The reckoning: Day 1, hour 0
Lothaire addressed the room, and his voice was loud and harsh. “Elite Academy is where the strongest in the universe come to build themselves into something greater.”
He spread his arms wide as he spoke.
“Everyone here has power running through their veins. This academy was created for a singular purpose—find the strongest, brightest, and most powerful in all the realms and bring them to new heights. Help them embrace their greatness. Seize their destinies.”
Lothaire paused, and his voice echoed through the rafters.
Goose bumps crawled down my spine.
“Between twenty and thirty years old, you’re all old enough to understand consequences but young enough to still learn control. Many of you understand the honor that’s been bestowed on you. The chance to better yourself and serve the High Court. The rulers of the realms.”
Bull. Shit.
It was classic political rhetoric.
He was twisting the situation to be something different from what it was. Whenever someone preached of serving something greater, they were always talking out their ass.
There was no glory in dying for a crown.
No pride in breaking for a monarch.
No honor in suffering for a realm.
Nothing to be gained but everything to be lost.
After twenty-four years of screaming on palace floors and fighting monsters in unknown wars, I refused to be someone else’s pawn.
Lothaire paused and arched his eyebrow, an expression eerily similar to the one I loved to make that drove Sadie mad.
He stared at the line of new students with murder in his singular eye.
We were the fresh meat.
Lothaire’s face scrunched as he spat, “But some of you’ve been taken against your will. Some of you are defiant. You believe you don’t belong here. That this academy is a chore you don’t wish to engage in.”
His eye lingered on me.
My fingernails pinched my palms as I clenched my fist, and my head ached from the strain of not rolling my eyes and flipping him off.
Lothaire’s features hardened, his fangs flashing as his voice dripped with malice. “But I don’t give a fuck what you think about yourself. What you believe. If you’re powerful enough to be here, you’re a liability that the High Court would sooner exterminate than deal with.”
He smirked and paused, letting it sink in.
Exterminate.
“But that’s why they send me to every corner of the realms to find you. This academy is built on three tenets.”
He paused as if he was about to impart some great wisdom, but when he spoke, his voice dripped with an edge of sarcasm. “First, we break you.
“Second, we break you.
“Third, we break you.”
Lothaire smiled, and the horrible, jagged scar pulled tight across his missing eye. This was the beast who’d smiled at Mother. Gone willingly into her bed. Watched her torture and kill without flinching once.
I shivered as he continued to speak.
“But don’t worry. Only those who’re broken can be rebuilt. Only those who’re shattered can rise to new heights. So far, you’ve lived cushy lives, more powerful than those around you. Unchecked lives where you’ve committed unimaginable atrocities because no one could stop you.” He chuckled darkly.
Silence stretched.
No one in the room fidgeted, and no one breathed.
The weird thing was that he wasn’t wrong; sure, I’d lived through horrors, but the real tragedy of my life was what I’d done.
I’d committed worse deeds than the ones done upon me. A reality I wasn’t supposed to admit to myself.
But I knew what I was.
Pipe to my lips, I discreetly inhaled the enchanted drug and held the burning smoke within my lungs.
Lothaire’s expression darkened as he spoke. “Now you’re here to learn control. But don’t worry, once I’ve decided you’ve discovered the depths of your abilities and learned how to harness them, you’re free to leave. Everything you’ve learned at this academy will guide you.”
He spread his hands wide, voice bellowing. “You will be given positions of leadership in the High Court. Given exclusive positions that only graduates of this academy are offered.”
Lothaire’s voice deepened with conviction. “You’ll remake the realms and will be on the front lines of maintaining peace. There are unimaginable threats that only the people in this hall are strong enough to face. I will ensure that you’ll be prepared not only to face them, but to conquer them.”
Lothaire raised his fist, and everyone at the tables mimicked the motion.
Clenched knuckles held high in the moon’s dim red haze.
No one spoke.
