“Attention, first-years.”
Everyone was immediately silenced as Master Barclae entered the room looking formidable and intimidating in his black silks. He stood near the front of the room, almost adjacent to where the prince and his friends were seated. My eyes darted to Darren, and I saw that, unlike me, there was nothing disheveled to the non-heir’s appearance. I could also see Priscilla running a hand through his hair, and my stomach clenched.
“Today marks your halfway progress to the end-of-year trials,” the Master of the Academy began. “From here on out, expect your training to become much more intense. You may think that you are already giving your studies everything you have to give, but trust me when I say the next five months will prove that theory wrong.
“At this point your masters have pushed you to your limits. They have shattered your will and built you back up into the resilient warriors that remain. Now, it is not your masters, but your peers who will challenge your stay.
“You already know what it is to break. You also know what it means to survive. You didn’t last this long by chance. The masters did everything they could to encourage you to leave. The first-years that remain now will not shy away from a challenge. They will not leave willingly.
“You will become your own worst enemies. You will push yourselves further than your masters require. You will not sleep, eat, or breathe without the apprenticeship in mind. Not a day will go by that you won’t compare yourself with others of your same faction, and this will spur an inevitable competition.
“By now I am sure all of you are aware that the best way to increase your probable success is by reducing the count among your own factions. In the past, students have encouraged one another’s departure by any means necessary.
“While I believe competition is a healthy and necessary part of your schooling, I am here to remind you that during this time the rules of conduct still apply. Hazing is not permitted, and any student caught participating in such will be sent home immediately. I do not condone such actions as have occurred in the past, and I have already advised the constable that he has full authority should inappropriate proceedings arise.”
Master Barclae scanned the audience with a furrowed brow and then gave a wolfish smile. “That said, I am pleased to announce two more students have departed from your ranks. It appears a week of respite was too much temptation. I can only hope this trend continues in the months that follow.” He chuckled and then gave a cursory gesture with his right hand. “Now, continue on with your meal. I wouldn’t want to ruin your morning completely.”
The Master of the Academy exited the room, black silks billowing, as the rest of us picked at our plates in silence. From what he had just told us, we were in for the worst five months of our lives.
I could hardly wait.
CHAPTER TWELVE
It wasn’t even a full week into the second half of our year before the Master of the Academy’s predictions began to play out. For better or for worse, every first-year had increased the intensity of their studies, and no one, no one, was ever seen at a meal or break without a book in hand. Training had become a nightmare, and first-years were sent to the healing ward on a daily basis. Narhari’s expectations became nothing compared to the limits we had set for ourselves.
Students had stopped sharing in each other’s progress, and friendships were becoming strained. People were guarded, secretive, and tempers flared.
Each of us had an apprenticeship in mind, and Master Barclae’s warning had forced us to acknowledge the reality that everyone, even friends, threatened that progress.
Unfortunately, there had been two parts to the Master of the Academy’s warning, and the latter had taken effect as well. Hazing had begun, though it was seldom referred to as such, and while it was forbidden, no one was bothering to halt it.
Most of the class secretly supported its purpose, though they were afraid to be at its receiving end. Even the masters seemed unusually oblivious to its presence, and I suspected Master Barclae’s public condemnation had been just that: a public cover and nothing more. After all, wasn’t he one of the ones that wanted to “cut our waste?”
The first time I witnessed the hazing was during Piers’s drills three days after the announcement.
Ella and I had just started our fourth mile when the burly brothers Jake and William had sprinted past, laughing a little too loudly for comfort. She and I had looked behind, just in time to see one of the younger boys of our faction pitch forward into a giant trench that had suddenly appeared in the middle of his track.