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T itus circles me with a huge two-handed sword held at the ready. Like all our training weapons, it's blunted, but given that it’s at least three pounds of steel, I doubt it matters. Titus is one of Malakai's elites, and I'm sure he would be willing to suffer any punishment for "accidentally" killing or maiming me.

Surviving Confluence Day earned us some protections, but the threat of death only dropped to a low, haunting whisper instead of a deafening scream. It never really leaves, and with the Crucible coming, everybody feels it more now. It’s the warm, rancid breath of a predator breathing down our necks.

This is basic weapons training, and we're not supposed to channel. I still keep my mind on high alert, just in case Titus decides to cheat. If he does, I'll be ready.

For now, I keep circling him on the raised stone platform, rapier pointed at his throat. Raith taught me to watch the feet and the hips of my opponent, so that's where my eyes stay.

Titus coils slightly on his back leg and my instincts tingle with warning before my brain can even process what's happening. I'm already shifting to my side, ducking the overhead strike that's about to come.

His sword whistles past me, clattering against stone hard enough to fire off sparks.

I move to step inside his guard and press my blade to his throat, but he savagely yanks his elbow backward, smashing into my temple and sending me toppling sideways.

The blow makes sparks fly across my vision and my head spin. An immediate, sharp throbbing erupts in my head.

Shit.

He's fast. We all are now, but he's also twice my size.

I roll, dodging another strike, then another. I barely get back to my feet, breaths coming in raw gasps already. I'm starting to become numb to danger, but I can feel a sudden jab of terror leaking up through my walls like ice water flooding into a sinking ship.

Come on, Nessa.

Distantly, I can sense others finishing their matches and gathering to watch us. Most weapons fights are over quickly. The other affinities are finishing up, too, along with Raith, who was first to win his match and is already on his way toward us. Even with Raith coming, I force myself to refocus on Titus. Distraction now could be fatal.

"Come on, Nessa," Beck calls. "Go for his balls. Small targets, I know, but you can?—"

Beck's voice fades to background noise as I barely lean back, dodging the tip of Titus' sword before it can split my face horizontally.

Gods. He's definitely going for the kill.

"Allow me to bite him," Typhon suggests, and there's a slight note of urgency in his tone. "I could leave him alive and only remove a few pieces of his meat sack."

"No biting. But if he kills me, I give you permission to kill him back."

I feel a pang of reluctance and irritation through the tether, but also acceptance.

I dodge two more strikes, try to get in range to land a blow with my rapier, and earn a vicious kick to my stomach that sends me crumpling to the ground.

I clench tight as waves of sudden nausea roll through my body twisting my insides like a wet rag being wrung out.

Okay. New plan.

I reach into the water saturating the air, drawing scraps of power into my body. Yes, I'm going to cheat, but only a little. And only in a way that nobody will notice.

Sweat runs down Titus' scalp, so I reach out and direct as much of it as I can into his eyes as I get back to my feet, weapon drawn.

He flinches, blinking through the stinging salt and nearly dropping his guard to wipe his eyes.

I don't wait.

I'm already dashing toward him, spinning as he tries to strike, and then I'm behind Titus. My blade is pressed to the side of his neck. "Yield," I say, breath still coming in hard gasps.

Titus tenses, and I think he’s about to push his luck and fight on. But finally, he relaxes. "I yield."

My victory earns a few secret smiles from Beck, Ambrose, and Mireen, but nobody else visibly reacts. Well, unless I can count the way Raith is looking at Titus as a reaction. It almost looks like Raith is thinking about dismembering Titus limb by limb. The orange on his mark flares suddenly, pulsing quickly. I've learned from our training sessions that it pulses when his emotions are running high.

The other first-year fires, including those who were affinities before Confluence Day, gather around Raith and drag his attention away with something that looks relatively urgent. They’re all speaking quickly to him as he listens, nodding his head. Serena is the only notable absence.

Word spread about what she tried on Confluence Day, and now she's more or less exiled to spend time with Malakai and the other waters who follow him. Nobody else wants anything to do with her.

But other than Raith and my friends, nobody dares to show a reaction to the outcome of our match. The official announcement of the Crucible completely erased any of the relaxed tension of the past few months. Surviving Confluence Day is in the past, now, and surviving the Crucible is on everyone’s minds. Worse, many already seem driven to do whatever it may take to win. Even if it means murder.

In just a few weeks, we'll all divide into groups of five and fight for a chance to earn legacy status for our team. And, of course, we'll be isolated outside castle walls where it seems like anything will go.

