Page 33 of The Song of Sunrise (The Prentice Teller #1)
“You must be freezing. Come inside, the feast is beginning.” Castor wraps me in his coat and ushers me inside toward a round table where Selene and Ramona are chatting, all previous awkwardness from their summer relationship gone.
Leaf, on the other hand, is glaring at Ramona from the other side of the table, arms tucked within his deep orange suit pockets.
Our table is in the front corner of the lavish dining hall with a good view of the room.
A small group of musicians play in the other corner, causing my heart to twist with joy and pain at the same time.
Elevated at the front of the hall is a long table decorated in all of the house colors: the cobalt blue of the Watch, dark blue and ivory of the River Tribe, brown and leaf green of the Forest Tribe, blood red for the Jord Court, and black for the Terraguard Court.
I gasp at the sudden touch of wide hands on my shoulders, and my heart jumps into my throat. Castor removes his coat carefully from me like I’m a prized possession. His calloused fingers brush my bare shoulder, and my breath catches once more.
Most of the room is seated while Castor walks me to a cobalt velvet chair, pulling it out from under the white linen table cloth, offering me a seat.
The sudden loss of heat from Castor’s coat causes shivers to crawl across my exposed low back, from the delicate chain between the wide silk straps near my shoulders to the golden silk draping just above my tailbone.
Ramona was right. Clothing is a weapon.
The music stops, and the chatter ceases almost instantaneously.
The Summit sponsors begin filtering into the hall, first with the Elders.
All seven stroll in full military formals, though only three get to participate as sponsors.
They wear cobalt from head to toe with a cape clasped with their respective Watcher symbol.
Markus’s moon sigil looks like a freshly polished badge of honor.
Pride seeps from each heavy step as he leads the procession to the long table.
Once at their seats, they lift their hands, shooting out a mixture of myst and sunfyre that form a large “W” lighting up the room in sparks.
They receive a polite applause.
The Elves follow, Lord Clayoq looking bored and regal as ever, in a long green robe that drags along the floor.
Opita’s bright green eyes dance across the room, scanning until they look just past me, likely to Castor, whom she had been tossing glances to all luncheon.
Her sister looks like a goddess, wrapped in swaths of green and glittering jewels, like a goddess of the forest.
The air shimmers around them, and the sounds of birds, tussling leaves and bubbling creeks fill the air. I can almost smell the fresh, earthy scent of the woods. I’m reminded once again that elves can use Source magic organically instead of channeling stones.
The Elders watch with strained expressions. Attempting to look polite, but I know how to read faces and reactions well enough to sense unease and contempt when I see it.
This isn’t just an entrance; it’s a display of might.
As if my thoughts prompted it, Lord Clayoq claps his hands high above his head, and suddenly, the high ceilings of the hall are filled with hundreds of glittering birds.
Cadets gasp, laugh, and clap at the birds now circling and spinning in an organized dance.
Leaf looks unimpressed and moody as ever.
Lady Neda, Lord Neilos, and Prince Ladon of the River Tribe enter next. Lady Neda wastes no time displaying her immense power, cloaking the whole room in hues of blue. Pockets of light flicker around us, as if submerged under water.
The room fills with a chorus of “oohs.”
All three river royals are gliding across the floor, carried by a near-transparent stream of water. Neda turns and curtsies to the room, releasing the hold of her magic, restoring the blue washed effect back to normal.
“Impressive!” Selene says from the other side of the table, eyes wide as moons. Selene is one of the top Moon’chers in our class. Rumors are that she may be the best water wielder at the Watch. Her eyes trail the River Tribe in awe as they take their place at the head table.
Suspense permeates as cadets await the next arrival. The doors swing open to reveal the first Underworld representative, Lord Rollo of the Jord and his Oksvakt.
Disgust coils in my stomach like a snake. The entire Underworld can collapse in on itself and I wouldn’t feel an ounce sorry.
His steps thud heavily on the tile as he approaches the table.
A small entourage of Jord court members trail behind.
They are dressed in red battle leathers with brown and white shoulder furs, making their large bodies appear even wider.
They look as if they are walking onto a battlefield with their arrows and battle axes, even though tonight is a celebration with food and dance.
