I turn my neck slowly, feeling each vertebrae crack as I do. Jurso struggles beside me, wincing in horror, outlined in golden bliss that he shares amongst my marked. We’re two hundred feet in the air. Our legs dangle, slimy water dripping from the massive tentacles latched around our bodies.

  With the snap of my fingers, I can break out of this mess.

  Summon my roost and lay waste to this chaotic war-scout hazing us for a show.

  “Behold, Tact-team Seven. Your reward for an ascendance well done.” War-scout Sorenhold stands on his balcony opposite us, speaking to his cadets, the black marble citadel looming nefariously at his back. “Enemy cadets from Taldun Sanctum, bargained for precious wares, just so you can feel the might of your new rank.”

  I notice the tendril crushing Jurso harder than the others.

  “Stop,” I speak only to him. “It’ll just make it worse.”

  Thanks to my iron rank ascendance, I can sense Sorenhold’s magi. Not as powerful as Scorius or Foren, and not odd like Casterban. Lower rank. Sapphire—one below diamond—if I had to guess. What’s worse, he has absorption warring dark, like I do.

  “Ren, stay still. Same for you, Nalthir,” I coach, doing my best to think through this while being squeezed half to death.

  My understanding is that Lacor’s sanctum semesters do not run parallel to Miria’s. They’re in the middle of one now, and hosted an ascendance? Does that mean there’s greater opportunity for advancement here?

  “You’ve gained your riches and your rank. The donors have fled to their spires.” Sorenhold cackles. “They wouldn’t want to see this.” He beckons a team of decorated cadets, much lower than the war-scout, maybe even on par with us. Yeah. I’d guess iron rank.

  “Hale.” Jurso squeezes his eyes tightly shut.

  “Do it,” I tell him.

  Jurso ceases his bliss healing, which automatically loosens the tendril’s pressure around him, causing him to gasp audibly and open his eyes. The rest of us, however, groan from the lack of healing magi.

  “They say after the mind purge, cadets are tethered to the magi of their mages. Whatever pain you inflict on them the day that follows, will harm the mages too,” Sorenhold eggs the team on. “I ordered this prize on purpose. You, ascended, get to punish our Taldun enemies when they would least expect it.”

  A stoic man who can’t be a year or two older than us steps forward onto the balcony, letting the cloudy light wash over his wavy brown hair. His face shines pale like Nalthir’s, cheeks high yet sunken. “A charade like this will only encourage a counterattack and interfere with our advanced progress.” He places his hands behind his back, armor glimmering.

  He speaks barely loud enough for me to hear, but I think I caught the gist of it—he doesn’t approve of this mad war-scout’s plan.

  “Oh, Shase, don’t be so ungrateful.” A one-eyed short man with shaved sides lifts his bow imbued with emerald Kyard. Poison.

  “That’s the spirit, Hisen’roe. Let ’er fly.” Sorenhold clenches his fist, tightening the tentacles to hold us in place.

  My skin feels stretched, blood squeezed to my head, temples pulsing.

  “What, are we supposed to just sit here and take it?” Layla calls to me.

  I look to Nalthir, who gazes sheepishly at me. He nods against all of his arrogant thoughts.

  “Yes,” I say. “We take the hits. If one of the shots are mortal, Jurso will heal it.”

  Hisen’roe nocks an arrow and pulls back the string, dousing the arrow in dripping warring dark.

  “Lay, it’s poison, like Broggen’s. Can you counteract it without a stance?” I call to her.

  She shakes her head.

  “Alright. I’ll do my best to absorb it through my dark, then.” I allow a pulse of magi to flow through my arms. The tendril senses the increase in magi, so I keep it at bay.

  “What do you wait for? It can’t be the range. I watched you paralyze a growler from twice the distance not a night ago.”

  “It’s the wind,” another cadet says.

  “Nah, he won’t let it loose without Shase’s approval. He’s a good little doggy,” a woman with a crooked smile teases the archer.

  Hisen’roe grins. “She’s right. What say you, fearless leader? My fingers are growing more calluses here.”

  Shase purses his white lips. “I’m outnumbered, clearly.” He looks upward, toward us. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, War-scout.”