People are going to die, and we all know it.

As I step down from the platform, I notice an odd tingling in my hands. I feel a blend of elements suddenly bend toward me like metal shavings to a magnet.

The ache in my stomach from where Titus kicked me turns warm, then the pain eases slightly. Power flares. Before I can even stop to wonder what's happening, the sensation is gone.

"Hmm," Typhon rumbles. "What was that, angry human?"

"I was hoping you could tell me."

I lower a hand to my stomach and touch it, finding the skin is still tender, but maybe less than before?

My friends approach me once I'm off the sparring ring.

Ambrose is covered in sweat and sporting a raised welt along his cheek, like he caught a blade there. "Gods, Nessa. From here, it looked like he was going for killing blows."

"He was," I say, still distracted by whatever that sudden power was.

Mireen is sweaty but seems uninjured, her red hair still intact in a tight and intricate braid that keeps it close to her scalp. "You'd think they would want us learning to work together." There's an edge to her tone—the same edge I've learned always comes when she's talking about Empire and Red Kingdom. "Instead they keep structuring this place so we're at each other's throats. What good does that do any of us?"

"Well," Beck says as we all head toward the showers. "Pilton makes it seem like primals tend to fight in small groups on the outside. It's not like we're going to be deployed together as a large group at any point. Maybe it makes more sense for us to form strong loyalties with just a few."

"Don't defend them," Mireen snaps. "Titus could've killed Nessa back there."

“He was certainly trying. I guess the announcement of the Crucible means attempted murder is back on the menu.”

"Nah. Titus couldn't have killed you," Beck says. "I had Uther standing up there, hidden from sight. If I thought she was in trouble, I would've had him rip Titus' arms off and beat him over the head with them."

"Like Nessa needs the help of your bear," Ambrose says. "In case you've forgotten. She's got a?—"

"Flying fish," I cut in with a meaningful smile.

"Right," Ambrose says. "That."

"Speaking of the Crucible," Mireen says, lowering her voice as we pass a group of legacies on our way to the showers. "I heard it's going to be in the wilderness beyond the academy walls. They'll drop us somewhere in the forest, and we'll have to navigate to a specific point while other teams try to stop us."

"And find a relic," Beck adds. "That's what one of the third-years told me. We have to find a specific relic and bring it back, all while surviving other teams and whatever nasty surprises they've hidden out there."

"Great," I mutter. Though I know from Voss' advice that whatever the third-years say will happen can't be fully trusted. They change the Crucible each year to keep us on our toes. "Sounds like a fun weekend trip."

We split off after weapons training, get showered, dressed in fresh uniforms, and then I sit with my friends in Military Tactics, struggling to focus the whole time and not simply stare at Raith's back, puzzling over what's going on in his mind.

My lips still tingle with the memory of our kiss, followed by his immediate withdrawal. Ever since that kiss, he has been impossible to reach. We trained once together, but he kept it completely professional again. When I did try to talk about what happened, he changed the subject.

I keep replaying his warnings about siphons, about the danger lurking on campus. As much as I try to push it away, part of me wonders if Raith himself could be the danger he's warning me about. The thought makes my stomach lurch with a knotted ball of emotions like thorny vines.

What if Raith is the siphon? It wouldn't be impossible. He did volunteer to come here. He does know things he shouldn't. And he seems adamant that I need to keep my distance from him to stay safe.

"Shall I eat him?" Typhon asks.

Without anywhere good to sit, Typhon is curled up on the stage near professor Pilton. His head lifts at his question, deep blue eyes glinting as his thoughts reach me easily from across the room.

"How about we agree that if I ever actually want you to eat someone, I'll ask? You don't need to keep asking if I want you to eat people."

"Hmm," Typhon grumbles. "And if the option of me consuming your foes doesn't occur to you? Am I permitted to remind you of the option?"

I grin to myself. "Yes. Sure."

Pilton is deep in argument with two legacies over an interpretation of a historical battle. Pilton thinks the primals in the story were reckless, and the two legacies are trying to argue they had no choice.

Mireen leans over, voice low. "So who can we trust for our fifth? For the Crucible?"

I shake my head as Raith's words come back to me. He told me not to trust anyone.

And yet his reasons feel like they're far too ridiculous to say aloud. I can't tell Mireen we can't add a fifth because they might secretly be the siphon hiding on campus. But if Raith was the siphon, he wouldn't have been so worried about us trusting a fifth. Unless he's not the only siphon…

Ugh. It’s a confusing mess and I wish the damn man would just give me a straight answer for once.

