Page 4 of The War and Deceit Series omnibus

Returning my attention to Mary, or 1023, I realise she was right about something. If the guards caught me calling her by her real name, then having my tongue removed would seem like a blessing in comparison to the punishment I would receive. Turning Mary over, I see her face is covered in bruises as she flinches away from me. I reach out again to help her, but she yelps, attempting to scramble away from me.

She makes a series of inarticulate noises, trying to speak before wailing as she realises she can’t. Turning, she crawls towards a corner as far away as she can get from us.

Standing in the middle of the room, I frown as I watch her, my body swirling with emotions I can’t put a name to. The others around me settle down for the night, accepting their fates. Returning to my corner, I numbly sit down, glancing at the brands on my arm.

Is this how I will die? As a nameless slave?Curling up, I try to fall asleep, Mary’s crying a desolate lullaby. For the first time in my life, I pray.

That night I dream. I’m surprised I even managed to sleep after what I learned yesterday, but my body was so exhausted from a day of hard labour that it demanded rest. In my dream I was chosen, chosen to join the magicians. Magic rarely graces humans, but the Great Mother blesses a chosen few to become magicians—our greatest protectors. Fewer and fewer have been picked over the years, but the war against the elves is still rife. Some say the Great Mother is punishing us for our sins, which is why less people are being chosen to wield her magic. I’m not sure what I believe, but the thought of having magic is intoxicating.

I must have been in a deep sleep, because I’m jolted awake by a sharp kick in my side. Bolting upright, I glance around and see guards have arrived. Not hearing them coming, something I’m always listening for, shows how exhausted I am. No one tries to warn me.

“625! On your feet!” The words are shouted at me, demanding that I comply with their orders. I shake my head to clear my clouded thoughts before a creeping sense of dread andfear rolls through me. My body aches from sleeping on the cold stone floor, but I try to shake off the discomfort, not daring to stretch out my abused limbs. Standing before the guards, I feel small, my shoulders hunched forward and head dropped so my face is hidden behind a shield of dark hair as if it would protect me from what’s to come. I fight to keep myself from shuddering as fear rolls through me like a wave. They don’t deserve to see my fear, but I can’t help the tremble in my fingers. No good has ever come from being called by our number.

Their rough hands grip my upper arms tightly, and I’m reminded of the girl who was taken last night. Is that to be my fate? Without another word they begin to march me away. Peering through my hair, I glance around, trying to meet someone's eyes to see if anyone will do anything to try to stop them. No one says anything, the room is silent. Not one person meets my panicked gaze, but I see expressions of sympathy as some of the slaves I knew better turn their heads, unable to watch. I don’t know why I’m surprised, why would they risk themselves for me when I wouldn’t have done the same?

A movement catches my eyes and hope flutters in my heart until I see who it is—879 wearing a smug expression, her gaze meeting mine as I’m taken away. Anger boils in my veins again, but instead of pushing it aside I welcome it. It’s not going to save me, but I refuse to willingly accept my death. For now, though, I keep silent, seething, as I’m half dragged into the castle.

“Let’s hope he gets this over with quickly. I want to be back in time for the ceremony,” one of the guards grumbles, his companion grunting in agreement.

As we enter the courtyard, my anger stutters for a moment as I think I’m going to be bound to one of the pillars, but they keep walking, taking me deeper into the castle, through the winding corridors until we reach the chapel. I’ve never been here, and if not for the circumstances I would be admiring the intricatelycarved marble pillars and arches. Priest Rodrick is waiting at the altar at the front as I’m dragged through the sanctuary and shoved to my knees when we reach him. Head bowed, my chest heaves as my breathing speeds up, the hammering of my heart so loud in my ears that I’m sure they’re bound to hear it.

Rodrick steps closer, his familiar scent of incense clouding my nose until I can see his shoes. One of the guards grips my hair and wrenches my head back, and I can’t hold back the gasp that escapes my lips. The priest runs his eyes over me, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. I get the feeling he’s enjoying every moment of this.

“As a slave, you forfeited the right to the choosing ceremony,” he begins. His words are aimed at me, but his usual booming voice fills the space like he’s giving a reading to a large crowd. “The Sacred Scrolls say that those who do not attend a choosing ceremony before their twentieth birthday will lose their soul and become an abomination. Wecannotallow that.” His voice is grave, making it sound like my death sentence is a sorrowful moment. That anger turns in my stomach again. I know the truth. The priesthatesthe slaves, he is enjoying every moment of this.