  Sorenhold holds a glint in his eye. “I welcome it.”

  I tense as the arrow points my way. Having Misty’s wind magic at a time like this would be perfect. But the cards are not in our favor today.

  The arrow turns away from me, to Jurso. No… I’ve caused him enough pain through my actions.

  “Bring it here!” I shout.

  Nalthir’s eyes widen as his head jerks my way. In fact, everyone is in shock. I ignore the protests and stare directly down to the archer.

  “We have a spiced-out growler.” The woman snickers. “Give ’em a taste, Hisen.”

  “With pleasure.” Hisen’roe aims carefully.

  Shase narrows his eyes, and I brace.

  Fsheww!

  The arrow flies right for me, perfect curvature. It takes all of my willpower not to let the riled dragons out. They want to declare war and flame down this citadel… but against every instinct, I hold.

  Tsst!

  The arrow pierces my shoulder, tearing muscle and tendon and sending webs of blinding pain crawling up my neck. What’s worse, the poison seeps down my arm. It’s more potent than Broggen’s glass rank poison. Because, of course. The burning spreads so fast I barely have time to track it. At least it’s not the more potent poison type of warring dark laced with bliss. Overall, this is lesser poison by definition. I can beat it.

  “Not so talkative now, is he?” the woman says.

  “Quiet, Delaya.” Shase watches me.

  “Good shot, Hisen’roe. I’m sure it echoed all the way to Tuldan.” Sorenhold laughs. “And look at the beautiful poison spread. Look—”

  I stare down at them as I focus my warring dark to overwhelm Hisen’roe’s. Carefully, I counteract the poison. It’s only one rank difference, so I shouldn’t be raising eyebrows too high.

  Damn, this stings.

  “The hell?” Delaya pushes past the silent growler and steps next to Sorenhold. “Your dark stopped spreading.”

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “He read your enchantment,” Shase surmises. “And was careful enough not to rile your tentacle, War-scout.”

  “Give me a shot at him,” Delaya begs.

  “No. Hit another. Let’s see if this entire group is so precise,” Shase orders.

  “More!” I call.

  “Hale. Stop,” Lay shouts at me.

  “Let me take one,” Rogo growls.

  Nalthir is stone silent, as is Ren.

  “Our prisoner is zealous.” Sorenhold clenches his fist, constricting my blood flow even further. “Give him another.”

  Shase shakes his head and leisurely waves his hand in agreement. “You all let your fetishes control you.”

  “Thank you, pack leader.” Delaya bows her head with a smile, then gets into stance, aiming her gloved hands my way. “Let’s see you swallow this.”

  As soon as a conjured flame circles her arms, I tense. Her open mouth grows molten hot from the throat, like a sun is rising through her esophagus. Eyes aglow, she fires a flaming spear from her mouth, the rest of her magic rushes to the tail of the flame.

  I know what this is—twin flames—spoken in mythos as multiple rings of fire. One is a temperature burst, the other is long-lasting. Recalling Izfael’s suffocating flames gives me horrible flashbacks. Burning is suffering.

  Ffff!

  The flame spear hits me square in the forehead. Like a shower from hell, the fire engulfs me. Hot white and deep yellow swirls down my face and neck. As much as I want to stay quiet, I’m forced to grunt as a distraction.

  Why did I agree to this mission?

  I should’ve gone back to Elshard and tried my luck there. I should’ve stayed true to myself, to Jurso.

  Fuck!

  The flame bolsters, sizzling the tentacle and testing the war-scout’s beast. Hoping to wait him out is a fool’s errand. He’s four ranks higher, and probably feels this like a tickle.

  My throat burns as the flame rushes through my insides.

  “Rrraah!” I yell, staring at the sky.

  The voices of my marked barely reach my ears. They tell me to hold on, to not let Lacor win. I even hear Nalthir encouraging me to hold.

  Laughter rings from the balcony across the way, as the scorching fires blow in my ears. I hate high magic.

  Jurso can’t take it anymore and throws blissful light my way, but it’s blocked by the ring of flame one rank higher.

  “The dark user eats his words,” Hisen’roe calls haughtily from the balcony.

  “The mages will surely feel this one,” Sorenhold commends Delaya.

