Page 8 of Swift Wings Shadowed Heart
The Claw leads us to a separate chamber. It’s a plain room with two long wooden benches against each wall. What look like brown pieces of fabric hang from hooks above the benches. I count nine of them—one for each of us.
“Change into the robes,” the tattooed Claw instructs. “If you are chosen, your gowns will be donated, and you will go with your Primes. If you are not, the gowns will be here waiting for you, and you will receive further instruction on your Claw training.” She stands at attention by the door and says nothing else.
We strip to our undergarments in record time. We are well trained Aerie Academy graduates. All unnecessary decorum has been bred out of us, leaving behind stark efficiency. The robes are nothing more than huge sheets with a hole for our heads and rope-like belts to tie around our waists. When we’re done dressing, we look like members of the Disciples of Heratrix order.
“You may leave your shoes and go barefoot,” the Claw says.
Phoebe, the only one who has put her shoes back on, quickly kicks them off, looking forlornly at the copper-colored slippers. They have encrusted jewels along the edge, a luxury I could never afford. She thinks she’ll never wear them again. Good for her! She also makes her own path. Maybe she can be a worthy ally.
“You may exit now,” the Claw says, remaining behind. She’s not coming with us.
I file out of the changing room, the last in line. The Commander and Primes stand at attention, facing us. The male candidates haven’t returned yet. We wait. I try not to look at High Prime Vaylen Stormsong, but I can’t seem to help myself. He offers a nice distraction from all the other things banging around in my head. He never looks my way, acting as if I don’t exist. He’s nothing but disciplined—what any who ascends to High Prime needs to be. Seducing him should be fun.
When the men return, we find they’re dressed in the same brown robes. After a quick inspection of all the candidates, the Commander comes forth.
“Follow me.” She marches toward the back of the room, the heels of her boots tapping against the cold stone.
We go after her, the Primes bringing up the rear. We follow in a single file, our steps automatically synchronized out of habit. We have marched for endless hours on the Academy’s grounds, building the stamina required in the front lines.
At the back of the room, we cross a threshold built from carved stone. At each side, a dragon rises from the floor and arches upward along the edge, meeting in the middle. Their massive wings spread upward, climbing up the wall. Necks craned, we all stare at the beautiful artwork.
My heart rate speeds up as we enter a dark tunnel, illuminated by torches. A sudden breeze blows my hair back. I take a deep breath to quiet my gift, but it stubbornly rides to the surface, causing air to whirl all around me. I frown. Is this place having an effect on me?
A few paces ahead, Phoebe’s hair also whips about. It seems she’s having the same problem as me. Yes, I think this place is exacerbating our gifts, as if tasting them.
Suddenly, an uninvited voice slips into my head.—Heratrix, I vow to find you.
My steps falter. The candidate behind me stumbles into me.
“Pardon,” I hiss, then hurry ahead, shaking my head.
Dragon’s breath! What’s happening?
It has been eighteen years since I’ve heard another person’s thoughts inside my mind. I’ve buried my second gift deep inside me, determined to never let it show. Neutro Cindergrasp was supposed tocleanseme of it,to nullify my dual powers, but he failed.
King Craven and his ancestors have ruled our realm since the beginning of time—blessed by our Goddess and guardian. But centuries ago, Skyriders with psychic and dual powers tried to overtake the monarchy and gain control of Embernia. It was due to this uprising—the Dual Blight as it is known—that duality was outlawed, and one power in particular was decreed an abomination because it made it impossible to hide one’s thoughts and truths.
From then on, psychics—known as Weavers—were persecuted and exterminated. Only those with a mild skill to look into another’s mind to detect and suppress abilities were allowed to live as long as they vowed to serve the crown as Neutros, their purpose to prevent the emergence of future threats among the young.
Except my Neutro ruined everything. He let my powers get out of control, and because of him my mother…
No! I shut the door to those terrible memories.
Another uninvited thought from one of my mates slices through my mind.
—Choose me, Goddess, and I promise you I won’t fail you.
I grit my teeth, focusing on putting a foot in front of the other, trying to ignore the panic that threatens to engulf me.
If they find out my true nature, my secret, I’ll never be chosen, never fly. Not only that, they’ll kill me, hang me from the gallows.
My chest pumps, my breaths coming out in short gasps.
Phoebe glances over her shoulder and mouths, “Are you all right?”
I nod and put on a weak smile. A frown parts her forehead. She doesn’t believe me.
Her voice, her thoughts, ring inside my head.
