

Wielding light required knowledge and years of training, but it was also intimately personal. Before we could wield it into lumis, we had to coax it through our bodies. It required a deep connection to be forged with the light around us that couldn’t be taught. It was innate within us, to varying degrees, and nurtured over years.

Mara’s connection to the light was strong and pure, while mine could only be described as—complicated.

Connecting with the light felt as easy as breathing. It almost seemed to whisper to me like an old friend. Yet a deep taint I alone sensed within it, like a seeping sense of wrong, made me feel ill, creating a barrier between me and the light, and it wasn’t something I could turn off. All I could do was hold the sickly feeling at bay, which at times made wielding a struggle, especially with complex sigils.

After an agonizingly long moment, a haze of light formed between the ring and our swirling motion. The giddiness of relief was instant, but I forced myself to push it aside and focus. This was only the first hurdle. We kept up the motion, drawing more light through us, and with each pass, my nausea grew. The more light I let in, the more the underlying taint flared, like a poison oozing through me.

“We don’t have all day. Use the sigil or give up,” Elder Welkin barked, his intrusion threatening to destroy the focus I was barely hanging on to.

His anger beat at me, a burning presence so solid I could almost reach out and touch it, as if it had taken on a life of its own—a twin to his own form as he stood menacingly over us.

I swallowed hard against the rising nausea and, at Mara’s nod, began tracing my sigil through the light as she did the same with hers. I battled to narrow my focus once again, this time, onto the sigil, until it was all I saw. Repeating the swirling lines until it felt smoother, and I started to feel an intention spreading within it. My skin crawled as the unknown nature of the intention swelled. It felt twisted, unnatural, and the light resisted. I’d felt this happen before. Some sigils required the light to be coerced through them, but never this strongly. There was an instant kickback, a stabbing pain through my body that had my ears ringing at the assault and bile rising in my throat.

Mara remained steady, her motion unchanged, despite the way I clenched her palm in a vise. The warmth of her hand was a lifeline. I focused on her rhythm, letting it guide my own while I struggled to breathe, gritting my teeth against waves of dizziness from the pain raking claws through my insides.

Over long, stretched-out minutes, the sigils slowly absorbed the light, becoming faintly visible, but there wasn’t nearly enough. Potent sigils required a powerful flow of light, and we didn’t have enough to set this wielding within the ring. Even working together wouldn’t be enough. Not in here.

I could see the moment Mara realized it—the despair that flickered across her normally composed demeanor a moment before her eyes darted to the window, as if eyeing an escape route.

“Don’t you dare give up,” I whispered, and her eyes swung back to meet mine.

There was a warning in the tightening of her eyes I couldn’t decipher, a danger I couldn’t grasp. There was more at play here than mere failure, for her as well as me. I’d been so wrapped up in my own troubles . Had I missed hers?

Mara’s visible fear had the hairs on my neck rising in their own warning. It galvanized me into action as an old memory rose, one I hadn’t thought of in a long time. Of us twisting our chubby pinkie fingers together and promising we’d be friends forever. A childish ritual, but one I’d meant with my whole heart.

Mara needed saving, and the only person who could do it was me.

“My choice, my light, my life,” I muttered under my breath. It was a mantra I told myself every time I felt my emotions threatening to bubble up from the deep well I’d stuffed them into over the years. Reminding myself I’d chosen this path as I shoved them back down. Only now, I invoked it as a way to reach for something, anything, within me instead.

My heart raced as adrenaline surged, and a deeply set instinct took over. I blocked out everything else, even the feel of Mara’s hand clasped tightly in mine, and focused inward. Dropping into a deeply calm space within myself—beyond the swirling nausea and raking pain—I drifted to a place I’d rarely reached and never spoke about. It felt like a waking dream: peaceful, warm, and serene. Only a prickle of warning made me fear it would be too easy to forget how to climb back out if I lingered too long.

At the center of the calm existed a tiny glowing spark, like a pinprick in the blanket of night. It was indistinct and elusive, like the stars in the sky that called to me and looked close enough to grasp but were always beyond my reach. Only now, for the first time, it appeared closer, as if my need had drawn it near. I sent my senses toward it until I felt warmth and power flowing around me.

Knowing time was running out, I pulled, and the spark responded. A thrum of blinding light pulsed behind my eyes, banishing the pain and washing me with a raw energy I had no choice but to wield lest it burn me up. I grunted as I came back to myself and pushed it through my body, hot and wild. I had no finesse, my thoughts intent only on saving Mara from the threat hovering over her, over us both.

