The carriage turned, cutting their conversation short. They neared heavy bronze gates engraved with the same symbol Cassian wore, and when Cassian called out his name, knights opened the gate for him. The winding dirt path stopped at the edge of a lake, where groups of pledges crossed by rowboat. The vast majority of pledges were fit young men, tall and bulking. Regan was not only smaller than them, but she was on the younger side too. Since the age cut-off was sixteen, give or take a year, most pledges joined a couple of months shy of their eighteenth birthday, to give themselves the greatest advantage. Unbidden, her hand wandered to the tattoo hidden below the high collar of her uniform. Once, flashing that tattoo would get her just about anything she wanted. Now, it would have the opposite effect.
"And before you go, one last thing." Cassian caught Regan's shoulders, the intensity in his stare locking her in place. "If you forget everything else I tell you, remember this."
She nodded, eagerly anticipating some advice for the trials to come.
"You're flying in squad Tudor," Cassian said. "The one with the red banner. House Tudor. Tu-dor. Tudor. Which squad will you pick?"
Regan's lips thinned. "Squad Tudor?"
He clapped her on the back and bid her good luck. Regan squeezed into the last available seat on the rowboat, thigh to thigh, wedged against the back wall. The other pledges were too caught up in their own conversations to pay her any notice.
"What bids are you hoping for?" a curly-haired boy in the front row asked.
The boy next to him snorted. He was the sort she would rob blind on the street – a pearl dangling from one ear, carefree posture, shiny blond hair that had never missed a day's wash. "If I get anything but Balthasar, what's the point?"
"Windsor's not bad."
"But it's not Balthasar, is it?"
The boy flashed a shit-eating grin. "You could get Tudor."
"I would go home if I got Tudor," the blond announced. "Better yet, I'd jump off a cliff."
"Enough of that," a girl jumped in. She had a lean, muscular frame and wore her hair in a razor-sharp bob, clipped just above her jaw. She sat with perfect, pin-straight posture, carrying herself like she was running Skydescent before she had even set foot in the castle. "The way you talk, you don't deserve any bids."
The blond smirked. "Who are you? Second in Command of squad Tudor?"
"My name is Bianca," the girl said cooly.
"Second in Command of squad Tudor," the blond said. "That's like being the tallest gnome."
"Or the sexiest oaf," Curly jeered.
"Cassian is turning Tudor around," Bianca protested.
"Cassian Evans is a has-been that never was. A glass-gazing, brown-nosed bawd," the blond said. There was a second of stunned silence, and then the boat burst into uproarious laughter, shaking the walls of the boat.
"Who are you to speak like that?" Bianca cried, raising her voice to be heard over the laughter.
Sighing, Regan stared out into the lake. She hadn't set foot in Skydescent and she was already bored senseless of the petty posturing of the upperclass. At this rate, she'd welcome a brawl with the dragons.
"I'm Edmond Balthasar, darling," the blond replied as if his name alone was an accomplishment. "First heir of House Balthasar, noble marquess to the East."
Regan's head jerked back to the boat, her eyes wide.
Bianca lifted her chin. "So? Is this the part where I swoon?" It might have been impressive, had her words not been swallowed up by the other pledges shouting Edmond's name, stumbling over each other in an attempt to get closer. In seconds, Bianca was shuffled to the back of the boat, where only Regan had remained seated.
"Did you truly party in the king's private chambers?" a boy asked Edmond.
A girl shoved another pledge aside to get a better view of Edmund. "I heard the famous artist Gonolio begged to sculp you."
"Is it true that the raiders visited your manor?" another asked.
"Visit?" Edmond said, finally deining to answer someones' question. "If visit means 'looted our valuables, attacked our guards, destroyed our stables, and burnt our servant's quarters to the ground', then yes, I suppose they visited, visited in spectacular fashion."
As conspicuously as she could, Regan tugged her collar a little higher. What would they do if they recognized her? Toss her off the boat? Or perhaps Edmond didn't want the tides to kill her off; perhaps he wanted that pleasure for himself.
"Wasn't Crenshaw's Pet involved?" a boy said. "Are they the raider that got a parlay?"
"No," Edmond replied. "I was informed he was put to a death in a sufficently brutal fashion."
Regan glanced at Edmond, her brows high. He? She would have though Edmund was powerful and well resourceful enough to at least know her gender.
"If there was any justice in the world, all of them would have been hanged and quartered," Curly said.
