Page 143 of Storm of Shadows
“Fair,” I snort, “nothing about this is fair.”
Clare shushes me and even Fly looks a little uncomfortable with that remark, especially when the Empress herself appears in a swirl of mist in the next moment, accompanied by her troop of guards and a flurry of trumpets. Madame Bardin hurries off tomeet her and I peer up at the clock tower. Fifteen minutes until this ordeal begins.
More and more of the students trickle in from the campus but it’s not until the Empress and Madame Bardin are standing waiting on a stage that’s been erected right in front of the giant fence, and the large clock is about to strike ten, that the shadow weaver students come strolling out onto the field. They aren’t wearing their black tracksuits and I realize no one actually instructed us to wear our uniforms today. Instead, they’re dressed in the clothes many were wearing the day we arrived: bright colorful outfits that make them look more like gods than young adults who have only just passed through puberty.
Instinctively, I search for Beaufort, Dray and Thorne among the group, finding them leading the pack. Beaufort has purpose engrained across his brow, his gaze focused right ahead. Dray bounces along on his toes, lazy grin on his face as he chews his gum, gaze flicking everywhere. And Thorne has the usual blank expression he always wears as if this day is like any other.
Dray’s eyes find me among the crowd but today I’m not rewarded with my usual wink or the usual smile that makes me think he’d like to devour me for dinner. No, his gaze doesn’t linger on me at all, simply passes over me as if I’m of no interest at all. I should be pleased with that. It suggests that perhaps those three men have finally gotten the message. But to my surprise, disappointment sparks in my belly instead. Really? Do I actually care?
I don’t have time to analyze this strange response, though, because Madame is clapping her hands, the sound magically amplified, and drawing everyone’s attention away from the shadow weavers and to the stage.
“Welcome, Empress.” The Empress inclines her head ever so slightly. She’s dressed in another beautiful gown – this one the color of the sky on a cloudless day, the crown once again woveninto her hair and decorated with small blue flowers. “Welcome distinguished guests from across the realm.” She points out towards the people who have now taken their seats in the stands. “And welcome students to the first real Firestone Academy trial of the year. Before we begin, I will remind you of the rules.”
“Where’s the Head teacher?” I whisper to Fly and Clare. “You’d think he’d at least show up for this.”
Fly shrugs and Clare places her finger to her lips.
“Students will complete the trial set for them alone and without assistance. You may not collaborate or help other students. Doing so will see you severely punished.
“You will enter the trial site one at a time and you will have sixty minutes to complete the trial. You may take no objects or devices into the trial site. The judges,” she points out to the observers sitting in the front row of the stands – two spaces remaining – one I assume for the Empress and one for Madame, “will award points for your performance under the categories of magic, physical abilities, and mental aptitude. At the end of your time at the academy, when all the trials have been completed, your points will be totaled and will determine to which Quarter of the realm you will be sent.”
There’s some murmuring among the students. This isn’t new news – we all know that is how things supposedly work – and yet to hear it spoken by Madame Bardin right before this trial makes it all real. The first night had been something minor – the points up for grabs minimal. This is it. The real deal. Our destinies start here.
“The order by which students will enter the trial site has been set.” She waves her hand and a large list of names appears pinned to the fence in front of us. At the very top: Thorne Cadieux.
“I think you’re right at the bottom,” Fly whispers to me, squinting towards the list.
“Figures,” I say, “of course, they’d have us Slate kids going out last.”
“No, I mean right at the bottom. I think you’re last.”
“Seriously?” I say. “Do they think I am that awful?”
“The order might not have anything to do with ability. It may be determined by some other factor,” Clare says.
I look at her cynically. “Then why are the Princes top of the list?”
I peer through the crowd towards them, trying to determine if the order has rattled them. It seems strange to me that Beaufort isn’t going first. Then again, maybe I understand less about the three shadow weavers than I thought.
“When your name is called, you will step forward. I wish every student the best of luck.Through trials to truth.” She smiles that strange smile. “And now, Her Majesty the Empress will address you.”
There is loud applause from the crowd in the stands.
The Empress takes Madame Bardin’s place. Her eyes scan over us students just like they did the day we arrived at the academy.
“Young and loyal subjects of the realm. We come here today to observe your talents and your skills. This is your opportunity to show the realm the very best of yourself. Go forth and do me proud.By trial and truth, your Quarter calls!”
More loud applause erupts once she finishes speaking and for a second time her gaze sweeps across the students. This time her gaze lingers for just a fraction of time on the Princes and then, to my utter astonishment, me. Her eyes are a dark gray, like stormy skies, and I swear, even from this distance, I feel her magic tingle against my skin. I don’t break the eye contact, but soon her penetrating gaze is moving on, across the students, leaving me just as bewildered as I did that day out there on the platform when Beaufort captivated me with a similar stare.
Fly knocks me out of it, though, nudging me hard in the ribs.
“Come on,” he says, “we have to wait over there.”
I follow him over to a roped-off section of grass where we’ve been told we must wait. There are separate areas for the kids from Iron, Granite and Slate. I hug both Fly and Clare goodbye and go stand with the kids from my own Quarter.
It isn’t exactly comfortable – forty of us crammed onto a tiny section of grass. There’s not enough space to sit and even if there were, the ground is too hard and too cold. Which makes it even more infuriating that the shadow weavers have been given a large section with comfortable-looking chairs. Not that many of them are choosing to use them. They’re all pacing, or jumping up and down on the spot, some stretching out. It’s a sharp contrast to our group where most people are either praying to the stars or rocking backward and forward in semi-comatose states.
“Thorne Cadieux,” a loud voice booms across the grounds.