The thrum of light ran through our joined hands, linking us, connecting us, empowering us. Both sigils flared brightly, then sunk into the ring as Mara gasped, her eyes wide. I looked at the ring, shining with a bright inner glow that had the ruby appearing like gleaming blood pooled between our fingers.

We were both breathing heavily, our minds too overwhelmed to even comprehend what we’d just accomplished, or how. Uneasiness swirled deep in my belly, but I shoved it back down in a well-practiced move. There was no time to dwell on it. I could feel the weight of stares pressing in on me as every eye in the room became locked on us.

A hand gripped my shoulder once again, squeezing painfully, before Elder Welkin reached down to grab the ring and inspect it. Mara and I dropped our hands and our gazes.

“A passable, if underwhelming, attempt that took far too long, even with you working together.” He pocketed the ring as he spoke, hiding it out of sight. His beady, dark eyes watched us closely again. I got the feeling this last test had been less about the ring and more about our unquestioning obedience performing the unknown sigil. “It still does not fill me with confidence that you can fulfill your duties as a vessel to help our people. Vessels are almost as important as our guardians in defending us against wraiths and the Fallen. I need to have confidence you can wield strongly when needed.”

Even when I had achieved the impossible, he still belittled my efforts. Nobody had seen a wraith or one of the mysterious, forbidden Fallen in centuries, at least as far as I knew. Many secretly considered them a myth. Still, contempt filled his voice with shards of stone. I could feel the sting as they crashed over me, bitter disappointment chasing each tiny wound.

He was going to deny me. Wanted to deny me with every fiber of his being. And Mara would suffer alongside me.

I lowered my head, as well as my eyes, letting the hood of my robe slide subtly forward to shield myself from everyone watching. I’d overcome every challenge he had set. There was no more I could do.

“Do you think you are worthy of becoming a vessel, Alula?” It was a trick question. The elders expected acolytes to be modest and pious, yet if I said no, he’d use it against me.

“I strive to be. Only the goddess can judge if I am worthy.”

I could practically feel the vibration of his teeth grinding and the rage pouring off him at my words.

“Why is your hood hiding your face?” he bit out.

The question startled me, and my hands twitched at my sides before I could stop them. Acolytes were required to have their hoods up whenever they were around other people. I’d always worn mine a little further forward than most, shielding part of my face as well. His foot tapped impatiently, and I knew I only had seconds to answer, or a punishment would follow for making him wait.

“I apologize, Elder Welkin.” I kept my voice quiet and deferential, as had been drilled into me, as I raised my head but kept my gaze firmly lowered.

“Lower your hood and raise your hands, Alula.” The order was bitten out through clenched teeth. His bitterness and anger made me want to curl up within myself, as it always did, no matter how strong I had felt a moment before.

I did as he asked, removing my hood and tucking my hair neatly behind my pointed ears before raising my hands up in front of me, palms down. I braced as soon as I saw his arm move but kept my hands steady, level in the air. The sharp crack of his cane across my knuckles made me wince, but I swallowed my cry. Trying to avoid the first strike only guaranteed a second. I should have known better than to think he’d let me get through the day without a punishment of some kind.

“Every other acolyte has their hood neatly back from their face and their head held high with their eyes lowered, as they should. It is both respectful and deferential. How can a guardian or an elder see your potential if you are constantly hiding your face? It leaves them unable to determine if you are properly pious. You are to leave your hood off from now on if you are incapable of wearing it properly. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Elder Welkin.”

The room was still and silent around me, everyone waiting to see what would happen next. I could feel my heart beating in my throat. I’d endured a decade of punishments and suffering just to reach this moment. It seemed to stretch on endlessly, each second its own eternity as he kept us waiting on his verdict.

“Acolyte Mara, Acolyte Alula, it will be recorded by the Welkin Wing scribe into our records that you have attained the rank of potentiate and will be presented on the first night of the Ostara Festival for consort offers. I want no celebration of this moment, though. It is of no importance. Neither of you is likely to receive any offers upon your presentation.”

He moved away without another word, headed toward his scribe as his quick, angry steps echoed in the room, belying his words. Finally, I dropped my hands. The red welt across my knuckles would mark me for the rest of the evening, a stain on my character as well as my skin. I suspected it was a deliberate message to everyone I would encounter tonight. He wanted the world to see my flaws.

