Page 82 of Veiled Flames
Alexandre nods his head in acknowledgement of the praise.
“It is reported,” Saxon continues, “that your sword slayed no less than seventy invading demons.”
Shock washes through the crowd.
“Your bravery allowed your fellow riders, Stran and Jakeon to repair one of the largest veil ruptures yet. For this act of bravery and skill you have been awarded a silver star.”
The room breaks into applause, as Saxon pins something onto Alexandre’s jacket. Then both Treacher and Roche step up to shake Alexandre’s hand too.
As Alexandre strides off the stage, four other riders rush up. They lift him off the edge of the stage and onto their shoulders. The room cheers as the men carry Alexandre around. They toss him through the air to another group of men, and then back again. My heart fills with excitement.
Such scrutiny and close contact would be far too dangerous for me, yet my mind flashes to the future, to a night when I might be bestowed with such honors. One day, that will be me. I’ve never felt so determined or hopeful.
“Attention!” Treacher shouts.
The men set Alexandre onto his feet, and the crowd silences, coming to attention in front of the dragon masters on the stage.
Treacher steps forward. “Earlier today, the new recruits ran the gauntlet.”
A few people hoot and shout in tribute to what we accomplished.
Treacher raises his hands to silence the crowd. “Some claimed it was too early to run such a dangerous trial—” his eyes flick toward Saxon “—but our new recruits showed more promise than any expected.” He pauses, and the entire room becomes silent.
“Three and ten were lost,” Treacher continues. “A low number, given the group’s inexperience.” He widens his stance. “Well done to all who remain.”
My chest swells with pride as cheers rise, and some of my fellow recruits slap each other over their leather clad backs.
“And—” Treacher raises his hands to silence the crowd. “A new course record was set today.”
The room breaks out in cheers, and my gaze drifts toward Tynan. Surely it was set by him.
Tynan seems to assume this too, and scrambles to fix his uniform.
“The previous record, held by Candidate Tynan, was bettered by not one, not two, but four points!” Treacher says.
The crowd cheers, many looking at each other in dismay, and Tynan’s friends clap him on the back on learning how well he beat his previous record. But he seems to have frozen, his fingers stalling, while fastening the top clasp of his jacket.
“Rider candidate Rosshall, please join us on stage.”
I list to the side, nearly falling off the chair. Did Treacher say my name, or am I still daydreaming of future glories?
“There he is,” someone shouts, and many faces turn toward me.
“Candidate Rosshall,” Treacher calls out. “Join us, now.”
His voice is harsh, and if I hadn’t heard the announcement I’d believe I was being called up for punishment. I jump off the chair, wincing as my muscles object to the landing, but then stride as confidently as I can toward the stage. The crowd parts for me, and I receive multiple hard smacks on my back. One slapalmost throws me forward onto my knees. How do men put up with being struck so often?
I climb up the two steps to the stage and stand in front of the three dragon masters. Saxon stares ahead, refusing to meet my gaze, but Roche and Treacher stare directly at my face, as if looking to discover something there.
“Candidate Rosshall of Achotia,” Treacher says. “You surprised not only me, but every soul at camp today.”
Pride swells inside me, but I fight to keep it off my face. A true smile might expose my sex.
“I expect no candidate was more surprised than our previous record holder.” Treacher’s gaze shifts to the crowd.
I follow it, and my eyes land on Tynan.
His scowl quickly shifts to a grin. “I’ll win it back next time!” he calls out. The men around him nod and clap him on the back.
