Silence looms over the auditorium like the eye of a storm. The ice in Head Magus Foren Torell’s eyes might contain the power to freeze over the entire sanctum. He wants to kick me down into the portal where I stand.

  I meant no disrespect when I quoted mythos about a willing soldier being worth a thousand slaves. It’s my plea to save my fellow siblings. Let us grow to love Miria too. Don’t start our second house ceremony like this.

  Horo and Jenny are held by wind webs, their bodies on slants as they’re threatened over the portals. If they’re dropped, fear will be instilled for the rest of our days here, and hatred.

  The house lords remain silent on their row behind us—which only tells me the Head Magus has an awful temper that can be pushed over the edge on a whim.

  Don’t do it, I beg in my head, the gales around me growing more frigid. Our eyes are locked in stasis.

  Crack!

  He crushes his orb for the second time, sending the ice bits orbiting around him, and with the snap of his finger, the two shivering siblings are whipped to the floor at my feet.

  “They are your responsibility now, Dragonborn. I don’t care which house they end up in, their failure will result in your demerit.” Foren billows his cloak and begins toward the house lords.

  My group lets out a collective sigh of relief.

  “You two alright?” I get to my knees and put my arms around them, whispering, “I want to hear everything.”

  “Gather,” Foren commands. “The great exchange of batch twenty-eight commences. Locked trades will be honored. Value fluctuations will be observed, and the rules of the awakened marks are now in play.” He snaps his fingers again, signaling servants atop a high balcony to roll four long banners down amber stone walls.

  I recognize the symbols from the letters House Mother used to receive. A clawing red bear is the glory of House Rhylock. The high-pointed crown is Valor. Of course House Sivus is an armored hand holding up a teetering scale. And House Kavoh, my house, is the whip. She pressed that seal all too often, and cracked the real one too.

  Gazing up at the balcony displaying statue warriors mid-clash, students cheer behind them. Not all are elitist douchebags like that man, Malik. Some have darkness in them, like us. They’re probably from earlier batches.

  Gods. Could Kane be here, somewhere? How long does one spend in a second house?

  More servants like that scribe come bustling from a walkway behind us, escorting us politely toward a giant raised square of black marble at the base of the hall. I fall in line beside my crew as we ascend the two steps that somehow makes the entire space seem that much more gargantuan. The hall continues to fill with endless students. This feels nothing like my first house.

  “The hell did we climb into?” I nudge Layla and Jurso.

  “Another rat’s nest. Just with prettier walls,” Layla scowls.

  “Hale, all these house lords… they look like—”

  “I know, mages from mythos. All the costumes are pulled right out.”

  “Did they have mythos drawn up and chucked down that portal for our house parents to store? The fucking hubris.” Jurso shakes his head.

  I turn to Jenny and Horo. “You guys alright?”

  “My ribs are broken, and his voice is shot, thank gods,” Jenny says, and the three of us smirk at one another. “But we’re okay, I think.”

  I nod, and go to face forward, but Jenny grabs my arm.

  “Hey, Hale. Thank you. Nirele told me everything.” Jenny’s eyes turn glassy.

  “Nah, it’s no big deal. I’m sure you would’ve done the same for me.”

  “Not so sure about that,” she says sadly.

  The house lords step up to the podiums under their designated banners, each of which is set up with chess-like pieces I’m guessing represent the lot of us. And Forel folds into a throne at the center. He snaps his fingers, and that same scribe comes rushing out again.

  For all his clumsy near-trips, the kid has brass for calling out Malik. He rushes to a podium beside Foren’s throne, spreads another parchment over it, and clears his throat.

  “Here we begin the great exchange of batch twenty-eight, starting from least desirable to most. Note, as mentioned by Head Magus, the rules of awakening marked shall be honored, without dispute by the house lords.”

  I notice Baenar of House Valor gloat at the woman to his right—the one with a deep-purple robe brushed with light-blue tassels. She’s beautiful, with bright blue eyes and a thin nose. Blonde locks shimmer as she looks down at her parchment, long lashes like fans.

  The tiles at our feet become lined with Head Magus’ ice magic, separating four quadrants down the creases, each with a house logo tracing to life at the center. Mist hisses out of the floor, making all of us take awkward steps back.