"I'm not sure," I whisper back. "Maybe we're better off just keeping four? We know we can trust each other, and we work really well as a team."

She narrows her eyes, making the crescent scar on her cheek crinkle. "Yeah, but going into the Crucible down a person seems like a bad move, right? Especially if Malakai's team targets us. We'll need every advantage we can get."

"I know a few girls," Beck says, leaning forward so I can see him past Mireen. "What are we prioritizing? Body or face? Because if we need both a good face and body, the list is a little smaller, but I could still come up with a couple options."

"Beck, just shut up," Mireen says, shaking her head and smiling slightly.

"There's Lysander," Ambrose suggests, nodding his head to a serious water affinity with black hair parted down the middle. "He's not with Malakai."

"Yeah," Beck says. "Because he's with nobody. Because he's creepy."

"Don't be mean," I say, even though deep down, I find it hard to completely disagree. Lysander has always kept to himself. While that means he's likely not one of Malakai's people, it also makes it hard to trust him.

"Tamarin?" Mireen suggests. “If nothing else, she has good judgment."

"How do you figure that?" Beck asks.

"Because she hasn't ever slept with you."

Beck places a hand over his heart in mock outrage. "How dare you."

We're all smiling when a piece of chalk flies across the room and bounces off Ambrose's forehead.

"Are we boring you, Ambrose?" Pilton asks.

Ambrose claps both hands over his head, wincing. "Why the hells is it always me?"

* * *

"I'm starving," Beck says half an hour later once we're let out of class. The other aspirants with black uniforms and silver piping are filing out as we linger. "I hope they have that honey butter again in the dining hall."

"I think you may have eaten the entire year's supply last night," Ambrose says.

"You joining us?" Mireen asks me.

"Um, not yet. I wanted to squeeze in a little studying," I say.

My excuse earns skeptical looks from all three friends.

"Studying. Right," Beck says. "You know, if I wasn't so offended that you are obviously hiding a ravenous sex life with Raith, Bastian, or both from us, I'd almost be impressed. You really do sneak around well."

Red colors my cheeks. "It's nothing like that," I protest, though the memory of Raith's lips on mine sends a completely different message through my body. Except that I think it really may be nothing for Raith. I'm the only fool who can't seem to stop making more of it than I should.

"I think it's Bastian," Ambrose says matter-of-factly. "The mysterious, handsome legacy who occasionally finds excuses to be around Nessa at just the right time? And if I was a woman?—"

"Thank gods you're not," Beck mutters.

"I would choose Bastian," Ambrose continues.

"Agreed," Mireen says. "And that's speaking as an actual woman. I know you trust Raith, Nessa, but I don't. There's something off about him. And I still haven't forgotten he's a volunteer from so close to the border. I know his family is dead, but there's a chance they were all Red Kingdom before?—"

"Mireen," I say sharply.

She lowers her eyes. "Sorry. I'm just worried about you. I know you two spend time alone together. In… some capacity. What if he tries to hurt you? What if he's not being honest about his loyalties?"

"Then I'm pretty sure I'd be dead already. You guys don't have to trust him, but I do. Okay? So if you trust me, can you at least just believe in me enough to stop worrying?"

Ambrose shrugs. "She does have a flying fish following her around. I don't think even Raith Hollow stands a chance if he pisses that thing off. Maybe Nessa's right. We shouldn't be worried about her."

"But she hasn't said which one she's fucking," Beck says. "Can you at least tell us that much? Is it Raith? Or is it really both?”

I put my hands on my hips. "I'm not sleeping with either of them. Bastian has helped me a time or two, but we've hardly even talked much. I know almost nothing about him."

"Ah," Ambrose nods wisely. "But you have talked to Raith a lot? Pillow talk, perhaps?"

"All of you. Go!" I say, one side of my mouth curving in amusement. "Terrible detectives. Every last one of you."

"So she says," Beck jokes as he throws his arms around Mireen and Ambrose, leading them down the hall toward the dining room.

Almost as soon as they're gone, a girl steps in front of me, eyes orange and blazing.

Serena.

For a split second, I consider shouting for them to come back, but Typhon walks behind Serena, looming at nearly three times her size so he barely fits in the corridor. I may not want to reveal his real form, but I at least know he's here, ready to protect me.

"Nessa," Serena says. She wears her raven black hair in two long braids with the rest falling free to spill around her shoulders. It’s a show of confidence. Loose hair is a liability in combat, and she’s not-so-subtly projecting her confidence.

"What do you want?" I ask.

"To warn you."

