Page 36 of Unbound

My stomach twists, sending my breakfast churning in a nauseating swirl. Not because of the "some of you will die" part—that's been hammered into our skulls since day one at Confluence Academy. Death is our constant companion here, trailing us between classes, during training, and hovering at the foot of our beds each night.

No, it's the brand new bit of information. A fucking water trial? Isn't daily life here enough of a damn trial?

My pathetic excuse for water channeling is barely enough to form a wobbly sphere when I'm secretly dipping my fingers into a smuggled waterskin. The trick has been the only thing keeping me from lectures and remedial classes with Sestra, but I know it won’t be enough for long. It’s already not enough.

The others are advancing so much faster than me that I know it doesn’t even matter how I do in my combat training. By now, most of them could kill me with water magic and I’d be virtually powerless to defend myself. So much for he world-shattering dangerous potential of an unbound.

I'm so completely screwed.

Around me, worried whispers ripple through the classroom of white-uniformed first-year offerings. At least I'm not alone in my panic, though I doubt anyone else has quite as much to fear as I do.

"Before any of you ask—" Sestra's voice cuts through the murmurs, causing Mireen to lower her hand sheepishly beside me. "No. You will not be allowed to know the nature of the trial beforehand, just as you won't be able to know how you'll be tested on Confluence Day or what you’ll face in the Crucible. Learning to prepare for the unknown is part of your training here, so get used to it."

Sestra paces the front of the classroom like a predator sizing up which of us to devour first, her silver-streaked black hair pulled into a severe bun that seems to yank her facial features into an eternal scowl. Her deep blue eyes—the mark of water affinity—scan us with cold calculation.

"A true primal adapts. They overcome. They improvise," she continues, fingers laced behind her back as she prowls. "Our job is to make sure we don't insult the elementals by sending unworthy students into their realm. And make no mistake. If you’re not worthy, the elementals will hunt and kill you for sport on Confluence Day."

From two rows ahead, Beck leans forward, his broad shoulders making him stand out among the class. With his shaggy, sandy blonde hair and easy-going attitude that seem at odds with this place, he tends to draw the wrong kind of attention in class.

"Hold on," he says, not bothering to hide his skepticism. "I heard the real reason you let us kill each other is because there aren't enough elementals to go around. Now we're worried about insulting them, too?"

The temperature in the room seems to drop ten degrees as Sestra's gaze fills with venom. She detests questions almost as much as she despises Beck himself.

"Perhaps you should try using your brain, Beck," she says, each word dripping with icy disdain as she glides toward his desk. "Why would the academy care if there aren't enough elementals to tether the number of students we send?"

"Uh," Beck says, clearly struggling as Sestra plants her palms on his desk, leaning into his space until he shrinks back. "Maybe Empire likes a high success rate? With tethering... or something?"

Sestra's nostrils flare as she inhales deeply, then releases a long-suffering sigh that makes Beck wince. "What difference would it make to us if you died here or in the elemental plane? The tri-emperors only concern is that we provide them with fully trained primals each year. They don't care in the slightest what happens to you here or how we produce the human weapons for their war." Her voice drops dangerously. “Have you ever wondered what would happen if the elementals decided we aren't capable of sending them worthy students fit for elemental tethers?"

Beck swallows hard enough that I can see his throat bob from where I'm sitting. He shakes his head, leaning back so far in his seat that he might topple over any second.

I have a strict policy of never speaking unless directly called on in classes—being noticed here is rarely a good thing—but I can't stand watching Beck squirm any longer. I clear my throat, my voice sounding foreign to my own ears as the words tumble out.

"They might start going to Red Kingdom's side, instead?"

The words hang in the air long enough for me to regret them.

Sestra whirls, surprise etched across her face. I've been here five weeks, and this might be the first time I've said more than absolutely necessary in front of the class. Just as I feared, the unwanted attention ripples outward—including to the back edge of the room where Malakai watches me with narrowed eyes, his head tilted in assessment. Both of his student soldiers flank him, still as statues but equally attentive now.

My skin crawls under their scrutiny. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I should have kept my mouth shut.

"Nessa Thorne..." Sestra glides from Beck's desk—which prompts him to finally breathe again and slump forward with visible relief—and approaches me with measured steps. "You are... correct. Surprisingly," she adds under her breath.

Her eyes hold mine for a terrifyingly long moment, dissecting me like a specimen under glass.

"If only your skills in channeling weren't so dismal, I would say your flash of insight shows some actual potential."

The barb stings, but I keep my face carefully blank. She's not wrong. Next to my classmates, my abilities are pathetically underdeveloped. I’ve learned I have to physically touch water or somebody full of water essence to channel it. Considering I can’t participate in channeling class while submerged in water, it has hardly been an advantage.

Sestra finally turns her attention back to the class, freeing me from her scrutiny. "As Miss Thorne helpfully pointed out, we're not interested in encouraging you to kill one another. Our job is to shape you into weapons. Your job is to be worthy if you survive to Confluence Day. It's to avoid bringing shame on the academy and all the history that has preceded you. It’s to become worthy of the incredible power of a primal."

I exhale slowly, trying to steady my racing pulse.

After class, Mireen grips my shoulders and bulges her eyes dramatically, the crescent scar under her left eye crinkling as she smirks. "Since when are you the one calling out answers?" she asks, her eyes dancing with amusement. “Decided it’s finally time for people to realize how clever you are?”

Ambrose slides up beside her, pushing his wire-rimmed glasses up with one finger and crossing his arms. His dark hair is cut so precisely it might have been measured with a ruler.

"Not to take away from your little moment," he says, his voice carrying that blend of arrogance and affection I've come to expect from him, "but was it really that genius of an insight? I was like... two seconds away from coming to the same conclusion myself."

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