  I scream again as my skin melts.

  “Let us out,” Boe growls. “You’ve proven your point, mortal. You are no coward.”

  “I can heal you,” Sefene begs.

  “And I can harbor your revenge,” Dovesier cackles.

  “Let me lay waste to this castle,” Kelfore huffs.

  I stuff the dragons back down, but as I do, my body convulses. The torture is immense… out of my control…

  Fssssh!

  A blast of ice starts at the core of my heart and explodes outward, using Risorgus’ cooling essence to snuff out the flame. A blanket of Sefene’s bliss follows. I don’t remember giving the order… or pulling the magi for myself, but I know something within me commanded it, even if not conscious.

  My vision is black.

  Did my eyes burn out? Even bliss wouldn’t be able to heal that…

  Fssssh!

  A blanket of warring dark pulls away and slithers into the tendril’s shadow that it was borrowed from. As the cooling ice still hisses into the air, I realize what Renesta has done. A split-second reaction…

  She felt the dragons rearing, so she blocked my awakened with her own magic.

  The bleeding blisters and scars melt away before my eyes.

  “A stone-waller?” Hisen’roe asks.

  “No, the flame caught.” Delaya narrows her eyes my way.

  “One of the others is more powerful than they lead on,” Shase says. “They suffocated your flames using warring dark strong enough to withstand a rank higher magi.”

  Wrong, but a good guess. I work to catch my breath. House Kavoh did well to torture me growing up, but I’m still angry at myself. I could’ve blown cover if Ren hadn’t acted.

  “You alright?” Jurso whispers next to me.

  “Think so.” I make sure my dragons are buried deep.

  “Alright, Tact-team. Who’s next to be tortured?” Sorenhold’s teeth ride all the way up his jaw.

  “That’s enough.” Shase holds up his fist.

  Using Dovesier’s sharp sight, I can tell all of them are let down at the order, most of all, the war-scout.

  “These are valuable assets to the sanctum, War-scout. I’d be remised if I played this game any longer.”

  “It’s proper hazing, squad leader,” Sorenhold speaks to the back of their heads as they about face back into the suite. “Where’s your Lacor spirit?”

  He grunts and turns back to us, a devious look in his eye.

  My stomach lurches when he commands all five of his tentacles to dive. The citadel becomes a blur of black as my hair whooshes behind me.

  I tense every muscle in my body, bracing.

  Fssh!

  We’re dunked hard into the lake. My nose presses flat and skin tingles from the sudden submergence.

  Damn! I try to open my eyes to a blurry mess of stars.

  Could be worse. Had Renesta not used her shadows to break the water plane first, it would’ve felt like crashing against stone.

  I hold my breath and blink several times to reorient underwater.

  The war-scout is punishing. And it continues, apparently. I’m still wrapped in the slimy tendril. Actually, it’s even more aggressive now.

  Shrugging my way out of the beastborn’s grip is no use. I panic.

  Would he really drown us all?

  No. That’d be a waste of resources.

  Then again, so far, Lacor seems completely unhinged.

  My dragons rile to come out. Being humiliated like this angers them. Before it gets to that point, the tendrils suddenly dissolve into warring dark underwater, leaving me free to clamber to the surface.

  “Huu!”

  My head breaks into fresh air. A few other gasps resound as they break the plane too. The others are okay, treading water close to my side.

  Lay swims over to make sure I’m alright.

  I wave her away. “Fine. I’m fine, Lay.”

  “That burning was awful to watch.”

  “It was worse to experience, I think.”

  She cackles. “Okay, you’re not traumatized. That’s good.”

  “C’mon.” I spit up some water. “House Mother built us tougher than that.”

  “Some welcome, huh?” Jurso pushes his mop of blond hair out of his face.

  Nalthir swims up beside us, holding his heavy wet robes in one hand. “Hale…”

  Ren and Rogo come treading toward us, looking up.

  The war-scout bores down on us with a hint of displeasure. It’s hard to tell if he’s smiling with that patch of skin missing always showing his teeth.

  “You got off easy, cadets. Welcome to Barrius. Dry off and meet in the main hall. Post-haste.” Sorenhold turns away, leaving us to glance at one another.

