Constantine (Daughter of War #1)

Chapter 9: A Formulating Theory

My eyes flutter open; I gasp for air. I notice that the branding iron has been removed from my skin.

My Mark is hissing with pain, but it's not as excruciating as I'd thought it would be. Rather, it's the visions I experienced that makes me feel naked and exposed. As if I am in immediate danger.

My eyes scan the area—the blacksmith is already wrapping a thick piece of cloth around the iron; my family stands rigidly, a little distance away from me; Gilbert raises a curious brow at me; the bishop is giving me a meaningful, slightly panicked stare.

I nearly slap my palm to my forehead—I'm supposed to burst into a praising hymn to the Pietists as soon as the branding is finished. The song abruptly explodes from my throat, fractured with pain, a dying soldier singing away his last breath.

The hymn ends. Everyone looks relieved that my poor attempt at singing is over. Father Alistaire hurriedly launches into a prayer about how the Pietists will bless Perinus henceforth, and how I will bring my country glory.

Oh, if only they knew the truth.

******

A dissonance drills into my ear, making me jump in my seat. My eyes hastily sweep over the music score set before me, identifying the note that I misplayed. I start to play that particular bar over again, only to have Sir Isaac's shrieking stop me.

"Are you trying to murder your lute?" he growls. "Even a screeching pig sounds far more pleasing to the ears!"

Music lessons with Sir Isaac has always been a painstakingly long lesson, due to the abusive remarks and relentless grilling by my appointed knight. The practicing room we currently occupy is empty, except for a few roaches skirting the corners. Across me, Sir Isaac cradles his instrument carefully, shooting me an intense glare. I apologise courteously.

He grunts in response. "And you expect to face the first assessment next week?"

After the Marking, I feel like a ghost haunted by past demons. My body is a mere shell—physically true, yet empty and soulless. A glassy look in the eyes would confirm that. All day, I can't stop thinking about my visions—were they real, or just makings of my own imagination? As a result, I had tuned out the hectic world revolving around me.

Until now, that is.

"What assessment?" I ask cautiously.

Sir Isaac gives me an irritated look. "The apprentices' assessment. Surely you've heard of it by now?"

"Wha – what apprentices' assessment?" I ask, bewildered.

"The as-sess-ment." The knight places spaces between the syllables, as though he's talking to a slow and stupid child. He rolls his eyes when I give him a blank look. "The big scale assessment at the end of the month, organised by the Knights of Elder to track the progress of all the potential apprentices to the Bane."

"But I thought that there was only supposed to be one assessment—the one that Sir Kendrick will be attending," I say weakly.

Naturally, he rolls his eyes at me once more. "Yes, yes. I know that—Pst. Amiticus give me patience—all of your bird-brained comrades gave quite a squawk when they found out that a collective assessment would be held at the end of every month. We decided that the assessments would give the knights a better chance to evaluate each and every candidate." He scowls a little at this, presumably because he couldn't sing my undeniable faults to Sir Kendrick on his own account.

"And...When exactly is the assessment?"

"Amcreday," he replies readily.

Amcreday. That leaves four days for me to prepare for an assessment that I never knew would be held until three minutes ago. And from the way Sir Isaac's eyes glinted, I'm guessing that the trials set by the wizened knights would pose as a more-than-formidable challenge for me.