Page 9

I’ve correctly pinned most of the people as student or initiate, but a few who head right surprise me. I follow down a gracefully arcing staircase behind a woman in a strapless gown with full skirts and a breathless-looking bodice, who’d better hope her trial doesn’t involve a lot of movement.

Our march comes to an end in a large room lined with wooden benches and nothing else.

A woman who is the human embodiment of a rapier stands in front of a door opposite the entrance like she’s guarding it.

Her long, silver-white hair is slicked back into a high ponytail.

Her body is lithe and rigid, her eyes cold and narrowed.

Two horizontal lines of thin window slits stretch along either side of the door she guards near the ceiling. The windows glow with an unnatural blue haze. The applicants are drawn to them, bypassing the rows of benches.

“You will all wait for your turn,” she instructs, her tone indifferent but her gaze cold. “Your name will be called when it’s your turn to stand before the Chalice.”

Even though I know what awaits me, I join the rest of the applicants in peering through the windows. Arina had described the logistics of the academy’s first test but not the room itself.

The Sanctum of the Chalice is more of an arena than I was expecting.

Set into a massive wall are stands that are veiled in shadow.

Giant marble columns form the skeleton of the hall and support a ceiling set so high it’s impossible to see from my vantage in the partially subterranean room.

The numbers one through ten trellis down each pillar among intricate carvings of the court cards of the Minor Arcana—one of each for each unique suit.

But what commands my attention is the legendary Arcanum Chalice. It’s a cauldron-like structure set on an alabaster pedestal. I’m too far away to make out any more details than that. Kaelis stands beside it, bathed in its pulsing glow.

One by one, students walk up and select three cards from the deck, which Kaelis lays on the edge of the pedestal the chalice is upon.

They choose one and throw it into the Chalice.

It flares brighter, cold flames consuming the card, and the shifting glow envelops the student briefly. But they emerge unharmed.

“What’s happening?” a woman with short red hair asks.

“I don’t know any more than you do.” The same woman whose skirts I was pitying minutes ago shakes her head.

“Right now, the second and third years are making a new sacrifice to the Chalice so they can unlock the ability to ink and wield more advanced cards. Since they’ve fed the Chalice once, it goes quickly because they’re already connected to it.

Unlike us.” I sound like a textbook. The two look back at me, startled.

Others are glancing over their shoulders as I speak.

The Arcanum Chalice is one of the legendary relics of Oricalis.

Before the days of the academy, noble and rogue Arcanists alike would make a forbidden pilgrimage to the fortress to sneak in and stand before the Chalice.

Then, they’d make their sacrifice, by which unlocking a deeper power that allowed them to make and cast more advanced cards instantly.

In the years following the opening of Arcana Academy, the royals have spread that it is the only way for Arcanists to use more advanced cards—you gain your reward through sacrifice.

Another reason for why all Arcanists must walk through these doors.

But, even if the royals forbid talking about it, finding power without the Chalice is possible.

It’s just harder, takes longer, and is not guaranteed to work, since every Arcanist possesses different innate abilities.

As much as I hate the academy, even I must admit it’s an impressive process that ensures every Arcanist in Oricalis’s arsenal is as strong as they can be.

“When the students are done,” I continue, “it’ll be our turn. When they call your name, you’ll go before the Arcanum Chalice and they’ll give you a simple three-card spread, with each card representing a different aspect of your future. Then, you’ll pick what part of your future to give up.”

“Give up?” Skirts echoes, leaning back. Her brow furrows. “What…what do you mean?” She has a soft voice and kind eyes. Neither is going to help her much here.

I lock eyes with her. “This is Arcana Academy. Your future is your tuition.”

The words have a weight that settles on her shoulders and pulls her down. She opens and closes her mouth, and the lines in her brow deepen.

Is it crueler for her to know what’s to come and be forced to sit with the weight of that knowledge? Or would it have been worse to leave her ignorant?

“And it’s just…gone?” her friend asks.

I nod. “Whatever card you select to surrender to the Chalice will never come true. That part of who you are—or could have been—is removed.”

“Forever?” someone else whispers.

“Forever. That’s the bare minimum tithe you pay just to walk through these doors.” Which is so much for very little.

“Once we make our sacrifice, then we’ll be initiates?” Skirts rightfully asks. I let out a low chuckle, and her expression sinks further.

“No. Then you’ll be forced to fight and kill that future while everyone in the academy watches you…

and judges your innate prowess with the cards.

Succeed, and then you’ll be an initiate.

Fail, and it’s a hot branding iron and a one-way trip to the powder mills.

” I step back, beckoning Skirts. Her friend had the much better sense to wear well-fitted trousers. “Which, speaking of…let me see you.”

“Me?” The young woman blinks. I know she must be twenty, given the academy’s age requirements.

Unless she’s lying like Arina did. She looks so much younger to me, so it could be possible.

Perhaps it’s the roundness of her cheeks, or their faint blush.

Perhaps it’s that the skin under her eyes is still bright, where mine is all dark shadows.

Perhaps…it’s how the little tufts of brown hair at the nape of her neck remind me achingly of Arina.

“Yes. You…”

“Luren,” she says, stepping to meet me, clearly confused.

“I don’t have a change of clothes for you, so we’re working with what we’ve got.” I reach forward and gather her skirts, pulling the hem to her knees and gathering the additional fabric.

“Excuse you!” She swats harmlessly at my hands. I hope her wielding of tarot is more fearsome.