  We all swim to the stone steps beneath the citadel about twenty feet away. Once we all roll onto the wet stone, we groan at the fresh bruises that Jurso rushes to heal now that he’s free to.

  “Keep flaunting that bliss and you’ll be stripped from us by nightfall,” Nalthir breaks his silence. “Healers are in high demand.”

  “Well, of course. If everyone is abused like this.” Renesta sits with her back against the wall.

  “Look, if Hale can get away with pulling a dragon’s ice, I’ll take my chances.” Jurso presses a hand flat on Layla’s back. “Broken rib. You’re going to need an aura, just like me.”

  “Why did the tentacle squeeze you so hard?” Renesta narrows her eyes at Lay.

  “None of your business, bitch.” Lay winces.

  “You tried to resist without a stance, didn’t you?” Ren twists the cloth part of her armor free of water.

  “Prominent told us it would be the next step. She told us how, but never showed—”

  “Hm.” Ren turns away.

  “That was an impressive display, Renesta,” Nalthir says. “You completely blocked Hale’s magic from outside your barrier. Your shadow grows strong.”

  “It’s always been strong,” Jurso scoffs. “Don’t let her silky voice fool you.”

  Even though there’s banter among us, we’re still fractured. I can feel the animosity in the air, just as I feared. It’s because of the loss of Misty, and Renesta’s new claim to power in the Ire. Hell, even I’m annoyed that Lay took another friend in this asshole of a guide.

  “Hale. You shouldn’t have done that.” Layla stares me dead in the eyes, holding her rib.

  “I’ll do whatever it takes,” I say. “If Jurso took the arrow, his Arkitus could’ve acted up. I have a worst-case backup plan.” I flash’s Boe’s ethereal shadow. “No one else has that luxury.”

  She shakes her head. “I never want to see you suffer like that again.”

  The others grow silent, making me think that Lay’s words echo their sentiment.

  Even though Sefene healed my body, I’m exhausted mentally. Nothing is going to make that sudden shock go away. Reliving the burning is the same as the hell Izfael put me through in his chambers back in Elshard. And even though I regret it, we know how he ended up.

  The splinter in my mind tells me to retaliate against ‘Tact-team Seven.’

  Tnk! Tnk!

  The bottom of a spear taps against the top of the stone steps, revealing a guard with an intricate gold-winged helmet and a deep-purple breastplate staring down at us. “War-scout Sorenhold awaits.”

  “Post-haste, sir.” Nalthir presses two fingers to his neck, my guess as a sign of respect.

  The guard grunts and stomps away.

  “Hale. It’d be best if I led the formalities, as was my original duty when assigned to this mission.” He flips his hair with a clenched jaw. “Permission to do so?”

  “Granted.” I get to my feet, locking eyes with the smug Lacor alt-mage. He appears humbled. Still, I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him.

  We all ascend the stone steps, with my marked protecting me like in battle-ranks class. I’m at the center, and I’m missing one noisy wind assassin on my right flank.

  Misty…

  The thought of her inevitably leads to my brother. He suffers with that wretched ghoul inside him. A weapon of war…

  The streets are more pleasant than I would’ve imagined. Thin stone candelabras line the pathway, each etched with intricate mural-like designs of sculpted warriors. Wyverns must be the sanctum’s beast of choice, because there are three of them watching over from spire tips. I don’t see any houses leading to the sanctum, so I wonder if everything is kept in one building.

  Different culture indeed.

  Nalthir leads us to a side door where the guard awaits. He presses two fingers once more on his neck, prompting us to do the same.

  The guard nods curtly, letting us pass.

  “It’s a sign to show we meant no disrespect. We don’t deserve a cut throat because our tardiness was unintentional,” Nalthir tells Layla.

  “What a noble land we’ve crossed into.” Layla frowns.

  Once we step foot onto a purple-carpeted room of vast expanse, Sorenhold awaits us with his tact-team at his heel. War-tutors and curious cadets are lined one level up, which makes me nervous, considering we’re gods-damn spies. More eyes, more problems.

  “Welcome, cadets…” Sorenhold flashes a sinister smirk. “To hell.”