I frown. "Not necessary. I already know you and Malakai are ruthless assholes. Let me guess... you'll all be coming for us during the Crucible? Already figured that out myself. Titus tried to take my head off in weapon’s training today."

"No. I heard your friends. You should listen to them. Raith has you fooled, just like everybody else. Why did you think I risked everything to go after him on Confluence Day?"

"Because you're jealous of him?"

"Because he's not what he says he is. Hollow isn't his real last name. At least it wasn't."

The words hit me with unexpected force like a physical blow to the chest. I try to keep my expression neutral, but my mind races. Not his real name? What else has he lied about?

"Would this be an appropriate moment to remind you that I am willing to eat this girl if you wish?" Typhon asks.

"I might actually give you permission to eat this one. So keep on your toes."

"Mmm... Very good," he rumbles.

"This is sad, even for you," I say, trying to sound dismissive while my thoughts spin with possibilities. "You couldn't backstab us on Confluence Day, so now you're trying to spread rumors and lies to get back at him?"

Her cat-like eyes tighten. "Ignore my warnings if you like, Nessa. But Raith is dangerous. I don’t know exactly who he was before he came here, but I’ve seen enough to know he isn’t loyal to Empire. He’s a traitor, and he’s gathering all the fires to his cause. Someone has to put a stop to it. We're prepared to offer you and your group protection during the Crucible if you help us take him down."

That is a surprise. I open my mouth to laugh, but I'm too stunned to speak at first.

"You really think we'd help you?"

"It's your choice."

"I'm not a bloodthirsty killer. So, no. I'm never going to be part of Malakai's little group."

"Is that what you think we are doing?" She tilts her head, and her full lips curve into a smile. "We're sons and daughters of soldiers. All of us. Soldiers of Empire. We've been weeding out anyone we suspect could be Red Kingdom sympathizers. You do know who Malakai's father was, right?"

"Why would I know that?"

She taps her lower lip with a manicured nail. I notice tendrils from her fire mark have curled in elegant, flame-like lines up her long finger. "He was a commander in Empire's army. Entire unit wiped out when a supposed Empire Earth primal collapsed a ravine on them. Thousands dead. All because Confluence Academy failed to discover someone's true loyalties before graduating them and putting them in position to cripple our forces. We can't count on the academy to do the work for us. We need to get our hands dirty for the good of Empire."

I fold my arms. "Right. So you're sanctimonious murderers? Got it."

"Your elemental, Nessa..." Her eyes flicker momentarily to where Typhon hovers invisibly to her. "It's strong enough to make a real difference. With you on our side, we could really make change. We could go after full primals who we suspect. Nothing could stop us."

A chill runs down my center and settles like a block of ice in my gut. Nothing could stop them? From what, exactly, I wonder. Murdering everybody who shows even a hint of individuality or fails to completely bow to Empire?

"I'm not joining you. I have no interest in pretending to be judge, jury, and executioner. How many innocent students have you all already killed? How many times have you been wrong?"

"Does it matter? One primal slipping through to graduation could kill thousands of innocents. If we have to kill hundreds to stop that, it's worth the risk. Isn't it?"

"No," I say.

"Do you know why I really wanted to kill you that first day?"

"I'm guessing you're going to tell me?"

"Because you volunteered. The statistics aren't hard to find, Nessa. Over the decades, volunteers are the most likely to be traitors. Why do you think Raith even pays attention to you? He's hoping you're like him. Turncloak. Traitor. Scum."

"So you've wanted me dead since the first day and I'm still alive? Empire may want to look for some better servants if you're the best it has, then."

Her nostrils flare as she eyes me. I can feel the potential of violence in the air. There's a subtle heat gathering behind me, too, and I wonder if her elemental snake is coiling around me, preparing to reveal itself and strike.

"They'll be dead before a hair on your body gets touched," Typhon warns.

"Don't get it confused, Nessa," Serena says. "I still don't trust your intentions. But I saw the elemental you tethered, even if I don't understand why an insignificant weakling like you would be granted such a beast… I'm only making you this offer because of your elemental."

"Fuck you. That's my choice." I give her a sickly sweet smile, and then bump her shoulder as I move to pass her.

"Wait," Serena says.

I pause, but don't turn to look at her.

"Remember something, Nessa. As an ally, you could be incredibly valuable to us. As an enemy? You're dangerous. And you might threaten everything we're trying to do. So choose wisely. We won't wait forever."

I look around and see it's only the two of us in the hall now.

"Typhon, show yourself so she gets the message."

"With pleasure."