My nails dug harder into my palm at my side as warm blood trickled down my fingers and dripped onto the slate ground.
I didn’t want to break.
Didn’t want to rebuild.
Didn’t want to lead anyone.
The wound on my back itched, a constant reminder that I didn’t need anyone to break me, because I was already broken.
I’d already fallen as far as a person could fall and had fucked up my life so completely that there was no future waiting for me.
All it would take was one person recognizing me and my life would be over.
My fate was already sealed.
All this drama and pomp was just that, a facade that meant nothing in the grand scheme of things.
Lothaire lowered his fist and yelled, his voice shaking the rafters, “Academy tradition demands we start each school year with a reckoning!”
“Hurrah!” Everyone stomped their feet in synchrony.
The floor trembled beneath my bare feet.
Lothaire turned toward us with a massive smile, and it wasn’t a pleasant expression. “All of you are here because your blood is filled with power. But every few years, a student arrives with unimaginable potential in their veins.”
Opal fangs flashed.
Lothaire said reverently, “Lightning in flesh.”
He gestured toward where we stood in line.
“You’ll each be tested, and if you reveal yourself as one of these unique few, you’ll be trained by me personally. The greatest honor in the universe.”
Lothaire turned his head and pointed to the seven massive men who sat apart at the high dais. “You’ll join the recruits and train in our assassin division. You’ll suffer in the most prestigious program in all the realms.”
Cold sweat broke out across my forehead.
Back in the fae realm, Mother’s assassins were always the most depraved men. The ones with no morals who committed unthinkable evils.
I shivered, focused on cold analytics, and let the facts calm me.
Each man on that dais was impossibly large and strong compared to everyone else in the hall. They averaged about seven feet tall and had wide shoulders that took up the space of two men.
There were no women.
Beneath my enchantment, I was still a female and while decently tall at five eleven (six feet in shoes, thank you very much), my muscles were nothing compared to theirs. I was built lithe and agile, not wide and brutish.
I wouldn’t be chosen.
There was no need to worry.
“Lyla,” Lothaire said as he gestured toward a small table that I hadn’t noticed was tucked into the far corner of the room.
Suddenly, a beautiful woman in a long black dress, with lime-green hair, sauntered forward. Pentagrams and runes were tattooed in white ink across every inch of her dark skin.
Holy sun god.
Immediately, I knew what she was. If it wasn’t the darkness in her eyes, then the pure power that shimmered around her in a sparkly aura gave it away.
She glided smoothly, like gravity couldn’t touch her, and everything about her was ethereal.
The pentagram on her forehead glowed. Dark-red rays from the lunar eclipse clashed with her green hair.
When she walked up to Lothaire, he bowed deeply, and his imposing frame bent low with respect before her.
There was only one creature that an ancient vampyre would bow to. Only one race was so powerful that even a monster would respect them.
Lyla was a witch.
She said nothing, just stared at Lothaire with her stunning features completely devoid of all emotion.
After a long moment, Lothaire uncurled back to his full height and stood beside her next to the tree. He gestured toward the scorched trunk, at the small object I hadn’t noticed.
A dagger stuck out from the base of the tree.
Hilt buried in the bark.
Sharp edge pointing outward.
Lothaire smiled at us.
“You’ll each press your hand to the sacred tree. It’s been blessed by the sun god himself and can detect the most minute essence of power in your blood.”
My face remained impassive, but I knew what he was going to say.
“You’ll impale yourself on the dagger.”
The people in the line shifted and gasped with horror. Men and women recoiled, and my shoulder was jostled, the contact slamming me into the wall.
The wound on my back burned.
My monster screamed with aggression, and I fought the urge to snap at the idiot who’d bumped me. Fought the urge not to beat his face until he was a bloody mess.
Instead, I took a long drag from my pipe.
The enchanted drug calmed me.
I wished I could say I was surprised and horrified like the people around me.
But I’d come to expect blood.
Endless pain.
