Page 19 of Feathers of Ash and Hope

Damn, they’re good.

“I tell you what, if we get in …” Calix's gaze returns to me. “We’ll train together. I’ll show you some tricks on the mat, and you can help me get better at that climbing stuff. My time was shit.” He smiles, self-deprecating.

“Sounds perfect to me!” My smile widens. Maybe becoming a skyrider isn’t as cutthroat as everyone tries to make me believe.

Half an hour later, I’m ready to take that thought back. I’m armed with a dagger and face a brutish-looking man. I didn’t like him when we started and loathe him since he tried twice now to slip his knife between my ribs.

He has a calculating look in his eyes, is bigger and heavier than me, and fights as dirty as it gets. Sweat trickles down my temple and already soaks my tunic. I lost my sweater long ago. The cuts on my arm from deflecting his blade throb in time with my heartbeat.

Good thing I’m not above fighting dirty too, if needed. His chest is heaving, and he looks like a bull ready to charge. Being good at pissing people off has come in handy, after all.

I incline my head, giving him a sweet smile.

“Are you alright over there? You look a little … constipated,” I say, and the rider, who acts as the referee and stands behind my opponent, makes a choked noise, coughing to cover his laughter.

I think the rider’s laughter, more than my words, makes my opponent snap, and he charges in a rush of fury.

Distracted by his rage, he forgets to monitor all my movements.

I wait until the last moment, then drop low and slide to the side, swiping my blade over his legs right under his kneecaps.

We fight with our own daggers, and I always keep this particular one very well-honed. He goes down like a tree.

The referee’s eyebrows jump up, and he notes me down as the winner while a healer rushes over. They will fix him up easily enough; fixing two tendons is much less work than a complicated chest wound.

“Sneaky but effective,” the rider says while he hands me the slip with all my sparring results. Weaponless combat was a loss, and I’m sure I will look the part tomorrow, but I won the rest.

I smile at him and nod my thanks while ignoring my opponent, who is cursing me to the mists and back.

Calix is already waiting at the side. We went through all the sparring stations together but, thankfully, never had to face each other.

I’m exhausted. My body is a mess of bruises and superficial scrapes, and the shallow cuts on my forearm burn every time the stiff fabric of the blood-soaked sleeve rubs over them. Calix, on the other hand, is sweaty and a little ruffled, but apart from a bruise forming around his left eye, he’s completely unharmed.

No major injuries. That is all that counts.

Questioning is the only part of Assessment held inside the academy, so we follow the string of candidates heading inside.

The stairwell we enter is cool and dark after being in the full sun. Or maybe it is just the sweat cooling on my skin.

The dark stone floors are smooth beneath our feet, and the bare walls are made of the same light stone as the outside.

We drudge up a flight of winding stone steps and are greeted by another line of waiting candidates running along a corridor with the same stone combination as before and high, arched ceilings. Big windows let in enough light to make additional lighting unnecessary.

The light space reverberates with chattering voices. The atmosphere is relaxed, but I’m terrified.

“Do you know what happens in there?” I incline my head toward the door we stand in line for.

“Oh, it’s just a physical examination and a few questions. Nothing big.” The guy behind us chimes in before Calix can answer. “My brother is a skyrider, and he said it’s more about them wanting to know our potential and if we already have a gift than a real test.”

“Well, that doesn’t sound too bad. Better than getting our asses kicked by a gifted. That’s what I feared would happen.” Calix grins at the man, introducing himself. All I hear is “physical exam.”

I’m going to be sick.

“Are you alright?” Calix looks concerned. If I look how I feel, I can’t blame him.

“Be right back.” I leave the line and rush down the corridor to the toilets without looking back.

I’m sittingon the closed toilet, looking down at the crook of my right arm. The stain on my skin is too dark for a bruise, and there is no way they will overlook it in a physical examination.

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