Typhon, who is at least twenty feet high from paw to shoulder, stands to his full height, wings spread and teeth bared as he leans into Serena's face. To my eyes, nothing changes, but Serena suddenly flinches back, screams, and tries to push herself away until her back bumps hard into the wall.

Her snake appears, but it looks insignificant next to Typhon.

"Just in case you forgot," I say. "So keep that in mind if you get ideas about fucking with me or my friends. That includes Raith."

Typhon transforms suddenly into his flying fish form and gives her a small slap on the cheek with his tail.

The little pop sound is almost comical.

Serena flinches back like she has been stabbed and her elemental snake hisses, fires flaring across its coiled body.

Apparently satisfied, Typhon drifts toward me and hovers over my shoulder.

"What was that?" I ask him, barely holding back a smile from the look on Serena's face as we leave her behind.

"You never let me eat people, so I improvised. If I can't eat them, I will settle for humiliation."

Even if it feels good to put Serena in her place, I know the victory is only temporary. Malakai and his people aren't the type to be scared off so easily. They'll still come for us, maybe even harder, now. We'll be lucky if there aren't several groups hunting us during the Crucible.

But my thoughts return to everything Serena said as I cross the courtyard, giving a group of third-year fires a wide berth as they sit comfortably in a cocoon of warmth that melts the falling snow and keeps them warm despite the winter chill.

Raith not being who he claims to be. Malakai and Serena with what could be considered a noble cause, even if their methods are monstrous. And somewhere on campus, a siphon hunts, perhaps for me specifically.

The Crucible suddenly feels like the least of my worries.

As I round the corner, I nearly collide with a tall figure in a black robe.

"Nessa," Bastian says, surprise clear in his voice. He looks left and right, then jerks his head for me to follow him to a small, more private alcove off the main hall.

"What is it?" I ask.

"I shouldn't be telling you this… but my father and some of the council are coming to watch this year's Crucible."

A cold fist of fear reaches for my insides and squeezes. Empire officials watching the Crucible means…

Bastian nods, as if seeing I've already figured it out. "Your powers. You need to be discreet. Even there. If any of them suspect what you are, I don't think even the academy could protect you."

"Why do you keep helping me?" I blurt suddenly. “Does your father know about me?”

Bastian's regal features show no sign of emotion or surprise at the questions. "No. He doesn’t. But I read enough to suspect one of your kind would appear again. So far, I believe you're worthy of the power you hold."

So far?

Again, it's as if Bastian reads my thoughts. "Whether I like it or not, Nessa, I have an obligation to Empire. If I thought you couldn't be trusted any longer with your power, I'd end you myself."

"He could try," Typhon growls, shifting instantly from his fish form back to the massive dragon.

I decide not to acknowledge the threat as a question occurs to me. "How will they watch us during the Crucible? Won't we be in the wilderness?"

"There are forms of air magic. With enough power, vision can be carried long distances and bent at will. Just know there will be eyes on you, Nessa."

"Okay. So if you decide I'm a threat, you'll kill me yourself. But until then, I had better be careful so your father and his friends don't? Am I missing any important details here?" The sarcastic bite is clear in my tone.

Bastian lets out a slow breath, then rakes a hand through his blonde hair. It's a rare moment of vulnerability from a man who hardly ever shows anything but complete control. The glowing white cloud and wind markings on his left arm glow bright enough to show through his black sleeve. "I'm doing my best here, Nessa. This isn't the sort of thing I was trained for, if you can imagine that."

I give him a slight smile. "Sorry. Maybe they can add a pesky unbound awareness section for the next generation of legacies, then."

He licks his lips, glances up and down the hall, then lowers his voice more. "Look… even the Council isn't without ambition. If you survive the Crucible, you'll have a chance to make allies. Make strong allies, Nessa. It's your best chance of surviving. Help them see you can be trusted with this power, and they may start to view you as a potential weapon to wield instead of a weed to destroy."

I fold my arms. "Ever since coming here, all I ever hear about is how deadly we can become. How great a tool we can be for somebody else to wield. What if I don't want to be somebody's tool?"

His eyes darken. "Then you would be walking a very dangerous path. An unbound without loyalty is an existential threat. Not just to humanity, but to elementals. You want my advice? Learn your place. Embrace it. Because if you refuse to be wielded, they'll just break you instead."

He looks like he's about to say more, but a trio of girls approaches. "Remember," he says quietly. "There will be eyes on you during the Crucible."

And with that, Bastian disappears down the hallway.

I hug my arms to myself, suddenly cold and feeling more alone than ever.