My tail whips behind me in a slow, predatory rhythm. My inner demon awakens, anger pumps through my veins. I grit my teeth as I take in the scene.
King Connor stands sturdy and tall, a silver sword hanging from a belt about his waist. Beside him, the Queen is arrayed in a black velvet gown with a full skirt and long looping sleeves, all edged in silver ribbon. Her sandy brown hair is wound into a bun at the base of her neck. Lincoln walks beside them with military precision. Shadows shift across his full mouth, brown hair, and strong shoulders.
My eyes flicker red with wrath.
The Rixa march to the Arena’s center, forming three columns of twenty soldiers each. The King, Queen, and High Prince stand nearby.
Lincoln steps forward, raising one hand. “On my mark!”
The men in the first column reach behind their backs, pulling what looks like two short silver rods from the folds of their tunics.
I squint, trying to see the weapons in their hands. Are those teensy little sticks the ‘mighty baculum?’ Not too impressive, Prince Pompous.
Lincoln lowers his arm.
The soldiers place one stick in each hand. A line of fire extends from both ends of the baculum, turning the rods into two short spears made of white flame.
The warriors toss the spears into the air. The lines of white fire whip skyward, then spiral back into the warrior’s hands. The Rixa set the two baculum together, creating one longer, heavier spear. Holding it before them with both hands, the warriors thrust the spear into the earth.
Okay, maybe that’s a little bit impressive.
Lincoln turns to the next group and nods.
The second column brings out their baculum, holding both sticks together in one hand. Fire extends from the baculum, turning the short silver rods into long tridents made of white flame. The warriors run through a series of synchronized lunges and spins. Like the first group, they end by setting the base of their tridents into the soil.
I hate to admit it, but that was cool, too.
Lincoln faces the last set of soldiers.
The third column raises their arms shoulder-high, one baculum in each hand. A rope of white flame extends between the silver rods. Before each warrior, the fiery baculum cord weaves back and forth until it turns into a small net made of fire. The soldiers toss their baculum-nets high into the air, where they all link together into one huge and fiery web. I can’t imagine a demon getting out from under that thing.
The fire-web hovers in the sky for a moment, then wafts slowly downward. When the great net lies just above the warrior’s heads, the Rixa raise their arms high, catching their baculum with ease. The fighters lower their hands. The fiery web breaks back into individual nets.
Lincoln pulls out two baculum of his own. He sets them together in his palms. A fiery broadsword appears in his hands. He sets his feet apart in battle stance and raises the fire-sword high above his head.
“In thrax hic sunt!” He speaks Latin, like the Scala. I’ve no idea what it means, but I guess it’s something like ‘thrax are in the house.’ At the sound of his voice, fresh anger zings through my system. I crack my neck and try to stay cool.
From her white throne, Verus sweeps her arm across the crowd. “The senior maiden of each major House is that house’s Great Lady. We’re fortunate to have four Great Ladies here with us today: Nita of House Kamal, Keisha of House Horus, Gianna of House Striga, and Adair of House Acca.”
Adair? As in ‘ooh you have such muscle-y muscles’ Adair? I grit my teeth and work hard to slow my breathing. I’m built to show up and kick ass, not stand around while girly dips do their thing.
I inhale a slow breath. Keep it together, Myla. I’m sure she’ll just prance out onto the Arena floor and then stand somewhere and look pretty.
Four girls around my age step through a stadium archway, each wearing a gown in their house’s color: yellow, purple, bronze, and blue. They saunter across the Arena floor to stand before the King, Queen, and High Prince. Lincoln lowers his baculum; the fiery blade disappears.
I glance at my watch. School’s almost over. This bleeding ceremony has to end soon.
“The procession is complete,” says Verus. “We will now awaken the Scala Heir.”
The angels once again rise to their feet, their great wings extending behind their backs. They speak in unison. “Who is the Scala Heir?”
The Lady Adair raises her hand to shoulder level, palm forward. “I am the Scala Heir.”
What?! No freaking way. The Scala is supposed to be part angel, demon, and human. Thrax are only part human and angel. I eye Lady Adair carefully. She’s so perfect and cute-sy, she could easily be part-demon. Maybe she’s descended from one of those swamp monsters who pretend to be a lovely, drowning lady. You try to rescue the pretty, and you’re lured to your death. Yeah, that’s it.