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  “Ten, ten, eight, eight?” she asked.

  “Ten, ten, nine, eight,” he said. “I always told you I was taller.”

  “They gave no numbers for me,” said the enormous recruit ahead of him, turning about with a grin on his face. He had curly red hair, a fat nose, and a jester’s grin. His chest and shoulders were broad, his arms thick like a blacksmith’s. “They just said ‘big’ and went to rummaging.”

  “Maybe they were worried you couldn’t count that high,” Bree said, grinning.

  “They’d be right,” he said. “Once I reach ten, I’m all out of fingers.”

  “That’s what toes are for,” Kael said, glad the guy had a sense of humor. “And ignore Bree over there. Her mouth tends to run a few seconds ahead of her brain.”

  The three shared a laugh, and for the first time all day, Kael felt his nerves finally relaxing.

  “All yours,” said a squirrelly young man who stepped out from the curtain, still tugging at the collar of his new uniform. The red-haired giant ahead of Kael stepped in, turned, pulled the curtain halfway shut.

  “Brad,” he said, extending his hand.

  “Kael, and that’s my sister, Bree.”

  They shook, Kael balancing all his clothes on one arm to do so, and then Brad pulled the curtain shut to change. Kael stood there, still feeling a bit awkward since he and his sister were among the few still not in uniform. As his eyes roamed, he caught his sister staring at him, that devilish smile of hers on her lips.

  What? he mouthed when he saw her.

  You made a friend, she mouthed back.

  Kael rolled his eyes, which she quickly imitated. A few minutes later Brad stepped out from the curtained booth. Bree had already gone inside her booth, and the last of the recruits, no doubt the late arrival that had come with Garrick, waited at hers.

  “Got to admit,” Brad said, looking down at himself. “It don’t look half bad.”

  “I might go so far as to say it’s even half good,” Kael said. Brad shot him a wink, then got out of his way.

  Inside the booth, Kael stripped down to his underclothes, then started with the pants. The cloth was surprisingly soft despite its sturdy feel. As he buttoned their front, he knew he’d never worn an article of clothing anywhere near as expensive as these. Next came the shirt. Unlike his own, it didn’t scratch at his skin, nor did it hang low over his waist. Tucking it into his pants, he found the belt they’d given him and quickly looped it through the hooks in the pants. Inside the booth was a tiny wooden bench, and he sat down on it to pull on his boots. They were finely polished black leather, the interior padded. It felt strange, for everything about the boots spoke of decadence, yet the Seraphim were an order of war.

  You’re valuable to them, he realized. Only a rare few were born with elemental affinity. If the Seraphim were to maintain their ranks despite their losses in battle, they needed people like him.

  Once he finished lacing the boots, he stood, put his arm through a sleeve of his jacket. Like his boots, it was polished black leather. Though it was thin, its interior was soft and warm. The moment it was on his back, he felt something change in him. This jacket… it was a symbol. On its left sleeve was his rank, perhaps the lowest of the low, but it was still a rank. No matter how temporarily, he was a member of the Seraphim, and it stirred a bit of pride in his chest. When he stepped out, he found Bree waiting for him. She wore the same uniform, and seeing her in the jacket, the blue sword of Weshern on her shirt, he couldn’t help but smile.

  “Hurry,” she said. “They’re all waiting.”

  Sixteen recruits gathered not far from the shed. After dropping off their old clothes, Kael and Bree slid in at the back, glancing about at the others. So many strangers, so many names to learn… and then he saw her near the front, quietly talking with another girl beside her. Clara, from their affinity tests in Center. A soft smile was on her face. Her blonde hair, which had hung to her shoulders, was now cut short and curled around her neck and ears. He hadn’t meant to be looking for her, but when he saw her he immediately felt his heart skip a beat.

  The short woman in the blue jacket waited at the front of their group, and when the apparent last of the recruits arrived in uniform, she looked up from her clipboard and began to address the lot of them. Though she wasn’t loud, everyone immediately ceased their conversations. Something about her voice seemed to brook no nonsense, and she spoke with an air of complete and total authority.

