Gates of Thread and Stone(55)

“We’re a bit lost,” Avan said, giving his best “I’m harmless and pretty” smile.

The Watchman shifted her feet, flustered, but dutifully demanded to see our IDs.

“Ah!” she said as she studied them, and returned Avan’s smile—too enthusiastically. “I was told there would be late arrivals.” She removed a book from her pocket and began flipping through the pages. “Your rooms are on the second floor. Nel, 204. Savorn, 207. Go on now. Cadets have lights-out at sunset.”

We thanked her and headed for the stairwell. When she stared after Avan, I fell behind enough to block her line of sight. Honestly, you’d think a Watchman would have better self-control.

Our rooms turned out to be a few doors apart, on opposite sides of the hall. Avan paused, then he said, “Guess this is it,” and disappeared into his room. With a fortifying breath, I walked into mine.

After I shut the door, I remained where I was, needing a minute to take in everything I was seeing. My room wasn’t much larger than the one in the hollows’ dorms; but the rug felt soft and full, and two sconces braced each of the walls, which were a soothing shade of butter yellow. The curtains were drawn on a window above my bed. I even had a real closet and my own washroom.

As incredible as the room was, I wanted to go out and search for Reev immediately. But I knew I couldn’t risk it. I’d have plenty of time tomorrow when they released us for the Tournament.

I sat on the narrow but thickly cushioned bed that extended from the wall, and gave an experimental bounce. It felt like sitting on clouds. Beside the bed, a sign had been adhered to the wall. The top of the sign displayed four names: Nel – 204, Grene – 205, Tariza – 206, Savorn – 207. My teammates. Irra had said the entire team needed a high collective score to continue on.

Beneath our names was a list of rules:

1. No intermingling between teams.

2. Cadets caught outside their dormitories after lights-out will be subject to disciplinary action and potential expulsion from the Tournament.

3. Training is restricted to dormitories and the training center during the hours of 7 a.m. to 7 p.m.



The list went on, but I skimmed down to the bottom where it announced that the first fights would begin in the morning an hour after breakfast.

Little pulses of anxiety shot through my skin. I had to remind myself that both Irra and Mason had been satisfied with my progress. I could do this. I couldn’t touch the threads for help, and yeah, Mason could make quick work of me; but he was a trained sentinel. In the end, I had managed a few hits against him, so I figured I would do better against a cadet. I just had to fit in. Winning didn’t matter.

I washed up, dawdling as I admired the shiny fixtures and the overall sense of cleanliness. Then I dimmed the sconces and climbed into bed.

Last night had been the first time in more than two weeks that I’d slept alone, but now, not having Avan here with me made all the unexpected comforts feel . . . cold. Did he feel the same or was he already asleep, grateful for the solitude of his own room and a proper bed instead of a mattress on the floor?

I yanked the blanket over my head and tried to convince myself it didn’t make any difference.



A loud knock and a booming voice in the hallway woke me. I pulled the pillow over my ears. I couldn’t identify the scent on the sheets, but I liked pushing my face into them and inhaling deeply. The smell reminded me of the courtyard: sunshine and warm breezes. Avan lying in the grass, close enough to touch.

“Good morning, cadets,” boomed the cheerful voice outside my room. I groaned. It had taken hours to fall asleep last night. “Welcome to the opening day of the Tournament. Breakfast will be served in the cafeteria in thirty minutes. Please see the schedule, updated hourly, in the common room to avoid any confusion or delays, which could result in mandatory forfeit.” The speaker grew alternately louder and softer as she paced up and down the hall. “Please read all rules and regulations. Violators will be subject to immediate disciplinary action. And remember, cadets, we are proud to be Ninurtans. Good luck!”

I rolled my eyes. Sitting up, I drew back the curtains on the window. I squinted against the light. I was looking down on a water fountain. Mosaic stones radiated in a pattern around the fountain, and despite the early hour, a few cadets were already outside milling about.

I kept the curtains open, and cleaned up. The washroom had a mirror, but I had been too busy studying everything else last night to pay much attention to my reflection. I was taken aback to see myself looking so . . . healthy. My cheeks had filled in, and the shadows beneath my eyes had faded. Although I was still too pale, I no longer looked on the verge of starving. I had Irra to thank for that. Another curious contradiction. Like the hollows’, Famine’s name barely captured who he was.

I leaned in closer and studied my eyes. I tried to find what Irra had seen: the River or whatever it was he had called the threads. But all I saw was a cool-blue iris around a dark pupil.

In the closet, I found a dozen identical outfits folded along two shelves. They consisted of form-fitting black tunics with green trim and dark-gray pants. Three sets of black boots were on the floor. At least it was all practical.

I changed, appreciating the tight but comfortable fit, and added a braided black belt I found in the dresser under the shelves. Then I drew the knife from my bag and slid it into my boot. We weren’t allowed to use weapons during our matches, but I wasn’t about to walk around the arena, bursting with Watchmen and likely a few sentinels, with only fists to protect myself.