Page 11

Bridger led us through the Autumn woods toward the academy.

Vibrant leaves danced between life and death, the crisp air biting my cheeks in the warmest way I’d felt in two days.

Scaling the ice wall had been strenuous, but the two-hour hike through peaks and sprawling grass was even more exhausting.

Unmarred blue skies stretched overhead, the awakening I needed for the Rite.

All first-years were organized by last name. Myla stood further back, her egg secured with a sling to her hip. Robi’s hatchling had grown overnight, now the size of a house cat, its white feathers fluffed out. I tried petting it earlier, but it nearly bit my finger off.

I repelled griffins.

The crowd seemed smaller than the first day. Exhaustion brimmed in the students’ wide eyes. Lacerations marked their arms and cheeks. We all struggled to survive during those initial days, which perhaps humbled me .

The six Serpents stepped into the entrance of the academy hall.

Archer was the last to join. He wore a long-sleeved dress shirt tucked into dark pants.

The serpent on his neck clenched, its two sets of daggered eyes wavering.

He looked bored, as if this Rite was the last thing he wanted to attend.

Monty gave a sly grin with a hand perched beneath his chin.

I kept sight of Jenessa, pleading she’d cast a glance at me.

Bridger gave us the rundown of the Rite as we traveled back to the academy.

Jenessa, the Serpent of Winborow—the fifth Frozen Valley in Verdonia—chose Bridger to decide who went on.

My odds were unfavorable. Time slipped away as I stared at the ticking grandfather clock across the hall.

Knox stood beside me, silent as if Day had stripped more than just his voice and beard.

I hardly recognized him without the pubescent wires clung to his jawbone.

If I weren’t chosen today, I would be sent to Malvoria, and my family would lose everything.

I whispered to Knox, “I need you to kill Bridger Thorne if I don’t make it.”

He darted his eyes at me. “We’re supposed to stay quiet, Sev.”

Monty Garcia was the first Serpent to call names forward. His black hair appeared almost blue-hued under the lanterns, but daylight rippled along the bends and curves of his knuckles as he read his chosen twelve names off a scroll. “Gwen Sidhu, Novely Hastings, Knox Blanche…”

I stopped listening once I heard Knox’s name. He gave a shuttered sigh, taking his place behind Monty.

The headmaster shook each hand enthusiastically. I figured he favored Day from the shattered prisms I’d seen in his eyes as he smiled at them.

Knox was safe. Yet, his group had started with nearly the same amount as us, and only three weren’t chosen .

Bile rose in my throat as I saw what initiation Knox had gone through. Blood cracked the beds of his nails, marring his dirtied tunic. Day’s initiation was not a wall of ice but a leap of cruelty—the blood of another in return for power.

My bleak thoughts simmered as Levisly stepped forward, vines lacing her smooth, porcelain skin as her fingers gripped a rolled scroll.

Spring had come and gone. Eleven were no longer students but products of Malvoria as they were dragged by their arms out of the estate.

Dewed lashes blinked, surrendering with a final stare at Levisly.

Summer was more cutthroat. Saani spared no grins for the crowd of eager students as only ten names were called from her list.

A male thrashed his arms as a guard hauled him back. “My father will demand my return,” he screamed, spitting a crimson brine on the onyx stone. “To hell with you all.”

Autumn’s choices left nothing but questions as he called those twelve names one by one, and not a whisper of Herring sounded from his lips. Margaret and Cormac, two of Autumn’s newest initiations, gave Malachi a silent weep as they left her behind.

Jenessa stepped forward. I watched her lips, her every breath as she glanced at the parchment in her hands that Bridger had slipped her moments before.

“Myla Reinhart… Robi Wills, Chanvin Lynn.” She said nine more names, but none were mine.

My knees buckled. What do I do?

Nothing. I could do absolutely nothing but grieve my failures as those twelve chosen to become my father’s heir stepped past me.

A silver gaze swept toward me, white locks of fury shifting closer. Myla’s boots echoed past before taking her place behind Jenessa. Her eyes wandered around the room, the slight of the unchosen and Night staring back. She knew I would leave—knew her warrants of unselfish warmth were for nothing.

Half of those who received letters would be sent to Malvoria.

The grandfather clock ticked three times, my heart seven.

Bridger grabbed my wrist tight. “Wouldn’t want you to be late for the boat to Malvoria,” he hissed, lips against my ear. “You’d be dead in a week anyway.”

I ripped from his grasp, but he lodged his knee between my legs. “Get off me,” I hissed.

