Page 1 of Daughter of the Ninth Line: Part One

One

Avalon

Conscription Day - The First Day of Spring

There was blood pooling on the cobblestone entrance of the Boellium War College. I shouldn’t be surprised, given the baying of the crowd jammed into the front courtyard, and the man suspended in the air, bleeding steadily from his nose. The ruby liquid fell in huge drops, splashing on the ground beneath him with a gruesome dripping sound. Once the puddle of blood became too much, someone with water abilities seemed to wash it away.

That would definitely explain the pink stones.

The guy in the air, bound with invisible ropes, looked at me imploringly. “Help me,” he gasped weakly.

I met his eyes, keeping my face shuttered and neutral, then timed my steps to walk under his blood droplets so they didn’t splatter on me.

Someone huffed a laugh, and someone else muttered, “That’s cold,” but I ignored them all. I wasn’t here to be someone’s savior. I wasn’t here to change the status quo.

I was here because I wasthe useless daughter.

Every one of the Twelve Lines had to enrol a child into the Boellium War College every year, and once a decade, it had to send a young person from the leading family of that Line. If I had to guess at their reasoning, I’d say it was so they didn’t all send simple farmers’ sons and create an army of uneducated cannon fodder.

Some Lines sent their most gifted children, either physically or mentally, in the hopes they could make advantageous connections or better still, marriages.

But that was for the Upper Six Lines. I was the youngest daughter of the current Baron of the Ninth Line. I was barely better than pond scum to these people. The only thing worse would be if I was from the Twelfth.

So I didn’t care who was hanging up there, dripping blood for the cause; I couldn’t help them. I didn’t want to help them. I wanted to learn to fight, then go home to where there were fewer people and smaller egos.

I’d spent hours reading journal accounts of prestigious Ninth Line warriors, who talked about coming to Boellium War College like it was the best and worst time of their life, so I knew what to expect. I knew this was part of the hazing, helping to sift the weak of stomach and will from the strong contenders.

I knew that a little blood was going to become an everyday occurrence for me. That was why I kept walking. It’s why I avoided the eyes of the milling crowd, and closed my ears to their muttered commentary.

I wasn’t cold. I wasrealistic.A tender heart in Boellium would soon bleed out, and then it would be their blood painting the courtyard’s cobblestones red. That wouldn’t be me.

I hefted my pack further onto my back and pushed through the heavy front doors. Again, I wasn’t surprised that there was more carnage to walk through. There was a delicate balancein the power structure of this institution, and in the Lines themselves.

I didn’t see him in the crowd in the courtyard, but the second son of the First Line would be out there, traumatizing the new recruits like it was his right, and I guess it was. The ruling family of the First Line, the Vylan family, ruled Ebrus with unwavering ruthlessness, maintaining their position of power through any means necessary, including their elemental abilities.

Means like suspending a man in the air and slowly allowing him to exsanguinate.

However, the second show of power would come from the next most politically powerful family. The Third Line. The Second Line had been assassinated by the First Line centuries ago, thus securing their power as the ruling body forever. None of us could stand against their rule, and really, none of us tried.

That made them sound like dictators, but they weren’t so bad. They were ambivalent to the country outside of the Upper Six Lines, and their own lifestyles. They left the rest of us alone, except for taxes and the conscription of one person per year per Line to Boellium.

A deep growl let me know that my mind had wandered, which was dangerous in this institution. In front of me were two large hounds, easily coming up to my shoulders. Their fangs were bared, their ears pinned back. My limbs locked, but my face didn’t so much as flinch, a skill I’d been working on for as long as I could remember.

I didn’t think the college administration would let them tear me apart, but how could I really know? Still, I stood my ground, staring down those hounds, until a whistle pierced the air and they turned, moving with purpose toward their master.

I’d passed whatever test that was; it equally could have been an assessment of my courage or a measurement of my bladder control.

The Taeme family of the Third Line were the Lords of the Beasts, and rumor had it, they were little more than animals themselves. If the Vylans were cold as an ice wind, then the Taemes were their polar opposite. Hot-blooded and uncontrollable.

I was going to stay out of the way of all the Upper Six Lines. I meant less than nothing to them, and I intended to do my two years here at the war college and return home, not even a blip on their radar.

Forgettable. That’s what I was aiming for.

As I walked through the large atrium toward the administration offices, the hollering in the room echoed like a madhouse. Screams and cries, fighting animals and chilling sounds of pain. It grated along my already tightly strung muscles, but I kept my face impassive. This was nothing. The first few steps in going back to my life.

Show no weakness.I’d repeat it like a mantra until I believed it.

That was going great, until just outside the door I needed to pass through was a large war cat of some kind, cornering what looked like a stolt, a weird little hybrid between a tiny ferret and a rat, but a unique purple color.

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