Page 11 of House of Ydril

Still, even if I didn’t spot Nuala waving at me, I’d know where to go. The students waiting to get tested are forming a line that runs along the side of the brook, most of their faces alive with excitement.

I walk up to Nuala with a smile on my lips. “I don’t know about you,” I start as I stand to wait next to her, “but I think this whole thing is barbaric.”

She raises her eyebrows as she awkwardly pats me on the shoulder. “It hasn’t even started.”

“Yeah, but making us get up before nine…”

She chuckles. “I thought you Scions all work from nine to five.”

I let out a laugh, letting my eyes sweep over the crowd. “That’s just a song, Nuala. But now what?”

On closer inspection, I see that the crowd is made up of both students and professors.

“Now we wait.”

“Alright,” I say, watching the others exchanging tense little comments as they shift from leg to leg.

It makes me pity them. Whoever gets selected won’t be able to refuse to participate. Of course, after Nuala told me that, I went online to check if it was really true. That they can just force you. But it is. There’s a heated discussion about the ethics of the whole thing. Like, is it okay to put students in potentially deadly situations without their consent? I myself would say hell no.

But I wasn’t in the least surprised when I saw one old interview with the current Pied Piper, then Professor of History Johanna de Groot. The conversation mostly revolved around politics. Whether the Scions should be scared of the Originals after the so-called Blood Moon Incident. Whether the Originals are using their powers to steer elections in directions that are favorable to them. And so on and so forth.

But at one point, the journalist asks Professor de Groot if she thinks the Trials should be banned. She laughs. Of course she does. And then she says, “I don’t think we were ever more inneedof the Trials than we are now. And anyone who says otherwise doesn’t understand the true nature of our two worlds intertwined.”

It’s a cryptic answer, for sure. And I have no idea what to think of it, at least for now. My instinct still tells me it’s a stupid, barbaric thing, but hey, it’s not like anyone’s asking me.

Still, I’m not in the least bit afraid or tense about it, like everyone else seems to be. And it’s not because I’m stupid. Just yesterday, I’ve read enough records of gruesome ways in which students get hurt or killed in the Trials.

No, it’s simply because I know there’s no fucking chance in hell I’ll ever be chosen. It’s only for the worthy. And so far, the only thing I can use my runes for is breaking up the monotony of my outfits.

“What exactly are we waiting for?” I turn to ask Nuala.

It’s at that exact moment that I notice a stir among the crowd.

“Him,” Nuala whispers in my ear. “We’re waiting for him.”

But my eyes have already been drawn in his direction. It’s the prince Andreas Faust in the flesh, slowly making his way to where we’re standing and stopping to greet the people in the audience.

“Oh, for crying out loud. Does everything around here revolve around the Little Prince?” I ask, mocking the Dark Prince nickname.

I hear Nuala let out a weak laugh. “No,” she says, “not him, his uncle Baldor.”

It’s only then that I notice a tall, gray-haired man walking next to him. He has a lavish cloak thrown over his shoulders, the left arm clad in some kind of armor and the hand resting on an ornate walking stick. As he approaches, everyone scrambles to get up and bow to him, even more than his nephew.

“He’s the Regent,” Nuala leans in to explain. “The one in charge of things until the prince turns forty.”

“Why forty?” I ask, but I don’t turn to look at her.

“That’s when the Originals come of age.”

“Mm.” I keep staring at the royal duo until they’ve almost reached our line. At one point, I see the prince notice me, but choose not to acknowledge it. Taking my cue from him, I focus all my efforts on avoiding his eye.

But in doing that, I catch his uncles’. The two of them are just about to walk by when Faust Senior notices me and stops. A frown forms on his forehead. His nephew squints, his eyes darting between the two of us in what seems to be confusion.

Then, to my surprise, the uncle takes a step towards me and lowers his upper body in a ridiculously formal bow. By the time he straightens to look me in the eye, I feel countless pairs of eyes on us and I’ve no idea if I’m supposed to bow as well.

“Young lady, why do you look so familiar? Have we met?”

“I hardly think that’s possible, uncle,” his nephew answers in my stead, his voice smooth and bored, as if he wasn’t caught by surprise just a second ago.

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