Edmond nodded. "Well said, my friend."
"Isn't one of them a pledge now?"
"Indeed," Edmond drawled. "It seems we have a goblin wearing our jacket, the darkest shade of filth under our noses. But I don't intend to see the fine halls of Skydescent polluted with it for long. If the courts won't do their job, then I will take justice into my own hands. First the goblin, then Drax, then Samuel Cr–"
Regan snorted. He would 'take care' of Sammy? As if pearl boy could land so much as as – Suddenly, she realized the rowboat fell silent, and all eyes turned to her. Regan's face dropped. She thumped her chest, feiging a coughing fit. "I mean, what a noble quest of honor!" Regan thrust her fist in the air. "To the death of the raiders!"
"Hurrah!" the rowboat chanted with her, thrusting their fists in the air.
Soon, a castle came into view, its silver towers rising above the treetops, followed by the rest of the vast property. A hideous amount of wealth must have been poured into its construction because it looked like a painting, the symbol of power and fortune sprawled across the forest floor. The boats docked, and another knight awaited them on the shore, lit dimly by torchlight. Regan was the first one off the boat, and couldn't be happier to leave it behind.
"Sometimes I wonder if I'm surrounded by women or cows. It's such a shame what the female pledges must turn themselves into to succeed in this world."
Regan turned away from the knight, to find Edmond Balthasar's stare pinned on her. He towered over her, far bigger than he first appeared sprawled across the boat. Regan's fingers twitched for her dagger. He must have known who she was all along, must have relished in her discomfort, as if she sat there like a fool while he prattled off threats –
"It's quite refreshing, seeing you," Edmond said. "I pray you'll receive a bid for Balthasar, so I have something to enjoy looking at."
Regan stared at him as if he had spoken in a foreign language. She glanced over her shoulder, but no one stood behind her.
Edmond took a step forward, his eyes glittering in the moonlight. "What's your name?"
Regan tensed. But before she could reply, the knight spoke.
"All accounted for?" the knight shouted. "Welcome to Skydescent, pledges!"
While Edmond leered at Regan, the surrounding pledges burst into cheers.
As the pledges funneled through the castle halls, passing the freestanding armor of famous dragon riders, distant shouts bled through the stone walls, growing louder and louder. When they entered the mess hall, the shouts were deafening. Four tables pressed against the fifty-feet tall stone walls. Each was packed with roaring grads and rookies, jumping on the seats, beating their fists in the air. In the center of the chaos, two pledges were going at it, their swords clashing together in bright bursts of sparks. The rest of the pledges stood in line to select a weapon, watching the fight with tense shoulders and locked jaws. Some took off their jackets and stretched, shadowing sparring moves.
"The rules are simple!" A knight marched up and down the line, cutting their conversations short. "You get one match, best of two rounds, win by one! Based on your performance, the squads will decide whether or not to offer bids, then you decide which bid to accept!"
A sea of heads swiveled toward the four tables at the front of the mess hall, Regan following a beat late. Each table's banner pictured a different house, with their logo written beneath it: Balthasar conquer, Windsor outwit, Steward defend, and Tudor endure. Regan frowned at that. It was as if Tudor picked its slogan imagining failure as a pretestined conclusion.
"Remember, pledges, avoid the big M's! Murder and maiming are highly discouraged!"
Only discouraged? Perhaps Regan would feel at home, after all.
The knight abruptly turned on his heel, skewering them with a fierce glare. "And above all, what happens if no squad offers you a bid?"
Regan's stomach jolted. That was an option? If she picked Tudor, and they didn't pick her, would that mean she was done? Parlay revoked, just like that?
"I will go home at once, no if, ands, or buts!" The pledges chorused, hundreds of voices melding into one. In one sweeping move, the pledge knocked his opponent's weapon across the hall and bashed his sword against his head. The boy crumbled, splayed in the fetal position, and the victor thrusts his fists in the air and shouted, "No mercy!"
Only two banners raised for the victor. Squad tudor and Squad steward.
The victor made puppy eyes at the Balthasars, as if they would change their mind if he looked pathetic enough. They did not, so he slunk to the steward table. Judging by the jewelry snuck onto the grads' and rookies' uniforms – necklaces, broaches, and earrings; basically, enough sparkly crap to fund Regan's living a thousand times over – the whole mess hall was unanimously rich, but Balthasar was on another level, the giants among giants, the seat everyone wanted but few were allowed.
