The Complete Chosen Trilogy (The Chosen #0)

by N. M. Santoski

  “You’re going to get yourself killed,” Robert observed quietly as she stepped back onto the dais.

  “I don’t care. He’ll get himself killed if he keeps acting like that.” She dropped the volume of her voice, leaning in close. “It kills me that he’s waltzing around like he owns the place, while—“

  “Don’t say it!”

  “—he is stuck hiding like a hunted animal. It’s not fair.”

  “Just a little longer, Anna. Then the waiting will be over.”

  ***

  Nolan knew everyone was in class, so he took a chance and brought the Sword up to the third floor. He slipped down the hall and entered the door at the very end, shutting and locking it behind him.

  In front of him was the Council table, slightly dusty from months of disuse. He recognized it immediately from his grandfather’s descriptions. Sword still slung across his back, he trailed his fingers across the top of the table, tracing the wood grain around until he reached the seat that faced the door.

  He slid the chair away from the table, gingerly taking a seat. He laid the Sword across the table, careful to hold it by the scabbard, and just looked at it for a moment.

  Everything his grandfather had taught him was leading up to the next few days. This seat and this Sword were his birth-right, and he would defend it to the death if he had to. He thought back over the many lessons, the lectures, the sparring… his grandfather’s insistence on a reverence to his position and his responsibilities. He needed to re-center himself before he fought Manas, and here seemed like the best place.

  He wasn’t ready to claim his seat on the Council just yet, but he would be if he survived. The Rite of Passage would change the game, one way or another.

  When he felt he’d been there too long, he returned the Sword to his back, afraid to push his luck. He pushed the chair away to stand, placing his hands on the table in front of the seat in order to keep his balance. When the palms of his hands touched the wood in that spot, bright light flared up for a moment before he tried to snatch them away, startled. His hands were locked to the wood as if glued there as blue light poured from the place where they met. This continued for almost a full minute as he struggled to break the connection.

  The Council table had no respect for his timetable—it was acknowledging his right to be Lord Fulmen here and now. As soon as he stopped fighting it, his hands were released, sending him backwards into the chair. His handprints shone blue in the wooden grain for a moment before fading away slowly.

  It was too much, too soon.

  He broke down in the chair that had belonged to his grandfather for sixty years, racked with shaking sobs. How was he supposed to keep the Aeron tradition alive when they all were against him? Even the Council table seemed determined to ruin his careful plans. He had no other recourse but the path he was taking, but what if he failed? Would he be the one to destroy the Aeron legacy?

  “It’s not fair,” he hissed into the chair’s cushion. “It’s not FAIR!” The last word echoed around the room loudly enough that he clapped a hand over his mouth, appalled. It would be one thing to try his hardest and fail, but to fail because he was screaming like a spoiled brat? That would never do.

  He took a few shaking breaths and attempted to calm down, dizzy from his sudden breakdown. When he finally felt he could move without falling over, he backed away from the table until his back hit the doorknob, then he turned and fled the room, more shaken than he wanted to admit.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The morning of the Rite of Passage was a bustle of activity for the students aboveground. For Nolan, in his third month of hiding in the basement warrens of Caer Anglia, it was a typically peaceful start to his day. He ate the food Pyrrhus left him down by the staircase, did his exercises, and dressed in the very specifically designated outfit for the day, smuggled downstairs from his uncle's rooms.

  He donned the pants first, dark loose cotton that didn't restrict his movement, but also didn't move so much as to be distracting. Over that went the sleeveless tunic, traditional for all numen that chose to wear a shirt at all. The main point was that the arms were exposed, able to reveal treachery in the form of additions that would focus or help their numina, like copper plates or bottles of water or matches. His grandfather’s dog tags were worn outside the shirt, displayed proudly on his chest. He slipped a shoulder scabbard for the Sword across his chest and surveyed the effect. He felt stupid, but he was sure his uncle would say he looked regal, or imposing, or some such sentimental garbage.