  “Greetings, recruits of five-fifteen,” she said, referring to the year, the five hundred and fifteenth since God ascended the six islands. “I am Rebecca Waller, the over-secretary of Weshern Academy. I’d like to welcome the nineteen of you to our facility. Should you have any needs or questions, you are welcome to come to me, and I will do what I can to address them.”

  Her voice was hardly welcoming, despite her offer. Not that she was cold, no, just… preoccupied, Kael decided. Like she had a thousand things on her mind, and the new recruits were just one of them.

  “Now that you’re dressed in uniforms,” she continued, “I’ll be introducing you to the instructors and teachers you’ll be spending the next four years learning from, as well as giving you a tour of the facility. But before that, I’d like you to meet your headmaster.”

  She turned, guiding their attention to where an older man approached them from down the path toward the gear sheds. His hair was short and white, his skin deeply tanned, his uniform pristine. Instead of a leather jacket he wore a thin blue overshirt buttoned across the front. Its sleeves and chest were covered with patches and medals. All recruits stood at attention as he paused before them, arms clasped behind his back. His sandy brown eyes looked them over, not a hint of emotion on his face. When he spoke, his voice was deep, commanding.

  “Welcome to my academy,” the old man said. “To those of you who do not know me, I am Jay Simmons. I have been headmaster for twenty-seven years, and if God is kind, I’ll be here for twenty-seven more. You nineteen are unique among the people of Weshern, gifted with an affinity to the elements that very few possess. Do not, however, feel that this will ensure you a place among the Seraphim. You are special, and we will treat you as such, but we expect equal return for our efforts. The food you eat, the wings you wear, the elements you use to battle and fly: they all come at a price. That price is the time and effort it will take to become the absolute elite of Weshern’s defenses. In six months, we will evaluate your progress, and decide if you are worthy to remain within these walls.

  “In my academy, we do not tolerate wastefulness, sloth, or unearned pride. You’re here to learn. You’re here to become the very best. The protection of our island, the safety of our friends and family, depends upon it. In the weeks ahead, keep that in mind as you sweat and bleed. All we do, we do to help you become something greater than you are now. A warrior. A protector. A member of the Seraphim.”

  He glanced to the over-secretary, nodded, then departed.

  “Thank you, Jay,” she said, smiling. The smile died the instant she turned to the recruits. “Now, if you’ll all follow me, we can begin our tour of the facilities and meet some of the faculty.”

  The next hours were a blur to Kael. He met middle-aged men and women, all in various uniforms and with different titles that he struggled to remember five minutes later. His teachers for flight and elemental combat, Instructor Dohn and Instructor Kime, respectively, he met not far from where the headmaster first introduced himself, for the fields the path split were the training fields. After that they followed the path, crossing a white bridge over a stream that split the academy into eastern and western halves.

  While the western half was all fields for training, the east was full of buildings. To the north were the apartments, eight buildings, four on each side of a branched-off road. Apparently they all had units assigned to them, two members apiece. South was another road. On its left was the learning academy, inside of which Kael met another cavalcade of teachers. They promised to educate
the group in history, etiquette, strategy, and military code and rank. Inside were multiple floors, the walls white, the rooms clean and full of chairs. It felt like the one-room school he’d attended with Teacher Gruden, only far, far larger.

  Their next stop was, thankfully, the mess hall. The afternoon was nearly over when Over-Secretary Rebecca brought them inside. “There’s something prepared at all times, so never be shy,” she told them, and Kael promised to take her up on that offer. The mess hall was enormous, the floor treated wood, the ceiling vaulted. Dozens of long tables filled it in neat rows, with little stools on either side.

  “The cooks have worked extra hard today to give you a nice welcoming meal,” Rebecca said. “You have twenty minutes before we continue, so try not to tarry while you eat.”