Someone nudged her shoulder, and Regan realized she was at the front of the weapons line. To her dismay, rows of alien equipment lay on the table. Forget naming them, she couldn't tell which part was for holding and which did the killing. She wasn't some weapons novice – she was a Raider for crying out loud – but Raiders specialized in attacking humans, not dragons.
"Any suggestions?" Regan asked the knight.
"Any suggestions?" the knight said with a snort. "Good one."
"Next pledge!" someone boomed.
Regan grabbed the simplest-looking weapon, but before she could leave, the knight stepped in front of her path. "Jacket off. No armour allowed."
"I have no weapons underneath." Regan splayed her arms out, shaking her head. "You can check me yourself."
"Doesn't matter. Jacket off or forfeit your spot."
Regan hesitated, still trying to think of an argument and running blank. It wasn't just her. Come to think of it, every pledge had removed their jacket.
"It cowshit, I know," the knight said. "How is leather going to protect anyone from a sword? But between you and me, its to ferret out that bloody raider. Make sure an innocent squad doesn't accidentally..."His voice died out as Regan shucked off her jacket, revealing her tattoo in its full glory. Then his face flushed. "You little –"
Regan didn't stick around to hear the rest. As she crossed the mess hall, murmurs swept across the table. Grads and rookies noticed her tattoo, nudging their friends. It was hard to miss, sitting right in the middle of her neck. As she waited for her opponent, Regan pretended not to notice their stares, redirecting her attention to her new weapon. She ran her hand along the hill, and two blades sprung out, nearly impaling her throat. Regan reeled back in the nick of time, but not before half the mess hall saw, and a snicker of laughter went around the room. Her opponent, on the other hand, was unamused as he entered the fighting zone, striding forward with pupose. Though he was broad-shouldered and tall, he handled his sword with lethal grace, his blade spinning between his hands in a sliver blur.
"Announce yourself for the squads," a knight said.
Her opponent's back straightened like a rod and his hand shot to his forehead in a formal military salute. "Tobias Faraway, third of my name, firstborn son and heir to Viscount Faraway of the Heredon Shores!"
All eyes turned to Regan.
"I'm Regan," she said. And then she figured, what the hell. They could see her tattoo; there was no point hiding her identity. "Regan Black."
The squads stared at her, clearly expecting more.
"And... I am grateful to be here."
More stares.
"Fight on zero, pledges!" a knight said. There was a waiver to his voice as if he was holding back a laugh. "Three!"
Regan fumbled her sword into what she assumed was the right position, repeatedly smacking the button to get the blades to retract. No luck. Now she wasn't holding a sword; she was holding a wonky starfish trident.
"Two!"
"C'mon," Regan hissed, smacking the button harder. "Retract, you foppish piece of crap."
"One–"
Tobias lunged. Regan raised her sword, fighting the confines of her jacket every inch of the way. She barely blocked Tobias's blade in time, the blow rattling her whole arm. With his second strike, he knocked the sword out of her hand. Then he hooked his foot behind hers, and her back hit the floor. Tobias raised his sword, lifting it over his head head with both hands, and swung down, aiming for her heart. An inch away, his sword froze, hitting an invisible wall.
Tobias startled, looking at Regan's face. Regan smiled back at him, black pooling into her eyes. Gritting his teeth, Tobias leaned into his sword, putting his whole body weight behind the steel. But it was like pushing a mountain, for all his sword moved. He was so focused on killing her, he did not notice Regan's Divine crawl up the length of his sword, wrapping around his hand. Then sword inched in the opposite direction, away from Regan and toward Tobias. His arm shook and the veins in his muscles buldged, but he could not reclaim control of his hand. Regan stood and Tobias was pushed to his knees. He tried to kick Regan, but Regan caught his knees with the Divine and shoved it back down. She sent one last push of Divine, forcing Tobias to hold his sword an inch from his own throat.
"Match!" the knight declared.
Across the length of the mess hall, Cassian caught her eye. Regan tensed. Had she performed well enough? Cassian didn't save her out of the kindness of his heart or any other moronic notions. He saved her to be useful, and if she wasn't useful, she was dead. Cassian broke eye contact first, nodding to the girl holding tudor's banner.
"Regan Black for squad tudor!" the girl shouted. Squad tudor echoed her shout, thrusting their banner and stomping their feet.