The Devoted: A Reverse Harem Omnibus (The Devoted Season Book 1)(6)
A rose. Black as midnight. Black as obsidian. Black as coal.
Lightheaded and hot like I’m trapped in a steam room, I try sucking in air only for my throat to constrict.
It drops its petals and dives toward the crowd, then blinks out of existence.
Air. Glorious air. My hands slap to my chest. I suck in air like I’m dying.
There’s a collective sigh. Shoulders drop. Heads roll toward the ground.
Then everyone stiffens again.
“Others possess a rare specialization,” The Grand Enchantress’s dark eyes rake through the crowd.
Are we just...not going to talk about what just happened?
I scan the crowd. Everything is back to normal almost as if...I’m not...seeing things, am I?
It was like all of the air had been taken out of the room. Stars above, someone screamed. Are we seriously...?
The Grand Enchantress’s gaze lands on me and I hold my breath, “The least of you are magical outliers with the aptitude for success,” with a grin and a tilt of her head, faculty in purple robes appear on either side of the crowd and begin pressing through the sea of bodies as they hand out pieces of parchment.
Just...forget. Just let it go.
I wiggle my fingers, forcing them out of their nail-stabbing fists.
“You are all capable of great things as long as you apply yourselves,”
The girl closest to me cocks her head at the parchment a faculty member gives her. A piece of parchment is pressed into my open hand as the faculty member moves past me.
I cock my head too. It’s a leaflet, like something that would come off of a noble woman’s desk. It’s got the academy’s seal—a proud dragon prowling forward with its wings outstretched—and below it shows my schedule and a symbol that is completely unknown to me.
“In ten days, each of you will either prove you deserve to be molded, or discarded,”
The air in the room escapes again as the crowd sucks in a gasp.
Ten days?
This makes Grand Enchantress Varga puff out her chest and grin, “You will be tried and tested. If you are found wanting, you will find your bags—along with a list of academy expenses your families must repay in return—at the door.”
My eyes almost pop out of my skull. So, you have to pay to fail? What nonsense is that?!
“Best of luck to those of you willing to take on the challenge,” the Grand Enchantress drawls, “Welcome to Firedrake, to those of you that actually succeed.”
###
WE BEGIN FILING OUT of the chamber, the laughing eyes of the Initiates and Acolytes mocking us as we do. Some new joins have their shoulders hitched up to their ears, while others are unafraid of glaring back.
I’m one of those with their shoulders up. I don’t want any attention on me. I just want to survive these ten days and somehow not get sent back with a bill that dad won’t be able to pay.
This was a mistake.
Why even bother choosing us if Firedrake planned on sending a good amount of us back home? It seemed...cruel. Like dangling a boiled carrot over the head of a starving scavenger only for the carrot to crumble to dust in the person’s mouth, cruel. It makes me want to march up to the Grand Enchantress and demand why.
There’s no way dad’s paying the bill. Tulsdale already made him retire, I can’t let him lose the shop over my stupid decisions.
Besides, I owe him. I owe him a lot.
Steps draped with scarlet carpet meet us. We’re directed toward the eastern wing of the academy and squished into a drafty tower with more windows than doors. Orange sconcelight fights tooth and nail with the cloudy darkness. In this dorm hall alone, I count eight windows fixed adjacent to several ratty wooden doors. Symbols are etched into the flaking wood and as I place the symbol scribbled into the parchment against the several others, I rock my head back and sigh.
My door is the very last. Mine and three others.
“Get back here you little fuck!”
I freeze, parchment balled up in my fist. There’s a wheezing breath of laughter as a couple pairs of running feet come charging down the curving hallway. Mr. Kitty growl-purrs in my messenger bag, his large triangular ears poking out and angling themselves toward the noise.
“Keep running and we’ll really give you something to run from!”
I’m not the only one to stop and stare as a man with a roguish smile and flaming red hair comes stumbling toward me. He stops himself inches from my face and offers a slanted smirk.
“You’re going to see a fist,” I’m lost in his deep blue eyes as he breathes, panting, “don’t panic. You won’t get hit.”
Three men in slate-gray robes come surging down the hallway after him. Sconcelight flickers and I blink. A dash of mist comes swirling from the window adjacent. Their conjoined shadows crisscross and overcome me as the red-head snorts his laughter, ducks, and slides toward the window.
The three aren’t fast enough. I gasp and there’s a fist flying toward me, all red-knuckled and interspersed with white. I’m not as fast as the red-head—I’m not a very good fighter either. The girls behind me shriek as I hold out my hands like a barrier. A twinge of pain fires through my fingers, making them flex as my muscles go rock hard.
I flinch, shoulders rising. My knees knock together. Mr. Kitty is suspiciously quiet—aren’t familiars supposed to protect you?—and his weight shifts in my bag.