  A counter closed off the northern stretch of the mess hall, its right half stacked with plates. Grabbing one, they each walked left and handed the plate to a cook in white clothes and blue apron. After a moment, the cook would hand back the plate full of steaming vegetables and a thin slice of fire-roasted ham. Kael took his plate, grabbed a set of silverware from a bucket just left of him, and then looked for a seat. Still feeling like a stranger, he was glad to see Bree had already found herself a table, and he made a beeline toward her.

  “I’m never going to remember any of this,” he said as he sat down opposite her.

  “Don’t worry,” Bree said. “They’ll yell at you enough until you do. Besides, all that really matters is here, the learning academy, and the training fields. I think you can remember three spots.”

  “Well, four if you count your room,” Brad said, setting his plate beside Kael’s and plopping down on a stool. “You don’t mind if I join you, do you?”

  “It’s fine,” Kael said, mouth full of cabbage.

  “Good,” Brad said. “Because you’re my roommate for the next year.”

  “How do you know?” Kael asked.

  Brad shrugged.

  “I went and asked our guide. Sharp lady. I have a feeling she could list how many forks are in this mess hall at this exact moment. So!” He smacked Kael on the back, nearly making him choke. “Roommate! Got any weird habits? Do you snore? Plan on bringing girls over every night? You know, important stuff I should know about?”

  “Just that he’ll murder you in your sleep,” Bree said, glancing up from her plate.

  “Well, he wouldn’t be the first to try,” Brad said, tearing into his ham, and for the life of him, Kael couldn’t tell if he was joking or not.

  No one else joined the three, so they ate alone, and when finished, they resumed their tour. After the mess hall came the armory, where yet again they endured a barrage of measurements, this time for their swords and wings. Next was the library, and a quick introduction to its head librarian, a bubbly woman with copper skin named Devi Winters. Kael couldn’t help but stare wide-eyed at the rows and rows of books throughout the tall three-story building. His previous classroom had fifty, maybe sixty at most, yet here they seemed beyond counting.

  “If you should find yourself curious about anything, or needing something to read in your rare downtime, please come and see me,” Devi told them. “We’re training your mind along with your body, so try not to neglect one for the other.”

  Finally, at long last, they ended the tour with a trip to their apartments, and the two squat stone buildings that were their showers. “The water is kept in tanks above the stalls and heated with flame elements within the tanks,” their guide explained. “There are toilets inside as well. If you haven’t figured it out already, we offer only the best, but we also expect the best from you, and that includes hygiene and appearance.”

  After that, Rebecca dismissed them without fanfare, merely telling them to visit the mess hall if they were hungry, and to expect a wake-up knock on their door come sunrise. The apartments had two levels, and beside the doors were names listing occupants. True enough, Kael’s was right beneath Brad’s, and together they went inside.

  “Don’t seem so bad,” Brad said.

  That was putting it mildly. The carpeted floor felt soft beneath his boots and was colored a blue so deep it was nearly black. The wooden walls were painted white, the curtains sky blue. There were only two bedrooms, each with a bed, a feather mattress, a closet for belongings, and a glass window. Picking a room, Kael plopped down on the side of his bed, leaned back, and groaned with satisfaction.

  “Softest bed I’ve ever had,” he said. “I think this one is calling my name.”

  “After walking around the entire damn academy, that sounds like a fine idea,” Brad said, going into the other room. Kael kicked off his boots, then stared up at the ceiling. A sheet of thin paper lay atop his pillow, and curious, he grabbed it and held it above his head. It was a daily schedule, the same each day, apparently. Tactics, history, protocol, all started off with flight training at sunrise.

  Flight training…

  Kael swallowed. At least he’d get it out of the way immediately, instead of dreading it throughout the day. If only he took to it as well as his sister. If only he wasn’t convinced he’d make a damn fool of himself in front of his classmates.

  “Hey, Kael?” Brad called from the other room.

  “Yeah?”