Footsteps echo and I see more guards enter the room, the flash of black and gold making my blood run cold. The black priest uniform is saved for only one man—the executioner. The man who carries out the will of the Mother herself. I guess I should be flattered that they think I’m dangerous enough to warrant so many guards, their beady eyes watching me wearily as if I’m going to turn into a monster at any moment.

“Today we send 625 back to the Great Mother.” Rodrick looks up and presses his fingers to his forehead in the gesture of the Mother. He turns his attention back to me and frowns, disgust in his eyes as he looks at my dirty clothes. “Pray that you have repented enough for her to grant you a place in her eternalembrace.” The sound of swords being removed from scabbards makes my heart race as the guards take weary steps closer, as if I’m going to lose my soul immediately and turn on them.

However, it’s the executioner I keep my eyes on. His face is blank of expression, but I get the feeling he doesn’t want to be here, the weight of his blessed role taking a heavy toll on him. Something flips within me then and a sense of peace fills me, peace and determination.

“No.” It’s the second word I’ve spoken in twenty-four hours, but my voice is clear and steady.

“No?” Rodrick crows, his scolding tone heavy as I flick my eyes over and sneer at him. “You think to deny the Mother?” I may not be able to move, but I can make my feelings clear.

“I—”

“Silence! I refuse to hear another word from your tainted lips!” Rodrick shouts, spittle flying from his lips as he works himself up into a rage, the large sleeves of his gown rippling as he gestures sharply.

“Wait. I want to hear what she has to say.” The Executioner’s voice is low and rough, like he rarely gets the opportunity to speak. My eyes flick around the room, from person to person, gauging their reactions. They seem uncomfortable. This isn’t going how they’d expected, and Rodrick has turned a shade of red that makes me worry. Not for his health, but men who get that angry tend to lash out, to make what should have been a quick punishment tortuous. Dragging my eyes away, I meet those of the executioner. I’ve always been scared of him, everyone is, not just the slaves, but all the people of Arhaven. We’ve all heard the stories of the executioner, but at this moment, I’m not scared.

The room is silent as he waits to hear what I was going to say, and I realise that these will be my last words. I best make them count. There are so many things I could say. I could beg, bargain,or swear. But as I look inside, I realise what I must tell them. Clearing my throat, I start to speak.

“The slaves...they’re children. You’re killingchildren. What could they possibly have done—”

“It’s as the Mother wills it. We don’t question her.” Rodrick’s sharp voice cuts me off, swiftly followed by a slap to my face that has me reeling. Had the guards not been holding me in place, I’m sure I would have fallen back. Storming forward, he grabs me by the front of my shift, bringing his face close to mine as he hisses at me. “You’ve had your say—”

“Stop.” The voice is unlike any I’ve heard before, power seemingly embedded into the words as Rodrick stumbles back. Lazy, strolling footsteps fill the room as the stranger walks up behind me as if he has all the time in the world. Perhaps he does.

“Mage Grayson.” The priest’s tone relays his shock and fear as he greets the high magician. My blood runs cold as he comes closer, my skin tingling as his magic fills the room, crawling over my body the nearer he gets.

I had known the magicians would send a representative to the castle for the ceremony, but I hadn’t realised it would behim. Mage Grayson is one of the eight High Magicians of Arhaven, the strongest of all the magicians. The trials they have to go through are enough to cause nightmares, and Grayson is one of the youngest and strongest to gain that position. I’ve only ever seen him once. He doesn’t come to the capital often since he’s usually out on the battle front or at the magicians’ keep,many miles from here.

His energy feels suffocating as it envelops me fully and he finally steps into view. His magic seems to stutter as he takes me in, his eyes scanning my slight frame. As my head is still being wrenched back, I don’t have any other choice but to look at him, so I make the most of it. He’s tall and tanned, like most of the people in Arhaven, but his hair is darker, not black like mine,but different enough that he would stand out in a crowd. He’s good-looking, but in a way that powerful men are, not classically beautiful. His sharp jaw and piercing dark eyes make him seem like he’s constantly contemplating something.

“Release her,” he commands, waving his hand at the guards who immediately let go of me, taking a hasty step back. I slump to the floor, the toll of the day leaving me drained. I’m not sure how much longer I can take the constant threat of death. The magic I felt earlier changes to a gentle caress, my body suddenly feeling renewed, and my aches are taken away as my heart settles. Gasping as the tingling sensation leaves my body, I push myself up, back straight as I wait for whatever is going to come next. I keep my eyes down out of habit, but I can see the priest spluttering and red as he looks between me and the mage.

“But—”

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