Existential dread did that. Or was it insanity? I’d stopped telling the difference a long time ago.
“Lyla will heal you after. Come forward,” Lothaire ordered with iron in his voice that left no room for argument.
Suddenly, I was very glad that I was at the back of the line.
The first man in line stepped forward hesitantly and walked up to stand before the tree. He was a large man covered in muscles and was probably in his midtwenties.
He bowed to Lothaire, then moved in front of the tree.
I couldn’t contain my scoff.
He hadn’t even acknowledged the witch. That was who he should have been bowing to.
Ignorant fuck.
He stared at the dagger protruding from the tree.
Time ticked by painfully.
He held his shaking palm forward, but stopped inches from the blade.
Five minutes passed.
Finally, Lothaire snarled down at him with disgust.
“This is Elite Academy. No one’s going to do it for you. That’s why it’s called a reckoning. We’ll stay here all day if we need to. This is your introduction to growing the fuck up and doing what needs to be done.”
The man grimaced, his face falling as he stared down at the dagger.
He swung his arm back and forth like he was gaining courage.
Suddenly, a loud scream shattered the silence.
Tears streamed down the man’s face as he pressed his palm against the bark of the tree. Red blood streaked down the white trunk.
Red.
Blood.
Beating heart in my mouth.
Gore gushing down my chin.
Draining across my throat.
Crusting on my skin.
I took another drag of my pipe and inhaled deeply.
Hold. Exhale. Pause. Repeat.
My vision blurred, but I focused on my breathing, barely aware of the man pulling his hand off the dagger with a sickening squelch. Of his turning to the witch with frantic eyes and shoving his bloody hand toward her.
She turned her nose up at him and looked away, refusing to heal him.
He whimpered like a dog.
Lothaire rolled his eyes. “You disrespected her by not bowing. A witch must always be shown reverence, especially if you want something from her. This is your second lesson at the academy. Respect those more powerful than yourself or suffer the consequences.”
Tears streaked down his face as he clutched his bleeding hand to his chest.
If the blood weren’t dragging me back into my memories and threatening to drown me, I might have chuckled at how pathetic he looked.
What had he thought would happen? He’d turned his back to a witch. They were more gods than women.
They were called the eyes of the universe for a reason.
“What’s your name?” Lothaire demanded coolly as he looked down at the sniveling man with disgust.
“Uclydes Aerogopolys.”
“And what is your station?”
Uclydes scrunched his eyebrows with confusion as he stared up at Lothaire. “I’m a water siren from the Olympus realm. My family are traders.”
Lothaire rolled his eyes with a sass that reminded me of Jinx, the twelve-year-old who lived to torment my best friend, Sadie.
My gut told me she would get along with Lothaire.
They had the same energy: death, doom, and gloom. I could practically hear them gossiping over how inept people were.
Lothaire asked impatiently, “Commoner or royalty? The academy is divided based on your station, and your curriculum is tailored based on what skills you need to learn.”
“Commoner,” Uclydes said on a watery choke as he clutched his hand tighter and sobbed.
Lothaire pointed to the green table, and Uclydes hurried over.
I analyzed the two tables with renewed curiosity.
So that was the distinction I’d sensed. The purple table was royalty, and the green was commoners.
Instantly, my curiosity turned to nails in my stomach.
Lothaire knew I was a cousin of the monarchy. Did that mean he’d put me with the royals? I didn’t want to be stuck with a bunch of self-righteous brats who thought they were better than everybody.
The red air in the hall shimmered with malice and otherworldly things I couldn’t identify.
Panicking, I barely heard the screams of pain as people impaled themselves on the tree.
The tree never changed.
Slowly but surely, everyone was sorted between the commoner and royalty tables.
During the ordeal, the seven men on the dais scoffed and chuckled as people screamed. Each time someone cried in pain, their shoulders shook with laughter.
Like it was funny.