“I’m not assaulting your modesty. In fact, it’s the opposite. This goes through your legs.” I allow her to assist with pulling the skirts through her legs, even if she looks terribly confused about what we’re doing.

Once we’ve gathered the bulk of the fabric at the small of her back, I split the bundle and tie it at her waist. It’s a bit comical looking, but it does the trick.

“There, now you can move. Take off those heels and you’ll be able to face whatever the Chalice throws at you.

So long as your bodice is tailored as tightly as it looks, that is. ”

“I…I can’t go out there like this,” she whispers, then quickly begins untying my knot. “I look ridiculous. They’ll all laugh at me.”

I shrug. “Suit yourself, but remember how it’s done in case you need it.”

Luren doesn’t have a chance to reply. The proctor calls the first name.

We all watch as the first applicant leaves the holding room through the door behind the proctor and up a short staircase that connects to the arena partially above us.

Everyone presses tighter against the windows as he crosses to Kaelis.

I don’t know the applicant—never seen him before in my life—but my heart is in my throat for him.

Even if he heard my warning about what was to come, he can’t truly know what he’s walking into.

Arina knew all she could about the ceremony before coming to the academy, and even so, something changed inside her after this first trial.

It left her with a hollowness to her gaze that sometimes not even I could fully comprehend.

Kaelis speaks as he draws three cards, though his words are lost in the vast room.

After placing the cards before the Chalice, the prince leaves the man to choose one from the spread.

After a tense minute, the applicant throws one into the Chalice.

It explodes with light, enveloping the arena and blinding all.

When the light fades and our eyes adjust, it’s to a chorus of gasps.

The arena is gone. In its place is a wide field, a quaint cottage at one end. The applicant stands in the center of the field, looking around, bewildered.

“What happened?” Luren whispers.

“It’s the future he chose to give up.” I can’t tear my eyes away as the man steps forward toward the cottage, movements jerky, hands shaking. Whatever this place is…it meant something to him.

The door opens, and a woman goes to greet him with open arms. He rushes into her embrace and is crushed against her. Even though we can’t hear anything from halfway underground and behind the thick windows, I can see him sobbing.

Poor man…he gave up a reunion he clearly yearned for.

Unfortunately for him, he’s going to lose a lot more than that.

He doesn’t even fight. He doesn’t push the woman of the vision away.

He gives in completely to her, staying in her arms until everything fades into a hazy blue light that dissipates into the air, leaving him falling to his knees, arms outstretched, as if begging for mercy from a cruel and mocking god.

Two city enforcers march from the far archway. The applicant hasn’t seen them. He continues to stare upward with tear-filled eyes and a mouth that is slightly agape with soundless begging.

One of the enforcers grabs his left arm. The other, wielding a red-hot brand, presses the iron to the soft flesh of the inside of his wrist. He screams and writhes, but the first holds him steady as the Mark is made.

The Marking is an A for Arcanist. It’s done on the inside of the wrist to make it nearly impossible to cut off. All other neighboring kingdoms will send back any rogue Arcanists who attempt to escape Oricalis, or risk Oricalis halting their access to tarot resources.

Pain brings the man back to reality; the trance the vision left him in is broken.

He suddenly writhes against his captors.

They clearly weren’t expecting him to resist, as their hold on him breaks.

The man scrambles, swiping the deck that had been left out by the Chalice for him to use to fight his vision. He fumbles for a card.

There’s a flash of light, but it’s not from the Marked Arcanist. Blood dribbles from his chin, a sword of writhing shadow and light impaled through him. The other applicants gasp, jaws slack in collective horror. Meanwhile, my teeth are clenched so tightly they ache.

A shadow emerges from the darkness behind the Chalice: Kaelis.

He nonchalantly pockets the deck and gives a nod to the enforcers as the man falls to the floor, lifeless. The two enforcers drag the body away unceremoniously. I doubt his family will even be given a chance to mourn.

He came here dreaming of a better life. Hoping for an opportunity to improve his standing—even if he had to give up his very future for it. It was better than the alternative. Than this…

The crown eagerly took everything he had and left nothing but suffering. As the crown always does.

Kaelis’s eyes drift toward the windows all the applicants are pressed against. Somehow, it’s like he knows exactly where I am. As if he can feel my palpitating hatred toward him.

“Luren,” the proctor calls.

Panic fills her eyes. Good. That’s the right emotion.

“Good luck.” That’s all I can offer her.

“You can do this,” her red-haired friend reassures her. The confidence doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

Skirts back down by her ankles, Luren is gone.

I turn away from the windows and walk over to one of the benches, resting my elbows on my knees and folding my hands to make a shelf for my forehead.

I can see the flash of light, but I don’t watch Luren’s test. I don’t watch any of the others.

The only thing I catch a glimpse of is a dark-haired woman tying up her skirt before she ascends the stairs.

At least someone took my advice…whatever little good it might do.

My fingers tighten to the point that I’m shaking. I tap my feet. I rock. But I can’t find an outlet for this restless energy as the names get called one after the other. This cruelty that we are forced to endure makes my stomach churn and my saliva turn to bile.

I’m the last one. Not that I’m surprised. I would’ve been added to the list at the last minute.

“Clara Redwin, of Clan…Hermit.” The proctor watches my every step, her stormy eyes cold as winter.

For a second, we hold each other’s gaze. But only for a second. She’s not about to wish me luck. If anything, she looks like she’s ready to kill me.

Alone, I ascend the dark, narrow staircase and then step into the light.