  “Sorvon Aeikenfield, step forward.”

  My heart skips a beat. He’s the tall, lanky brute who threatened Misty after killing one of his brothers. A part of me is happy he’s considered least desired, but mostly, it’s a shame he made it.

  The brute struts with his shoulders pushed back and chest puffed, like he’s ready to challenge the Head Magus himself. It’s laughable though.

  “Born of House Rhylock. Afflictions—none. Spice usage—moderate. Warring dark—absent. Lineage—low household. Slain—one.” The scribe pauses to let his stats sink in. “Prior to the Sealed Circle duels of the Sept, Mistress Asentres traded Sorvon to House Kavoh in exchange for Trifa Millicent, who perished in the duels.”

  Layla dips her head toward my ear. “What are we, fucking stable beasts?”

  “Better than sacrifices, I guess.”

  “Are there any offers?” The scribe presents the man standing before them, to a row of silence. “Very well. Sorvon, please take your place upon the whip.”

  The process continues on for some time, where the four houses seem to have all made some good and bad trades prior to the Sept duels. It makes me wonder how they had eyes on us the whole time. Are there invisible shades everywhere? Were they always watching? The prospect disgusts me.

  “Jennith Tus’Bernard. Afflictions—low bone density, broken ribs. Spice usage—absent. Warring dark—budding. Lineage—respected household. Slain—one.” The scribe pauses, as he always does after the initial reading. “Born and remains in House Sivus. Are there any offers?”

  Jenny stands there pathetically holding her ribs, looking like she could fall over at any second. Her leg looks back in working order, at least. My guess is the orb in that elite room only worked enough to get her back on her feet. Makes me wish I studied more about high magic. Replenishment auras, healing auras. Direct spells. They can all be useful in a place like this.

  “I offer one moderate spicer with no affliction, and heavy warring dark. Terence Harbrand.” The armed swordsman of House Valor—Baenar—lifts his chin, keeping one eye on the cloaked man of House Sivus. He’s the one who I hope to fall under—Karloth—the only lord who attempted to talk down the Head Magus. Perhaps it’s true what they say about Sivus… the divine balance might be the most reasonable house.

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  As if I had a say.

  “You?” The beautiful lordess of House Kavoh squints, voice like silk. “This woman doesn’t fit House Valor’s very narrow requirements.”

  “My reasons are my own, woman of the whip,” Baenar says.

  “Fine, then I will make it more difficult for you to attain her. I offer a heavy spicer with an oversized heart affliction, tempered with a proficient counter-magi and an elite household. Helga Shas. More balanced an offer than yours, I think.”

  “Offers rejected.” Karloth waves his hand dismissively. “Jennith is not for trade.”

  Head Magus leans forward in his chair, glaring at the house lords. “What is the meaning of this? We honor the weak, all of a sudden, in our sacred sanctum?”

  Baenar unsheathes a black-enchanted blade and sticks it into the stone crevice beside his podium. “A woman who climbs to her death, knowing her brittle bones will cave before the hour is up… that is an extremist House Valor must adopt. Two for one. Terence and Kornella.”

  Layla, Jurso, and I all exchange glances.

  I thought tempered blood didn’t matter anymore, that it was just for the Sept’s purpose. What’s the significance up here, miles away from the Sealed Circles?

  “Denied.” Korlath points his finger mockingly at Baenar.

  “I will remember this folly when you try and pry the riderborn from my grip.” Baenar clenches his jaw.

  The bickering goes on for a while, and suddenly Jenny stands a little taller. She’s desired. Good. She deserves a win after suffering that soul-crushing fall.

  More trades commence, and it seems the scribe was wrong on a few occasions regarding who appeared more valuable. Bidding wars erupted more than once.

  As the list shortens, I note that Gen’s entire crew, and mine, are both still unchosen in the center of the black-top oversized faction board.

  “What’s your sense, Boeru? Where do you want to land?”

  “That Dane gave us a rundown of the houses. The path to Elden magic is shortest through extreme training. Valor is the prize,” Boeru chuffs.

  “Even knowing the kind of asshole it produced?” I nod toward Broggen.

  “You have the commandant of the Hellsbane Watch to keep your spirit in check.”

