“I don’t waste my time with foolishness,” he says before moving farther into the room.
The other Bards jeer playfully at Niall’s back before busying themselves with counting their wagers. The money has taken precedence over taunting me at least.
I exhale a ragged breath.
Perhaps this is what High House does to people, strips away compassion and erodes kindness until there’s nothing left but duty. I push my plate away and get to my feet.
It would be easy to go mad in a place like this. A place where nothing is what it seems, where even your own senses can’t be trusted.
It is only as I stand—unable to risk another bite—that I catch another look at Niall as he’s taking his seat beside Ravod. He does not wear a dagger in his boot like the others.
My chest flashes hot.
It could mean nothing.
But he was there the day before my mother was killed. The day before I found a Bard’s dagger in her chest.
I have my first lead.
I just have to figure out how to follow it, without getting caught.
15
The training grounds are bathed in warm sunlight. They are busier than before, with High House coming to life in the new morning. Iridescent beads of dew cling to the grass, rippling like waves as a breeze sweeps over the mountain.
I stop near the edge, looking for any sign of my mysterious new trainer. I wonder what the chances are they won’t be as cold and hostile as the other Bards.
“You.” A cold, hostile voice barks from behind me. I nearly laugh; I don’t know why I bothered hoping otherwise.
I turn around, my breath catching when I recognize her pale eyes and dark skin: the woman who I saw so fleetingly in Aster. She stands a good two heads taller than me, with her gloved hands on her hips and a scowl on her face. Her dark hair is swept into an austere bun with tiny braids running up the side of it. I’m struck by how gorgeous she is.
“You’re Kennan?” I ask, my voice sounding smaller than I intended. “I was told to wait for you.”
Kennan fixes me with her haunting eyes and gives a tight nod. “That’s right, peasant. I’ll be evaluating you over the course of the week.” Her mouth twists like she’s tasted something sour. Raw hatred drips off her every word.
Ravod’s wager is beginning to make a lot more sense.
“First, I’ll prepare the hurdles,” Kennan says. The corner of her mouth twitches in a devious smirk as she looks me up and down. “We’ll start with level five.”
A nervous laugh escapes me before I can stop it. “Any reason we’re doing away with levels one through four?”
Kennan narrows her eyes, clearly not amused. “You have one week to convince me you’re worth keeping around. And you don’t want to know what we do with those deemed unworthy to stay. I suggest you adjust your tone appropriately.”
“Sorry,” I mumble, terror streaking through me. What does happen to those deemed unworthy? Those exposed to the Bards’ secrets, only to be cast out … It can’t be good.
Kennan looks out over the training grounds as if addressing an invisible audience. “Over the course of the week, you will be tested physically and spiritually to determine your worthiness of the title.”
“How do I prove worthy?” My voice is a timid squeak.
“Perform a Telling on command,” Kennan answers, waving one of her hands as if it were nothing, and I’m caught by the elegance of her movements, the way her white-gloved hand flutters like a dove.
“The purpose of my assessments is not to teach you,” Kennan goes on. “It’s to determine if you’re worth teaching. The tests will recondition you. Establish the baseline.”
I try unsuccessfully to swallow. Kennan has already turned her attention to the field. She pulls a small, white piece of marble out of a satchel she wears over one shoulder, and places it on the ground. I stare at her in confusion—is this some sort of ritual? But her brow is furrowed and she is mumbling below her breath. I lean in, and it sounds like she is saying the word “part.” The ground trembles, as if vibrations are radiating out from the stone.
“What are you doing?” I ask. She turns to look at me.
“That,” she says, gesturing for me to turn around.
The ground has literally split apart, leaving a shallow chasm. She has parted the earth.
By Telling it to.
I’m so stunned, I don’t notice when she pulls something else out of her satchel: a pair of shining golden cuffs. She hands them to me.
“You will wear these around your ankles.”
I look from the cuffs to Kennan and back before taking them from her hands. They’re solid gold and much heavier than they look.
“I—”
“Now,” she instructs.
I grunt, latching them around my boots at the ankles. “Now what?”
“Now—leap,” she says. It takes me a second to realize what she is asking—she wants me to leap across the gap in the earth, weighted down at the ankles. It seems impossible, even as it is slowly dawning on me that when she meant hurdles, she meant literal hurdles.
As if to explain herself, she adds, “Telling is a combination of physical and mental mastery of the body and its surroundings. Only when your mind is in sync with your physical form can you begin to commune beyond your body, with the earth. Eventually, if strong enough, your Telling will connect to the energy of the air, the sky, and all things.”
I stare at her in awe. “I thought you weren’t going to teach me anything.”
A venomous glare is her reply. A servant appears and hands her a steaming cup of tea from a tray. She gingerly takes a sip before speaking, ignoring my question altogether.
“We begin with physical tasks just beyond your body’s current natural limits,” she says. “You’re building strength of body and mind. A Bard requires both to reach into the realm of possibility and alter it.”
I honestly have no idea what she’s talking about, but from the sharp look of her gaze, I have no other choice than to do what she says. Kennan watches me over the rim of her teacup. Her eyes sparkle with brutal amusement.
I take a breath and turn toward the chasm, which seems to yawn even wider than when I last looked. And with a step backward for momentum, I try to run, to leap, to levitate …
* * *
It’s only been two days, and I can’t take much more. I threw myself into an ever-increasingly deep ditch about seventy-five times yesterday.
Training is less a test and more of a method of torture. I’m halfway convinced Kennan is just trying to kill me. I’m covered in bruises, and my legs sing with pain, more so when I slipped into my bath last night. She even blindfolded me, apparently to help me focus inward, saying something about how our power comes from our self-control. But the panic in my throat as I slogged forward blindly was worse—I’m sure my screams and groans could be heard all through High House.
Even still, no one came to my rescue all afternoon. I kept hoping, despite the humiliation of the morning, that Ravod would appear and command Kennan to go easy on me, but I didn’t catch a glimpse of him all day. We finally quit the test when I was half sobbing and beaten down.
“I give up,” I panted, crawling on my bleeding knees, my new black pants ruined. Kennan bent to inspect me, and I instinctively grabbed onto her hands. She looked down at her gloves, covered in dirt, and fumed, instantly dismissing me.