  He turned to the makeshift bed he had fixed and reached under it, removing the bundle of sweater and silk. He unwrapped it carefully, still making sure not to let his bare skin touch it, and used the silk to slide it into its sheath. Better to wait until the spectators arrived—lost in a crowd of people, suspicions would be rife but concrete evidence nowhere to be found.

  He snuck outside the building for the first time in months and stationed himself by the front gate, hidden in the shadows. All he needed was the first indication that the inundation had begun...

  Right on cue, the growl of Michael Warrington's expensive sports car came roaring through the woods. He and Lady Tempus were leading the line of cars winding their way up the hills to the parking lot in back. When the car was actually in view, he swung back down though the system of tunnels to his small bolthole and took a deep breath.

  "Here we go," he said to himself, and reached back to touch the Sword with his bare fingertips.

  The rush of Power jolted through him, bowing his body backwards with the force of it. The Power was positively singing in his nerve endings, ecstatic to be of use once again after almost a year of nothing. He felt like an overcharged battery, fairly crackling with electricity. He put some of it to good use, reaching out to the baileys and giving them permission to dissipate.

  In the dining hall at the very top of the building, they felt it first. Gia felt every hair on her head stand up, and she shivered. The others reacted in different ways, but it was Manas who understood first. He stood up and rushed for the stairs, running down at the head of a long line of traditionally dressed students to meet their families, standing uncertainly outside the main gate.

  Michael Warrington and Alix were standing in the forefront, and Manas stopped at the end of the walkway, pulling back his wide smile into a more acceptable one.

  "Father, welcome to Caer Anglia for the Rite of Passage," he said, and touched the gate.

  As gasps went up all around him, he swung the gate inward with the slightest touch, unharmed.

  Warrington smiled back at his son and strode forward, giving him a hug. "I am happy to see you all well and thriving," he said with a smile for the rest of the students. He turned back to the other numen. "Welcome home, everyone! Let us proceed to the Atrium and prepare the Arena as our children prepare themselves for their ultimate test of adulthood."

  They all cheered and began to flood the grounds, finding their loved ones and moving as one mass toward the building.

  The guards, finally able to have access to the building, took up their posts and began separating competitors from spectators, sending the families down to the Atrium and the students to the holding rooms.

  Gia, watching Pyrrhus carefully, saw him break away from the group and head down a stairwell he had no business being in. Knowing that she couldn’t endanger Nolan now, she followed him.

  He turned around a corner and knocked on a door. When she heard Nolan's voice for the first time in two months, her knees buckled with relief. He was still alive!

  Pyrrhus closed the door again and was about to head upstairs when Gia stepped into his path. "Have a good conversation with Nolan?" she asked with studied indifference.

  "Not really—just wished him luck. How did you find him?"

  "Followed you."

  "Damn! And I've been so careful...” He studied her for a moment. "Go see him—I think he'd benefit from the company. I let him know that he and Manas are scheduled t
o go last, so he's going to wait down here. Just don't be late for your own."

  He turned and headed up the stairs, smiling to himself the whole way.

  Gia steeled herself for a moment, then knocked on his door. Nolan opened it, smiling. "What'd you for—“ He froze when he saw that it wasn't Pyrrhus on the other side of the door. His hand shot out and grabbed her wrist hard enough to bruise as he yanked her inside, slamming the door shut behind her. He studied her for a moment, painfully aware that it had been months since he'd seen her. She looked a bit thinner and more tired than when he'd seen her in March-- her bare arms had not an ounce of extra flesh on them, the veins showing faintly blue beneath the skin. She was looking at him in much the same way. She was sure he was thinner, too, though he'd been working out during the hours upon hours of seemingly endless boredom.

  "What are you doing here?" he asked finally.

  "Pyrrhus sent me... I wanted to see you before your Rite of Passage."

  "I told him not to tell anyone!"

  "I followed him—don’t blame Pyrrhus. How are you doing?"

  "I'm fine."

  "Don't lie to my face, please," she said gently. "No one is fine, not today."

