Page 32 of The Song of Sunrise (The Prentice Teller #1)

An Unlikely Pairing

“ I can’t believe you did that,” Ramona says, still reveling about my display at the Presentation. She gently untangles a large braid from my hair.

“Do you think I went too far?” I ask as Ramona continues styling.

She had begged me last night, after we returned from the Presentation, to braid my hair.

Insisting that this overnight curling technique would go perfectly with my gown for the feast. The entire castle has been buzzing with chatter about the Presentation.

How a second-Stone named Gryphon threw one of the loose boulders across the entire arena, Leaf’s perfect archery skills, and Cassiopeia’s Moon’cher display using so much myst it looked like the stadium was enveloped in shooting stars.

I was surprised to hear that my Presentation was one of the most popular topics as well.

Ramona finishes placing the final strand, setting the dark lock of curls carefully down my back.

Then she begins dusting a shimmering golden powder on my cheekbones, the same color of the silk dress pooling around my feet.

“Well, it was a statement, but who would have known that you planned it that way? That the head would roll right to his feet. I only wish I thought of it first.” She begins to paint my lips a bright cherry red.

“Is that really necessary?” I ask flatly, glancing at the lip color.

“Stop moving your lips,” is all she says in response and continues painting my lips with meticulous focus.

Growing up with five brothers is why she loves pampering me.

It’s like finally having a sister , she said last night while braiding my hair.

For her tough exterior, she is actually quite considerate and loving on the inside.

You just have to make it past her long black fingernails, platform boots, and threats to throw daggers at your face first.

Tonight, Ramona looks like she could kill.

And we all know she could. Her dark hair and deep wine lips contrast with her forest velvet dress that drapes off each shoulder romantically, accentuating her round green eyes.

She garnishes herself with silver, in her hair, ears, neck, and wrists, and now ties a thick black leather corset over top around her waist.

“Clothing is one of my favorite weapons. Tell me I look as flaming as the sun,” she says while discreetly slipping a dagger into her matching leather combat boots.

I’ve come to learn she always has a weapon on her, most likely one from the set of daggers her father gave to her before leaving for the Academy.

“You look hotter than the sun itself, stiflingly beautiful, scorchingly pretty, so hot the sun—” Leaf starts.

“Okay, okay, that’s plenty of affirmation for now.” She blushes and opens an ancient-looking jewelry box. “Besides, Akemi is the one looking like the sun in all that gold.” Romona pauses for a moment before pulling out the most expensive earrings I’ve ever seen.

“Please, you don’t have to do that…” I hold out my hands in protest.

“You already have something for the plunging neckline.” She looks at the gold pendant I wear daily, now nestled between my breasts.

She hands me a golden band engraved with a sun for my arm and a pair of matching earrings that loop though my ear in spirals, each dangling enough gems to feed a small village.

It feels odd to be adorned with such lavish clothing. I am not ashamed of my upbringing, but there is something innately powerful about wearing fine clothing.

Only one piece is missing. I hurry to the side of my bed and tuck the Teller patch into my cleavage.

Once we are fully ready and carrying at least two weapons each, we head toward the dining hall where the feast is being held.

Both of us are nervous, minimally talking as we walk through the halls decorated with flickering golden orbs, cascading vines with small white flowers, and miniature frosted pines.

Outside the windows, the snow falls gently in clumps, framing the sills in white.

The aroma of the roasted ham, potatoes, garlic, and bread fills the air as we enter the hall, now redesigned into a formal gala.

Circular tables are garnished with frosted mirrors, jute table runners, pine branches, and giant vases of winter blooms. Candelabras hang low above, illuminating each table in dim, flickering light.

Someone pushes past me, shoving my shoulder backward. I hiss inward through my teeth.

Sabra turns to stand in front of me. Her dark hair is slicked high on her head, dress tight and black to match her soulless eyes.

Ragnar, her third-stone older brother, and another cadet I don’t know flank on either side.

“I’m sure you think your little display yesterday will get you picked.

If only you had the skill needed to grab their attention.