  “You never answered my question. Do you snore?”

  “No, not really.”

  A pause.

  “Oh. Well. I do. Sorry about that.”

  Despite his exhaustion, despite his nerves, Kael covered his eyes with his forearm and laughed.

  CHAPTER 7

  There was no containing Bree’s excitement. When someone banged on their door the next morning, she was already awake and staring at the ceiling. She ate her breakfast in the mess hall quickly enough to risk a stomachache, showered, and then changed into one of many matching uniforms that had been waiting for her inside her closet. Meanwhile, her roommate, Amanda, appeared far less eager for the day to begin as she finished dressing.

  “Have you practiced flying before?” Amanda asked, pulling an arm through the tightly fitted leather jacket.

  “Plenty of times,” Bree said, standing in front of their slender mirror to check her uniform. “A friend of ours was a fisherman, and he let us use their training sets.”

  Amanda finished putting on the jacket and tugged at its bottom to straighten it. She was tinier than Bree, with pale skin and blonde hair so faint it was nearly white. Contrasted against the dark black and blue of her uniform, she looked like a ghost.

  “You’re lucky,” she said. “I tried to use them once. My parents forbade it. They said I’d just learn bad habits from the fishermen and should wait for proper training at the academy.” Amanda glanced her way. “Is it… is it frightening? Trusting your life to the wings like that?”

  Bree shook her head.

  “Every day we trust the elements to keep Weshern afloat,” she said. “Once you realize that, you’ll see it’s no different from running or climbing a tree. It’s only dangerous if you do something stupid or can’t control yourself.”

  Instead of being convinced, Amanda looked ready to shrivel up into nothing inside her uniform.

  “You ever lose control?”

  Bree smiled at her.

  “I’m not sure that’s a story I should tell you an hour before your first flight,” she said. “I’ll tell it after, though, I promise. Now hurry up, before we’re late!”

  The two were the first students to arrive at the gear sheds. Three waiting mechanics beckoned them over.

  “Names?” the biggest of the three asked, thick of arm and heavily bearded. During their tour the day before, they’d been introduced, just one of seemingly a hundred people they’d met. His name was Bartow, and he was the mechanic in charge of all their wings.

  “I’m Breanna Skyborn, and this is Amanda Ruth,” Bree answered.

  The man grunted, then beckoned them to follow him inside the northern shed. The shed was more like a barn, tall and expansive. Covering the walls in colum
ns of three were sets of wings, their silver finely polished, their leather harnesses and buckles freshly cleaned. Bree felt a shiver run through her at the sight. Little wooden plaques hung above each set, the name of the owner carved into them. Grabbing a long pole with a hook on the end, Bartow glanced at a sheet of paper nailed to the wall beside the door.

  “This way,” he said. Eyes wide, Bree followed him. There had to be more than a hundred sets inside, perhaps more. Each one capable of elaborate maneuvers and incredible speed. Each one capable of taking a man’s life. The mechanic stopped at the far end, his eyes finding the proper nameplate far quicker than Bree. From the top row he lifted one of the harnesses with his pole, removing it from a thick iron peg. With easy precision he lowered the harness while sliding the pole behind him so that he could grab it with one hand just before touching ground.

  “Breanna,” he said, offering it to her. Bree took it, fingers tingling with electricity.

  One column over, and he pulled down another.

  “Amanda.”

  Once both held their set of wings, Bartow stepped back and leaned the pole against his shoulder.

  “Either of you know how to put those on?” he asked.

  “I do,” Bree said.

  “Good, then you can show her. Head to the other shed when you’re done. Sara’s got your swords.”

  And with that he returned to the front. Bree slid an arm through part of the harness, then hoisted the wings onto her back before sliding through the other. The weight of it was incredibly comfortable and evenly balanced. If the fishermen’s set she’d trained on was a hard leather gauntlet, this was a silk glove. As she grabbed the first of many buckles, she caught Amanda staring at her, her wings still held in her arms.