  "Okay, I'm convinced that Manas is going to kill me. Better?"

  "Not really, but at least it's the truth."

  He couldn't help but smile a bit at her blunt tone.

  "But--" she said slowly, "I hope you're not just going in there praying—you do have a plan, don't you?"

  "Yes... you won't like it, though, so I'm going to keep it to myself."

  "No! Please, tell me!" she teased, laughing.

  "Nope!"

  "Nolan, listen--" she said, suddenly serious. "If things go terribly today, I just want you to know..."

  She paused, gathering her courage.

  “What is it?” he prompted.

  Without responding, she threw her arms around him, allowing herself the luxury of his embrace just once, and was pleasantly surprised to feel his arms come around her, holding her close for a moment before letting go and sending her gently towards the door.

  "You'll be late," he reminded her.

  "Yes... yes. Okay. Good luck, Nolan."

  "Good luck, Gia."

  “Hey, Dizansa!” Pyrrhus called down the stairwell. “Let’s go!”

  “Coming!” she said. She walked into the hallway before turning back to face it, tears beginning to form in her eyes. Just as he began to close the door, she said, “I love you, Nolan. You don’t need to say anything—I just wanted you to know.”

  Leaving him stunned behind her, she turned around before he could stop her and hurried up the stairs to the holding room, where the other students were waiting for their turn. Pyrrhus was at the top waiting for her, shirtless.

  "Do you ever get dressed like a normal person?" she asked him quietly, sidling up to him.

  "Sometimes... when the moon is in the right phase. Seriously, though, I play with fire, and shirts are flammable. No need for distractions, right?"

  Privately, she thought that a female opponent would have been plenty distracted, but she kept that thought to herself. She had enough of her own distractions to deal with already. "Exactly."

  Sensei entered the room, stopping all conversation. She wasn’t supposed to see the combatants before they entered the Arena. No one was.

  “The Rite of Passage is delayed momentarily.”

  They all groaned—the suspense was torture. “What happened?” Leiani asked.

  Sensei shifted on her feet for a moment, looking uncertain. “They told me not to tell you, but you’re all adults. Brian Notebloom has died.”

  The room grew completely still.

  “Died?” Gia whispered.

  “His opponent tossed him into the wall—he landed on his head and broke his neck. They have to remove the body before we can continue.” She stepped back out of the room, leaving them all to stare after her.

  “Gods,” Gia whispered, glancing at Leiani. Though she was paler than normal, Leiani didn’t respond to either glance or words, stalking off in the other direction.

  “It happens,” Pyrrhus said softly.

  “It shouldn’t!”

  “It does. Just make sure you end it quickly,” he advised.

  “That’s my plan,” she began. The announcer interrupted their conversation.

  "Giada Disanza and Leiani K'Oliu!"

  She met Leiani at the door, barely glancing at her.

  "Good luck, Disanza," Leiani muttered. "You'll need it."

  Gia nodded, not trusting herself to respond politely, and walked out into the Atrium to the sound of hundreds of screaming, cheering throats. Proctor Jenkins stood in the center of the arena, hands raised for quiet. She could see Keopelani and Azar on their feet in the upper seats, cheering for Leiani—in contrast, her brother was glaring at his Blackberry, probably fighting for the signal he was never going to get. Shui was clapping, however, and tipped her a wink when she knew her husband wasn't looking. That wink lessened the pressure in Gia's chest considerably. She had a plan—she just wasn't sure how well it would work.

  "Ladies, welcome to your Rite of Passage. Officially, this fight is to first blood—the person who draws first blood has the right to declare the fight over, or to insist upon continuing to the next blood. Every time fresh blood is drawn, the victor will be given the option of calling the match. We go until someone accepts their victory as satisfactory. Clear?"

  "Yes, sir," they responded.

  "Numina or physical fighting only—no use of items other than those in the arena set for your use, and no assistance from anyone. Shake hands."

  They did so, hands clasped tightly, then retreated to their own corners.

