Gates of Thread and Stone(56)

Out in the hall, cadets dressed in the same style uniform as mine headed toward the staircase. I knocked at Avan’s door.

“He’s already gone down,” a boy said, pausing beside me. He stuck out his hand. “I’m Tariza. Are you Nel? I saw you come out of 204.”

I nodded and took his hand. He was short for a guy, only an inch or so taller than myself, but he made up for it in brawn. His upper body bulged beneath his tunic, stretched across his shoulders. I forced my face to remain neutral despite his crushing grip on my hand. I was glad I wouldn’t have to fight him.

He offered to walk down to the cafeteria together. Since he seemed to know where he was going, I let him lead.

“Got in late? You and Savorn weren’t at the opening ceremonies.”

“Last-minute paperwork.”

We passed through bright hallways with elegant metal sconces that ran the length of the wall. All around, cadets blew past us in their hurry to reach the cafeteria. Some of them looked to be about my age, although most were a few years older.

Two metal doors stood open at the entrance to a large cafeteria lined with polished wooden tables. It looked nothing like the mess hall in Etu Gahl, which had been dark and rustic but still cozy. If anything, the cafeteria resembled the one at school, only bigger and cleaner. Tall windows framed the Ninurtan emblem—the sword and scythe—embossed in silver and red on a plain white wall. Cadets lined up along another wall to retrieve their prefilled trays.

Each table had four seats, which probably meant they were assigned by team. I searched for Avan.

I spotted him sitting a few tables down with a blond girl. Tariza and I joined them.

Avan wore the same black-and-green uniform as everyone else, and he’d removed the steel bar in his eyebrow; but he still managed to stand out. And he’d already charmed Grene, judging by her helpless smile and flushed cheeks.

We made our introductions and went to retrieve our trays. Each meal held the same portions: A dollop of lumpy mash. Lentil soup. Steamed vegetables and a carton of milk. It was just like at school.

I didn’t really mind. Having a meal at all was enough for me.

“Did you guys see the brackets in the common room?” Grene asked when we returned to our table.

I shook my head, but Tariza said, “Yeah. Savorn is up first from our team.” He looked at me. “Nel, you’re at three.”


“Do you know who I’m fighting?” I asked, swirling my spoon through the soup.

“Didn’t recognize the name.”

“So where are you from?” Avan asked Tariza.

“Upper North District. My mom didn’t want me to join the Academy, but now that I’m up for the Tournament, my parents are trying to get permission to visit.” Tariza straightened, pride filling his already sturdy chest.

“What about you two?” Grene looked at me and Avan. “You seem like you know each other.”

We had prepared responses for these questions, so I let Avan answer.

“Lower North District,” Avan said. “We grew up in the same neighborhood.”

“The familiar face must be nice,” Tariza said, his eyes roaming the cafeteria. “And getting on the same team? What were the odds of that?”

“Yeah, do you guys have an uncle on the inside or something?” Grene asked, grinning with too much teeth. She talked with such enthusiasm that every word out of her mouth should’ve ended with an exclamation point.

“Just luck,” I said. I ate fast, without needing to taste the bland fare. Eating only enough to fuel my body was like second nature.

“Slow down there, Nel,” Tariza said, eyeing my tray. “The food isn’t going anywhere.”

Heat filled my cheeks at the insinuation. Because Avan had told them we were from the lower North District, the worst section of the Alley, they would assume that we had been poor and underfed. And they were right, for the most part, but I still didn’t like his tone.

“Grene is from the South Quarter of the White Court,” Avan said. The South Quarter was where the Watchmen headquarters and the Academy were located. “She was telling me about how her aunt was a sentinel.”

Grene twirled her slender fingers through her blond hair as she ate. Even her smallest movements bounced with energy. Either she was nauseatingly upbeat or she was buzzing with nerves.

“She died on a mission to the Outlands a few years ago,” Grene boasted, in the same way that someone would announce she had won a trophy.

I had to wonder if she wasn’t dead at all but had joined Irra instead. Maybe we had eaten with her in the mess hall or danced with her at the party.

I hadn’t considered it before, but the disappearances worked both ways. Ninu kidnapped people such as Tera, the prostitute’s sister, while Irra could very well have taken Grene’s aunt. Either way, families were left broken.

“Ever since, my father has been betting on me becoming a sentinel. I completed the courses at the Academy with top scores.”

I wished I could tell whether or not she was mahjo. Magic must not manifest in every descendant if her aunt had been a sentinel but not her father or mother. And since neither of Avan’s parents had been taken for the Tournament, they didn’t have any mahjo blood, either, since I knew both of them had donated at the energy clinics.

“He insists he can’t live without the honor of having a sentinel in the family, even though it means never seeing me again,” Grene explained. She said it so airily that I couldn’t tell if she agreed with her father or not.