But no one was dumb enough not to bow to the witch first, and Lyla grabbed their hands, chanting under her breath until the wounds healed.
Before I knew it, Lothaire gestured at me to step forward.
We’d made it to the last in line.
It was my turn.
The heavy weight of everyone’s eyes burned against me, and my skin crawled at the attention.
Too many threats.
Steel bars rattled as my monster begged to be released, to show itself to the other predators. It wanted to assert that it was bigger and scarier than them.
A red haze filled the edges of my vision as my monster battled for control.
Sweat streaked across my temples.
I bowed deeply to the witch, averting my eyes as was respectful of someone of her station.
You didn’t look fate straight in the eyes, not if you wanted to live.
My monster screamed, slamming against my consciousness as it begged to be released. The rage at my helpless situation had driven it into a frenzy.
The steel bars of the cage bent, and my monster snarled louder in my head.
No. I am in control.
So I did the only thing I could do.
I slammed my palm down on the blade as hard as I could.
Cartilage snapped. Warm blood spilled.
A sound didn’t escape my lips, and my eyes were bone dry as I skewered myself on the blade.
I’d learned to suffer pain from a young age—learned how to take torture without making a sound, learned how to feel nothing—before I’d learned how to care.
Hot pain flooded my senses with adrenaline and allowed me to focus.
The haze overtaking my vision receded as I shoved my monster back into its cage.
Hand throbbing, I welcomed the distraction. Dug my nails into the cold bark and concentrated on breathing slowly.
Piece by piece, I recreated my calm facade.
Then, with one last inhale, I ripped my hand off the blade.
Scorching pain screamed across my nerves, but I didn’t make a sound.
A twisted part of me welcomed the agony. I recognized the familiar sensation and embraced it like an old friend.
It was the only constant in my life.
But I didn’t look down.
Knew the warm blood would trigger my memories and cause me to spiral and allow the darkness to rear up and take control.
I counted to ten.
Rebuilt control.
Control was such a small thing, but I’d somehow completely lost it.
Now the struggle for discipline overtook every facet of my life and strained every breath I took.
Lyla chanted softly and held my hand, her witch’s skin impossibly cold against mine. An unnatural chill rolled through my body, like a phantom’s kiss, as my skin reknitted itself.
“Aran Egan,” I announced to Lothaire before he could ask.
You are royalty. You need to learn how to lead. Just in case.
With a deep fortifying breath, I opened my mouth to seal my fate. “Roy—”
I didn’t finish.
“Assassin division!” Lothaire boomed as he stared at the tree. “Welcome, you’re now a recruit. Join the other men at the high dais. You’ll be working with me directly. You’ve been selected for the highest honor in all the realms. In the next few months, you will either seize your future or…”
He trailed off.
I forced my face into a blank mask and donned the expression of a vapid fae princess.
Eyes dead.
Cheeks relaxed.
FUCK ME! I internally screamed.
They were men, and I was a female in disguise; this wasn’t supposed to happen.
HOW THE FUCK DID THIS HAPPEN?
I wasn’t even a fae.
There was no way I could keep so many secrets, and if Lothaire discovered my deceit, he’d murder me. Violently.
I barely stopped myself from shrieking like a child because my odds of survival had just dropped from 10 percent to 1 percent.
Lothaire’s eyes raked up and down my frame, and his lips tilted downward, like he’d inspected me and found me lacking.
I was wrong; it was .005 percent.
Turning my back to my jailer, I trudged slowly to the high table.
Forced myself to stare down the cruel men in the assassin division who took in my smaller stature with expressions of humor and disbelief.
They whispered to one another, shoulders shaking with laughter.
Slumping into a golden chair, I curled my head low and counted the number of lines on the wood table. Pretended everyone wasn’t staring at me as I kept my head turned away from the tree.
Didn’t need the reminder that the barren tree had erupted into full bloom.
A flower jostled off my shoulder and drifted onto the table.
It was black.
Like my soul.