The largest Oksvakt in the back blows into a curved horn made of bone. I shiver, despite the thin layer of sweat dampening my forehead. I have a feeling this is a sound I will recognize for the rest of my life. A tone forever engraved in my ears. Flashes of Goldenpine fill my vision.
Rosie holding her cast iron pan high above her head.
A mother rushing away with crying children tucked under each arm.
Bane and Row fighting off Underlings, bloodied and broken.
Marrow lying lifeless on the small stage.
I swallow down bile.
The hall reverberates with the chilling note and the Jord Lord begins a throaty chant, his voice gravely and harsh.
The Oksvakt join in, slowly crescendoing with every turn of phrase.
They pound their axes on the ground as they march toward the section of head table.
Their war chant echoes against the hard stone walls, bouncing back in chaotic rhythms.
Ragnar and Sabra clap the loudest after their presentation. Ragnar looks hungry to impress, while Sabra’s stare seems to hold some sort of reverence or devotion for the male.
How could any human revel in the presence of an Underworld Lord, knowing their violence and misdeeds?
Sun burn me. I take a long sip of my wine, knowing who will be the last royal entering the room: the Underling I met in the springs who also happens to be known as a fucking Soul Eater.
I finish off the rest of my wine, earning a look of curiosity from Ramona.
The lights dim slowly until the room is covered in a thick darkness. I reach for Castor under the table. Our hands collide. My pulse quickens, partly from the way Castor’s fingers are now entwined with mine, and partly from the male I know will enter at any moment.
The whole room begins to shake violently. Surely he wouldn’t enter from underground? That would ruin the support structure beneath this castle, and it’s already miraculously perched along a steep hillside.
The rumbling becomes so loud that I can no longer tell the difference between my own trembling and the ground beneath me. Something warm and furry scurries across my feet. I scream and release Castor’s grip so I can hug my legs to my chest.
A gust of wind raises the tiny hairs of the back of my neck, as if there was someone standing right behind me. The sound of beating wings fills the room, and the distinct scrape of a sword being drawn fills the air.
Above us, each sword glows in shades of purple, blue, and green, illuminating the warriors from Terraguard as they hover in the air in a great circle. They swing their swords around in glowing arcs, cutting shapes into the air above as they move through a series of technical strikes.
“Incredible,” Leaf mutters from across the table, jaw gaping at the sight.
That’s when I notice that they aren’t hovering with magic, but flying .
Each of the Terraguard Coredivers has wings spanning from between their shoulder blades.
They look to be made from the shadows themselves, swirling with smoke yet somehow solid.
The dinnerware begins to clatter as the room rumbles and reverberates.
Murmurs of Soul Eater and World Destroyer fill the room.
A single figure descends from the darkness down the center of the circle.
The largest of the group, undoubtedly to support his frame.
Tonight, his blonde hair is slicked, revealing an angular face covered in ornate glowing war paint around his eyes and forehead.
He is devastating and beautiful at the same time.
I cannot help but be transfixed by his slow, oscillating descent.
From the lowest levels of the Underworld, I greet you, Lord Atlys’s voice fills my mind. By the startled looks of cadets around the room, they too heard his voice.
He holds up a fist, and all five Coredivers fly to his side. They snap their wings in and drop down to the ground. Altys lands last, slamming down to land on one knee, wings disappearing. The entire castle shudders as he stands slowly to his full height, silver eyes looking right at me.
My breath leaves me, and I freeze under his starry gaze, not daring to look away.
He turns and heads to the far end of the table reserved for Terraguard. The torches glow brighter once more and the crowd erupts for the fourth time.
Each entrance wasn’t just an entrance, but a dance, a careful play in a larger game that many around me did not seem to catch as they merrily clink their glasses and clap. How can they not feel the palpable tension between the allied races? Each move a power play on another.
I do not look toward the Lord of Terraguard throughout the dinner, though my mind screams for me to glance.
I fight the temptation and try to engage in table conversation.
Leaf and Ramona have successfully agreed upon the best way to trap a mountain troll, while Castor and Selene bond over their Moon’cher swimming capabilities.