A throat cleared from where the Serpents stood. “What are you doing with my student, Thorne?” My eyes slipped up, distorted from the tears masking my vision. The voice was Archer Lynch’s.

Bridger dropped his hand. “I am escorting her out, sir. Jenessa has not chosen her.” He chuckled hoarsely. “She’s nearly lost her mind. She rambles in her sleep. Best to take her outside before she causes a scene.”

Archer glanced down for a second. “Her name is on my scroll.” He flashed the curled piece of paper where my name was last on the list, written in darker ink.

A few quiet murmurs sounded in the room. “Sir, you have thirteen names on that list,” Bridger said. “The maximum is twelve first-year students.”

Humor beamed in Archer’s blue eyes. “Do you have an issue with my decision?” he asked. “Do I need to remind you who I am?”

“Severyn Blanche is a Winter. That girl will not survive under Night’s leadership. You are only delaying her death.”

The room silenced. “Is there anything else, Thorne? I suggest you step away from Miss Blanche.”

Bridger shook his head with a huff.

Archer read the names from his scroll. “Malachi Herring… Jace Lorangail, Alaric Nite…. Antonia Welsch.” My brain was mush by the eleventh name, and I swore when he said Severyn Blanche, I nearly dropped to the stone ground.

The headmaster cleared his throat. “Walk forward, Severyn Blanche,” he hissed.

Heart stuttering, I walked toward the Rite, thankful the attention had turned toward Malachi, strutting a few steps behind me.

Sixty or so students remained unpicked, now the property of Malvoria. Guards escorted them out, bounding them with some type of invisible tether. They went not without struggle, not without curses and thrashing hands.

A soft voice trilled behind me, then a double tap on my shoulder. “You can be my roommate for now,” said Malachi. “There are only twelve rooms available, and you don’t want to bunk with any of the others here. Trust me.” Her amber eyes wavered across the other eleven students of Night.

“Roommates?” I whispered. “You want to be my roommate?” I took in her blonde waves, the freckles on her cheeks, and the single dimple on her chin. She was soft, nearly radiating, and I assumed her to be cruel.

“Yes. We seem to be living the same life.” She uncurled her fist, and a ripple of wind circled each finger. Her eyes went up and down my bruised frame. “I’m a tad less injured, I suppose.”

Nothing seemed real. Not Archer choosing me or Malachi Herring standing in front of me. I locked eyes with Bridger. I knew he wouldn’t stop until I was dead.

Archer spoke to the headmaster and a senior female student. The tips of her shifting fingers were chrome-colored like she’d dipped her arm in liquid iron. Her long, braided blonde hair was tied with a golden ribbon.

Malachi nudged me, noticing my blatant stare. “That’s Delair Sorpine. She’s in line to become Archer’s heir. Stay away from her. She wields metal, and her daggers are sharper than needles. ”

She wore the same metal snake pin as Bridger. “She’s… intimidating,” I said.

“As I said, most Night students lack sunlight. Their minds are nearly as dark-willed as their powers.”

“Why—why us? We stand no chance with us being under another ruler’s mentorship.”

She smiled wide. “Perhaps to stir the game. This is all a ploy of kill or be killed. Win or lose. If someone saves your life, expect their demand for retribution. I give great advice. I suggest listening to it.”

Archer’s attention slipped to the onyx stone, and I swept behind the other students, hoping to thank him…

hoping to demand why he’d chosen me, why he traveled three days to perform a sudden death to my parents when most students never received a simple letter.

Shadows dripped from his perfectly tailored shirt, and I swore I nearly broke my nose, smashing into a shield.

Black and white speckled my vision. I recognized Alaric as one of the chosen Night students who ripped me back. “What do you think you are doing?” His pointed features hid beneath a shadow with eyes resembling a midnight storm wavering up and down.

I choked on my breath. “I was going to talk to Archer.”

Antonia crossed her arms. Her mousy features scrunched, eyes as pale as the silver dagger Charles gave me, were stark against her black hair. Both sides of her nose were pierced, connected with a silver chain.

“You don’t just speak to a Serpent without getting called on. You are lucky his shield didn’t kill you.” She took me in—the snow burns on my dried, flaking skin. The Night students didn’t seem half as traumatized as Jenessa’s initiations.

“I didn’t know,” I muttered .

Antonia pursed her lips. “Now, what does the bitch of the Continent and a snowflake have to do in Night?”

Malachi stood beside me again. “Antonia, no need to be hostile. We have no intention of becoming the heir of Night. Archer and I go way back.”