Total pages in book: 214
Estimated words: 195876 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 979(@200wpm)___ 784(@250wpm)___ 653(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 195876 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 979(@200wpm)___ 784(@250wpm)___ 653(@300wpm)
I stare up at him, uncomfortably aware of how easily he could break me. With those huge arms and hands, I imagine he could snap my bones like kindling without breaking a sweat. Even the pretty girl could probably kill me without much effort. And I'm the short-tempered idiot who pissed them off.
But what choice do I have? Flash my silver mark and ask them to promise not to tell anyone? That feels even more suicidal than continuing to defy these three.
"I'd rather not," I say, voice barely above a whisper.
The edge of his full lips twitches, almost imperceptibly. His eyes are all heat and dark promise. His right hand moves toward my pocket, and I'm suddenly, terribly certain that he's going to force my hand out and expose my secret to everyone.
A blur of gold hair flashes across my vision and suddenly a boy just as tall as the volunteer is standing between us. Bastian's legacy uniform gleams in the torchlight, the gold piping catching the light.
"Is there a problem, here?" he asks, voice carrying that casual authority that comes with generations of privilege. His eyes flick between me and the trio.
Only then do I realize we've drawn quite the crowd. Students have risen from their seats, eyes hungry for the first blood to be spilled. Great. Trying to avoid attention and I end up center stage in whatever twisted drama is unfolding here.
The girl and the earth affinity slink back, eyes lingering on Bastian's legacy uniform. None of us have the full picture of how the social hierarchy here will work yet, but something about the legacies feels clear, even without being told: legacies are not to be fucked with. Legacies are special. We are not.
If the volunteer knows he shouldn't mess with legacies, he shows no indication. That, or he just doesn't give a shit. He meets Bastian’s gaze without flinching. "Is there a reason you’re here, legacy?”
Bastian's fists clench at his sides. The air around us shifts, as if pressure is building from nowhere and everywhere at once. The mark on my palm burns in response, and I have to bite my tongue to keep from gasping. I can feel air slowly shifting and flowing in toward Bastian. I can even see the dark, tangled locks of hair on the Volunteer's head beginning to stir in the unnatural breeze.
The deadly scent of magic builds in the air.
"Your name, offering?" Bastian's voice could freeze flames.
"Raith." He doesn't blink, doesn't yield an inch.
"Family name?"
Raith's jaw tightens before he answers. "Hollow."
Recognition registers on Bastian's face, followed by that carefully measured look of sympathy the privileged always seem to have ready.
"Hollow… An orphan from the northern border, then. I—"
Raith moves so fast I barely register him shoving Bastian until the tall legacy is stumbling backward, nearly falling before he bumps into the stone wall. "I don't need your fucking sympathy." Raith spits on the ground, the saliva sizzling slightly where it lands. He turns to stalk away, the fire girl and earth boy falling in behind him like shadows.
A collective gasp rises from the students who were watching. Judging by their expressions, they seem to expect Bastian to strike Raith down where he stands.
But Bastian’s face is a mask of calm as he brushes the spot on his uniform where Raith touched him. His eyes linger on Raith several moments before turning to me.
"Are you okay?" I ask, hardly daring to breathe for fear that the trio will come back.
"Fine," Bastian says shortly. "We should get you to the combat assessment."
As we walk, I notice we're getting closer to the guards who are checking everyone's marks. My palms begin to sweat, and my breathing quickens. The silver spiral beneath my skin seems to writhe in response to my panic.
"Do they have to check our marks?" I ask, unable to keep the edge of hysteria from my voice.
"They're collecting the official count for Empire. Many die before Confluence Day and finally the Crucible, but Empire likes to keep statistics and have figures at every stage of development for its future primals," Bastian explains. "You'll be sent with others of your affinity for training, and after that, they'll send you to your affinity's tower. That's where you'll get your room assignment." His eyes drift to my hidden hand.
He must see the look of pure terror on my face, because he glances around, pulling me to the side for a moment of privacy in the busy corridor. "I know fire and earth get a bad reputation, but it's not the end of the world. Here at Confluence, you'll mostly deal with your own affinity, anyway. What the others think of you is hardly going to matter."
He thinks I'm embarrassed to bear one of the two elements most common in Red Kingdom. Fire or earth affinities. The marks of the enemy, to some. I wish it were only that.