  Finally, after over an hour of getting to know the house lords’ tactics, the only two groups standing in the center are Broggen’s and the rest of my own.

  “By the rules of awakening marked, we consolidate the two groups standing before us into a single trade each. Whichever house previously claimed any of those included in the marked have lost their rights. The house that claimed the awakened has now gained the jackpot of the entire group, and favor of the warring dark.”

  Chatter breaks out all around me. I guess these rules haven’t been exercised in five years, so this is an entertaining day for the Elshard Sanctum. It’s hard not to smile—this means Layla and I can’t be separated, and the crew I suffered with to get here will only grow stronger.

  “Haledyn Winbridge, representative of all dragonborn marked. Afflictions—Arkitus, which has since been remedied. Spice usage—absent. Warring dark—budding. Lineage—elite household. Slain—zero.” The scribe pauses.

  Elite household? What the hell?

  I remember skimming through the lineage tomes back when Kane was around, and there were hardly any bullet points next to our lineage. How could our household be elite? I’ll have to ask Misty if she knows anything about that.

  “Born and remains in House Kavoh,” the scribe speaks slowly.

  My eyes widen. I wasn’t traded prior to the duels? Gods, maybe no one wanted me.

  “Lordess Rayne, your claim over Renesta Fowler of high affinity to warring dark, Layla Barristan of physical superiority, Jursento Astevon the Third of elite household, Misteria Clause, and Rogoshel Gardfire of the spice have all been absorbed by your house and taken from the various houses beside you. Congratulations. Are there any offers?

  “Craven luck.” Baenar snorts, eyeing Mistress Asentres, who’s boiling where she stands.

  Lordess Rayne—the beautiful house lord of Kavoh—stands smug, glancing down at her parchment with a wicked smirk on her face.

  “I’ll bet you wish you took the Arkitus boy now, huh?” Baenar continues to nudge. “She offered you two for one to get rid of him. Now look. Our most prized are taken from us.”

  The new information strikes me like an arrow through the heart. I was fodder as part of a two-for-one trade, and even then I was rejected. I guess they didn’t value me as an inquisitor of the house.

  “It is because they marked you for dead,” Boeru’s nostrils blow steam. “I suffered a similar fate as a hatchling. Arkitus is poison. And now you are cleansed of it.”

  “Bite your tongue,” Karloth snaps at Baenar. “You remain smug due to a stroke of luck. By the grace of the gods, you held onto your awakened.”

  “Faulty decisions should always be punished.” Baenar folds his arms with a similar wicked smirk to Rayne.

  Of course, they just scooped up five siblings each without having to trade anything for us.

  “House lords, respectfully, I repeat, are there any offers on the table?” The scribe holds the edges of his podium.

  “A better question, Reebus, is the great Lordess Rayne willing to take any?” Karloth asks.

  She holds back her grin successfully, though the satisfaction is written all over her face. “It will take a mighty offer to give up an awakened bond. However, do try, lords.”

  Scoffs and snarls resound all around her. Mistress Asentres looks like she might be sick.

  Baenar unsheathes another sword—this one of enchanted green steel—and slams it into the stone at his other side. “I seek to forge the greatest generational army Miria has ever seen. I will do so with two awakened in my arsenal. Lordess Rayne, I offer you Harper Arrowstar and two high-magic wielders with four years’ experience—Tilbane and Scru. They’ve been itching to get out of my hold, and despite their prowess, I will release them. Soldiers!”

  A woman with a high ponytail, gold arm and shin guards, and shimmering mesh armor flips from the high balcony to land right in front of House Valor’s crown. The bow lining her back must be made out of enchanted crystal shard, because it’s prismatically transparent.

  Two mage-like robed cadets levitate down using icy mist that mirrors Head Magus’ orb. The three of them look highly skilled, and a few years older than us. Baenar must mean business if he’s giving up experience for a chance at a bond.

  “You tempt me so.” Rayne turns to fully face the cadets.

  “Harper embodies House Kavoh’s philosophy, Rayne. You know it as well as I. And I’ve been watching your moves. This is your only chance at her.”

  Harper straightens and lifts her chin slightly, telling Lordess Rayne where she truly wants to be.