Right now, though, the familiar pain had no hold on me.

I took in a sharp breath as my mind seemed to blank in shock, trying to process the impossible.

I was a potentiate.

This was the moment I’d pinned all my hopes on for ten long years—five studying as a novice, then another five as an acolyte. I’d made it to the last step toward becoming a vessel, the light-filled pinnacle that had driven me forward against every obstacle thrown at me.

I had rarely let myself think beyond this moment, unsure if it would ever come, focused on surviving whatever challenge was in front of me at the time.

Mara and I stared at each other now, sharing in a moment of raw connection. Her face mirrored every emotion that roiled through me in a silent tempest. Disbelief, pride, wonder, and bewilderment were all thrown together, mired in an aching, underlying sadness for our lost friendship and all that might have been if we’d fought this battle together all the way through. I saw and felt it all.

Yet the world wasn’t so kind as to let us bask in our triumph, even for a moment.

“Mara and Alula, with me. The rest of you may return to the dormitory for your evening meal,” Elder Welkin ordered. He waved the other acolytes off before he moved stiffly toward the doorway of his study in the adjoining room. He usually calmed after he’d struck me, like it had settled something within him, but not tonight. Tonight, he was still on edge. It made me wary. “We shall go straight to the Aedis so you can serve the evening meal to the eligible males of the citadel as potentiates, as is tradition.”

There were no encouraging words on how to navigate the next step for Mara or me, nor fond recollections of our time as acolytes under his guidance. There was no further acknowledgment of either of us at all, not even from the other acolytes we’d shared this space with for years. They put away their codices with a quiet efficiency and began to file out without a backward glance, perfectly pious. No one dared contravene an order from Elder Welkin, not even with a look.

I hadn’t been close with any of them, and I didn’t blame them for that. Elder Welkin had never hesitated to discipline any acolyte showing kindness toward me, accusing them of enabling my many failings. They’d all watched Mara suffer alongside me before she’d withdrawn into herself. I’d let her, knowing I’d rather be alone than have another suffer on my behalf.

Fear was a powerful weapon.

My mind wasn’t on the other acolytes now, though. It raced with the implications of our elder’s certainty that we wouldn’t receive consort offers. Yet there was little I could do about it. I had no influence over receiving offers from eligible males and had never been told how the process would work. From what little I had deduced over the years, it was mostly about politics. The next step had always felt out of my control, something I would need to leave in the hands of the goddess.

After the others trailed out, Mara and I both moved to stand quietly beside him and help him put on his vestments. His outer robes were woven from golden silk and ornately embellished with the Welkin Wing crest on his chest. Still, it never seemed enough for him. He always added an inordinate number of rings and jewels, as he felt befitted his status, including a giant diamond on a chain around his neck. Although I noticed the ring we just wielded stayed hidden away.

At Elder Welkin’s irritated gesture, we followed him down ancient stone corridors I hadn’t walked in years. Seeing it all anew was startling after the pale austerity of the acolyte chambers. Ornate artworks in gilt frames, ceramic sculptures, rich tapestries, and thick woolen rugs filled the rest of the citadel, while abundant vines and lush greenery crept up the walls of any central or open spaces, reaching for any sliver of light they could find.

There was also an abundance of lumis orbs. Thousands of them were attached to sconces and filled the main passageways and rooms of the citadel in a glittering display, even in daylight. Though they powered so much of our lives, most Neven barely gave the lumis orbs a second glance. Unlike me.

The orbs drew my attention as if they whispered to me in soundless words I couldn’t yet understand. I’d always thought there was an underlying energy to lumis that seemed deep and ancient, far too rare and sacred to light our hallways. But I’d long ago learned my elders didn’t tolerate questions about our use of lumis within the citadel.

The most opulent room by far was the grand foyer, its pale stone arches soaring three stories high. It was ringed with balconies, as it connected many main passageways, and its heavy timber doors were thrown open day and night, for who did we have to fear up here in the clouds?

“Wait here,” Elder Welkin snapped, his anger thrumming like a drumbeat with every step he took. He abruptly left, disappearing down an adjacent darkened corridor off the main passageway, with no explanation of why or where he was going. It was unorthodox. He’d been watching us both like a hawk since we’d become novices.

Now, inexplicably, for the first time in years, I found myself alone with Mara.