Instead, you had to default to stupid theater tricks. ”

“Unlike you, who defaults to being a raging bit—” Ramona starts, but I cut her off with a gentle hand on her arm.

The rubber band I hold tightly around my emotions snaps. “I’m sorry you aren’t in a better mood this evening, Sabra. Might want to fix that before the royals take their pick. I would hate for them to judge you on the scowl that is currently resting on your face.”

Ramona snorts into her wine glass.

It feels so good to let my thoughts flow freely from my lips. So often my instincts are to minimize, to cater to others, to hide, to freeze. It is exhausting trying to bend parts and pieces of myself to make others happy.

I excuse myself and cross the hall, now brimming with cadets in their finest evening wear, to the terrace overlooking the frozen gardens.

The air outside is frigid and crisp. There is peace in the dark night, the sound of the wind whispering past the large pines, the frozen lake in the distance popping and cracking, and stars twinkling above.

After a few minutes, I turn from the railing to find a silhouette, watching me.

My stomach drops in fear as Elder Marcus steps out from the shadows. How long was he standing there?

I quickly mask my surprise. “Good evening Elder Markus.”

He steps closer, eyebrows furrowed, and cuts past niceties. “That stunt you pulled last night will not be tolerated,” he says with so much vitriol I almost choke. What did I do to deserve so much hate from this man?

“I’m… sorry?” I honestly don’t know what to say, and apologizing unfortunately is often my crutch. Everything about his rigid posture and glowering demeanor has me on edge. He steps forward. I retreat a step. My hands clasp the stone railing behind me.

“Throwing stars are not a permitted weapon, and you know it. I can tell by the look you are giving me right now. Found a ridiculous loophole in order to show off instead of showcasing any true talent. You can barely siphon enough magic to be considered a Watcher.” He sniffs, frowning in disgust. “The only thing keeping me from expelling you right now is that you are actively participating in the Summit.”

Is he… threatening me? A storm of emotions swirls through me. Fear, surprise, anger. I don a mask of innocence, crafting my presence into someone he might take pity on. “Please, Elder Superior, surely you wouldn’t expel me. There would be nowhere else for me to go.”

“Short of winning, nothing will keep you here, Cadet Nox.”

I stare at his blue tweed coat in disbelief. I want nothing more than to cut him down with the words bubbling on my lips. Rip him in half with the same hateful rhetoric, but I hold my tongue and clench my fists so hard my knuckles pop.

Elder Markus opens the door back to the warmly lit celebration. He pauses and speaks so low, I can barely hear him. “You have been warned,” he says, then disappears into the ballroom beyond.

I turn back to the forest and pinch the bridge of my nose.

This is it. Tonight, I need to be selected and make it into the Summit or face the risk of being expelled.

And then what? All of this effort will have been for nothing.

Sure, I could find some other Midland town to live in, work at a tavern…

but can I? Can I really go back to living within the confines of a small town after traveling so far?

No possibility to experience this world on a larger scale and make memories that I can shape into Tellings later.

Staying is power.

Learning to harness the source is power.

And I need power if I’m going to make a difference in this world.

A wolf howls in the distance. Bats scatter from the treetops. Without prompting, my heart aches against my chest. I wish Marrow was here to guide me.

You already know what I would say, Prentice, his sweet tenor voice rings from somewhere in my mind, as if he is standing right next to me.

“I know, I know. You would tell me to stay. To fight. To make this my story. Not Elder Markus’s, not yours, but mine. Not let anyone else dictate my life as if I’m standing off stage instead of right in the middle of it.”

I hear his approval in the rush of wind as it sweeps up the castle. In the gentle hooting of an owl. In the ripples of the part of the lake not yet frozen over.

My arms curl tightly around my stomach, ignoring the cold. I have to be selected tonight as a champion. But most importantly, I have to win.

“Akemi? Is that you?” a voice calls from behind.

I turn to find Castor standing in a dark blue suit, complete with three shoulder patches to designate his Moon’cher field achievements.

Once students move to a higher rank, they gain in-field experience.

Castor clearly has already proven himself a worthy asset to the Watch.

He looks handsome, more like a prince than a warrior. Nothing like his father.