Page 31 of The Song of Sunrise (The Prentice Teller #1)

Elder Hightail stands from her place at the end of the stone table. “First, we would like to see your Source channeling display, Cadet Nox.” Like Markus before, her raspy voice echoes loudly throughout the space.

I feel a pull to the stands, as if gravity itself shifted, urging me forward. Without having to look, I know the source of the heavy presence watching me.

It’s him.

The Underworld Lord of Terraguard, Atlys, leans forward expectantly.

His white hair falls forward over his face as he rests his elbows on his knees.

The pressure of his silver-flecked stare sending goosebumps along my arm even at this distance.

Coredivers, clad in black leathers, stand behind him protectively.

I snap the invisible cord tethering my attention to the Underworld Lord and return to myself mentally.

The crowd is louder now, growing more impatient for my Presentation to start.

Some of their jokes are loud enough for me to hear.

They pick on my small stature, murmuring insults or other less than desirable comments about my body, my upbringing, or unconventional background as a Teller.

I let their judgemental whispers fly over me, like giant rocs.

They will not bring me down.

An undercurrent of nerves swirls inside, but I stifle it quickly, letting the fire, the anger, in my soul rise in its place. Anger I’ve been conditioned to suppress my whole life.

This is my stage.

Slowly, I scan each royal delegate in the eyes until I settle on the beast who killed Marrow… and begin.

I spin, taking three quick steps around myself, and raise my hands backward to unsheath my staff—a movement I’ve practiced an unhealthy amount of times.

I whip my staff in tight circles around my body, passing it back and forth from hand to hand in wide loops until I hurl it upward. It soars high above my head.

With my free hands, I sign upward and yell, “ Sunfyre !”

Both ends of my staff erupt in flames, painting the sky with fiery circles as it spins and descends to my awaiting arms. It has taken me weeks to channel flames this large, but no one had to know that part.

I almost lit a tree on fire when I practiced with Ramona one night in the woods surrounding the castle.

It took hours of repetition until I could anticipate the choreographed movements in my body and not my mind.

Feel the staff, the fire, the movements and not think. Only do.

Demonstrating my Sun’cher magic channeling alone wasn’t going to be impressive enough for this part of the Presentation, so I had hoped by incorporating my staff, I could make a better impression.

So I made it a performance instead. Something only a Teller could do.

Spectators cheer and clap in delight.

“Unique display of magic by Cadet Nox,” a commentator remarks over the crowd.

I hum to myself a lilting tune, the Song of Solitude . Imagining this field as my stage, I pirouette and throw my staff high into the air until I am next to one of the hay-stuffed scarecrows already barred with gashes from other cadets.

I throw my staff once more, launching it above and around the stuffed scarecrow.

I slide onto my knees, catch the staff, and pop up to my feet, utilizing my momentum to swing it above my head in one long sweeping blow, severing the head off the body.

I pull my staff tight to my torso, then swing at the plummeting scarecrow head, lobbing it perfectly where I intended.

Smoke rises slowly from the singed edges of the decapitated head. Right at the tip of Lord Rollo’s feet, Lord of the Jord Underworld territory.

The audience cheers and hollers almost uncontrollably.

“Next, your weapons portion of the Presentation, Cadet Nox,” Elder Hightail quickly announces, likely trying to draw attention away from the spectacle.

I can barely hear the instructions, distracted by the way Lord Rollo’s dark eyes slice into mine.

He may not perceive me as a threat or remember me from the night of the attack, but by the terrible gleam in his stare, he knows a challenge when he sees one.

He makes to stand, but Lord Atlys puts out a massive arm, blocking him.

I feign a reaction, willing my face into surprise for the audience. A little “ My my, I had no idea the fiery head would land there ” mixed with a bashful “ How could I have possibly managed to do that ” look. The audience eats it up as quickly as Ramona’s brothers at the dinner table.

The deerskin satchel hangs heavily on my hip as I shuffle to the center of the field and sheath my staff. I scan my surroundings. Nine total scarecrow dummies, one now headless, are postured in a circle around the center of the field with wooden targets between them.

I walk in slow, circular steps, mapping the distance, determining the weight of the wind as it pulls two small strands of hair out from my bun.

It’s a confusing sight for the spectators, a girl walking in circles seemingly weaponless.

They don’t know that I have a pouch of throwing stars. No one does besides Leaf and Ramona.

The audience is silent, pulsing with curiosity. The corner of my lip raises. They are right where I need them. Without waiting any longer, I spin three times, reaching into my pouch and rapidly throwing stars at my marks.

I stop and the crowd remains silent, not sure of what they just saw.

“The targets, look!” a voice calls from the audience. Whispers, gasps, and yells fill the stands. The royals stand to get a better look at what I just did. Each scarecrow has a shiny silver star lodged into the torso.

All nine.

The targets in between all have a star glimmering in the torchlight within the center area of the large circle.

Little do they know I purposefully planned for a near perfect aim, but not perfect. The secret of my accuracy will stay between me and Leaf. No one else needs to know how true my aim is exactly.

“That’s incredible!”

“Sun burn me!”

“Aren’t those throwing stars?”

“QUIET!” Elder Superior Markus booms, trying to quiet the outburst of sound from the stands. “Akemi Nox. You are holding an outlawed weapon and will be forfeited from the competition.”

Boos resonate from the audience. I had wondered as much when I hadn’t seen throwing stars as an option for cadets in the Lower Fields practice rooms. I had prepared potentially for this.

“Each human champion may choose any weapon of choice that best displays their mastery,” I recite from one of the old inaugural Summit books I read in the library.

“ Any weapon of choice. These are the cherished rules of the treaty upon which the Summit was formed: no rules shall be changed, modified, or removed upon order of the NCNWT without formal alliance approval.”

Markus looks furious as Elder Hightail whispers urgently into his ear. I politely smile and wait.

“Very well,” he sneers and continues on with the customary words, “your Presentation is complete. The determination of your selection will be announced at the feast celebration tomorrow night.”