  Jurso grabs my arm lightly, and I bend a little to hear him. “Switching houses must have some serious significance. We should study on which house holds what power.”

  “Agreed. We will be hitting the tomes together, friend.” We bump fists, then straighten back to attention.

  Baenar seems like a hard ass, but I’m curious about his appearance. He has so many weapons sticking out of his cloak that I wonder whether he intends to use them in this very sanctum. Then again, remaining with House Kavoh may yield some benefits. House Mother and Rayne must know one another, right?

  “I offer one-for-five.” Karloth pushes back his cowl, showing he means business. Pale with black hair and freckles, his purple eyes pierce through anything they touch. “My house’s pride, Drydon Mims.”

  The entire auditorium gasps when a dark man in a black hood swan dives off the balcony. Drawing his sword at the last second, he swings it as if cutting the floor in two and drops into a puff of shadowy essence, only to reemerge out of the house lord’s shadow.

  “That’s a cool trick.” Jurso nudges me, then elbows Renesta. “Hey, shady woman. Can you do that?”

  She scoffs.

  “Oh, come now.” Karloth arcs an eyebrow at the crowd. “It is precisely of divine balance to set my most revered to learn the other house secrets. We are fighting a war! We are one, Miria.”

  “Spoken as if your greed to gain a bond isn’t at the forefront of this trade,” Mistress Asentres scowls.

  “It is a fine offer,” Karloth ignores Asentres, looking past her to Rayne.

  Rayne flicks her gaze to Drydon. “Are you not offended?”

  “On the contrary, Lordess. I am honored to be worth a dragonborn,” Drydon’s voice is deep like he crawled out of the afterlife.

  “That one reeks of my enemies.” Boeru extends over my shoulders to better see the cadet.

  “What do you mean? He isn’t bonded… is he?”

  Boeru’s neck curls, his tattered cloth eyepatch waving in the self-created winds. “No. But he is of the stench of enemy gateways. The ones who dive into Lacor Kingdomonia.”

  My chest tightens.

  “The hell are you saying? He’s a spy?”

  “Watch him closely.” Boeru folds back into my mind.

  Gods. Maybe that’s why he’s eager to change houses. There must be Miria secrets hiding in each.

  Rayne turns her hypnotic gaze to Asentres, looking down the bridge of her delicate nose. “Well, Mistress? What do you offer me?”

  “Nothing. I will not play your games. I keep my prizes of House Rhylock. Haoo!” she howls toward her balcony full of cadets.

  “Haoo!” they all howl back.

  It’s a good move, I think. She knows the smug woman will dangle me over her head for rejecting her original trade. Best to hold onto the dignity of her house and her image.

  “Very well.” Rayne flips her hair, considering her two offers. “Baenar, though I do in fact think Harper would be an incredible asset to House Kavoh, and to the realm, there is no way in the five hells I’d let you have two bonded warriors. For the current time, Harper is stuck with you.” She flicks her gaze to Karloth. “And you. I’m surprised. Drydon has been nothing but a loyal machine of House Sivus victories…” A smirk crawls up her lip.

  Layla scoffs near my ear. “I don’t want to be in Sivus. Fuck.”

  “Hey! The hell is wrong with us?” Jurso nudges her.

  “We have had adequate tutelage in our house, Layla,” Renesta agrees. “House Father bent the rules more than once to aid us.”

  Rogoshel growls. “That compassion may have left your house bondless. Tempered your blood into jelly. I choose the whip. Ten times out of ten, I choose the whip,” he repeats, hoping the decision falls his way.

  I look over my shoulder at Misty. “What do you think?”

  She scoffs. “Are you kidding? We’re going to crush it no matter which house we land in. They’ll bend to us.”

  “Fucking love that.” I smile.

  I glance at the others standing in each house’s square. Sivus landed Jenny, and Rhylock landed Horo. Either way, it’ll be good to have allies in other places.

  I’m not sure if I owe House Kavoh a debt for my bond with Boeru, or revenge for molding a whole life of lies. But one thing is for sure, this cycle of soldiers born of blood needs to end.

  “Karloth… I accept your offer,” Lordess Rayne says. “This way, Drydon. To the whip.”