  Jenkins used his cane to retreat back to his seat in the upper tier and leaned forward, a white kerchief in hand. "Ready?"

  They each nodded, eyes locked on the kerchief.

  He dropped his arm, drawing the white cloth down in a streak of motion. "Begin!"

  They began to circle one another, looking for opportunities. Gia began to extend her hands bit by bit, starting to call the wind down through the open roof into the arena.

  "Oh no you don't!" Leiani cried, and summoned a large wave of water left in the arena from the previous fights to knock her off her feet.

  Gia caught most of it in the face, skidding across the muddy floor and into the wall. She kept herself perfectly still and her breathing as shallow as she could manage, waiting.

  If her plan was ever going to work, it would be now. Nolan had fooled her once in a similar way…

  Leiani sauntered across the arena, bowing to the applause as she went to draw blood and end the fight. When she turned Gia over, however, she was in for a nasty surprise. Gia lashed out with her hand, scraping her purposely long nails down Leiani's arm and drawing blood.

  "First blood!" Jenkins declared to boos and hisses.

  "That's not fair!" Leiani cried. "She cheated! Mother!"

  "Robert?" Keopelani deferred to Jenkins, who was technically referee for the bouts.

  "First blood is first blood, Leiani... and I believe I taught you that a downed opponent is not always a defeated opponent. Gia? Match, or continue?"

  “Match,” she said firmly. There was a mix of clapping and booing—due to the brevity of the match—as Gia got to her feet and took her bow, then dragged herself, sopping wet, to the benches set aside for those already done.

  Leiani, glaring at her, went over to Kuriyami to have her arm healed.

  "Pyrrhus and our guest fighter, Alan Aeron!"

  A loud cheer went up at that as Alan stood from his place at his mother's side and stripped his shirt and tie off, climbing down into the arena. Girls whistled and swooned while he accepted it all in good grace, laughing. He bowed deeply to his fiancée, who was still having her arm cleaned, and took his spot. Pyrrhus was walking in from the holding room, obviously mortified at the amount of water covering the arena. He brought his face back to a calm mask
, however, and strode up to listen to the rules and shake Alan's hand.

  "Begin!"

  Unfortunately for Pyrrhus, the fight was over almost before it had begun. Alan simply summoned a majority of the water from the floor and used it to bombard him, making him too wet to ignite. Pyrrhus, sensing that he would never be able to use his numina, simply put his head down and charged, catching Alan in the chest and taking him to the ground. They wrestled in the mud for a few minutes, both struggling to find purchase in the thick sludge. Finally, Alan managed to flip them over, pinning Pyrrhus down and using his head to bash Pyrrhus's nose, immediately drawing blood.

  "First blood!" Jenkins declared again.

  “Match,” Alan said. He stood and offered a hand to Pyrrhus, who took it with good grace.

  "May I?" he asked, gesturing at the nose that was covered in mud and leaking blood everywhere.

  Pyrrhus held his arms out and closed his eyes. "Knock yourself out."

  Alan rinsed them both free of the mud, then went back to his seat as Pyrrhus went to Liz for treatment.

  "Our final bout of the day..." Jenkins said, and had to clear his throat as the entire room went completely silent. Every person in the arena was leaning forward, watching the doors to the arena intently.

  "Manas Warrington and Nolan Aeron."

  Manas entered the arena to a decent amount of cheers, but they were all waiting for Nolan, and he knew it. The doors were closed, and the room was silent.

  "Nolan Aeron!" Jenkins called a second time. If Nolan was called a third time and did not respond, he was forfeit, and still considered a child for another year.

  "Nolan--"

  "Here!"

  The crowd rippled as they turned to the opposite side of the room, where Nolan was climbing over the retaining wall into the Arena. Once the first person saw the Sword strapped to his back, a giant cheer went up from the crowd, the loudest of the day.

  "The Sword!"

  "It's the Swordsmith!"

  "May the gods bless you, young Aeron!" a particularly attractive girl shouted from the front row, waving her arms.