“Rank Mamlin…” the Commander called, her eyes not wavering from the beast. She pointed towards the furthest guard who stood closest to the left wall, signalling for Illera to wait there. As if to say she understood, Illera roared. The guard, who waited, was painted in worry.
Illera padded slowly in his direction, her beastly face kept low. She closed in on him and picked up her pace. I saw him flinch and his lips part in a silent gasp the moment she pounced. We all watched in shock, but mid jump, she shifted back into her elfin form and landed with a giggle. Bitch.
The Commander called out the next name, her voice pulling our attention back her way.
“Merlara Abenim of Thatchm.”
Another girl walked forward, one I’d noticed the previous night. Her honey coloured hair had been scraped back into a ponytail, accentuating her hooked nose. She walked forward with confidence, but her hands shook violently at her side. She wasn’t fooling anyone.
“Shift.”
Merlara’s opal smoke burst from her chest and she morphed into her secondary form. I first saw the black feathers. A speck of white sat at the base of her elongated neck, like a diamond hanging from a necklace. I had never seen a swan like it, not as beautiful nor powerful in size. I was used to seeing them back home, guarding the waters of the lake in the middle of the village, but nothing like Merlara’s form. Petrer sucked in a breath beside me, mirroring my own admiration.
“Rank Falmia,” the Commander cooed, her eyes wide, a hint of a smile cracking her serious face. Merlara melted into smoke. She reached out her wide wings and raised beak to the arched ceiling as skin replaced feathers.
Names were called forth, shifts were displayed and the elves were separated into their ranks. I watched, stunned as some shifted into snakes, a ferret, and many different species of birds. One girl shifted into a field mouse and was the first sent to Rank Clarak. It was clear that the less impressive shifters were sent to Rank Clarak.
The larger beasts were put into Rank Mamlin, and the winged shifters were sent to Rank Falmia.
With each shift, my worry grew. The crowd around me thinned, it was inevitable I would be called soon. My palms were clammy and drips of sweat broke away from my hairline to drip down my neck. I had to focus on calming the storm within my mind whilst keeping my magick buried within me. My panic only spurred my magick to life.
When my name was finally called, my body froze.
“Zacriah Trovirn of Horith.”
The Commander looked up from the list when she didn’t hear me step forward and called my name again. Petrer hissed something beside me and pushed me forward. There was no denying the Commander didn’t see me.
“Step forward…” she muttered, beckoning with her hands for me to hurry up.
My mind told me to step forward, but my body was not responding.
“Well this is a first, looks like we have someone suffering with some nerves.”
I tried to ignore the hint of sarcasm in her voice and took a step forward, then another until I stood before her. She peered down at me, the whites of her eyes dull and yellowed. She looked me up and down, her tongue clicking against her teeth.
“What are you waiting for?”
“I… cannot shift,” I stuttered, holding her burning gaze.
“Speak up, boy.”
“I cannot shift, Commander.”
My response surprised her at first. But, her face twisted and three loud barks exploded from her mouth. Her laugh urged the rest of those watching behind me to join in “Of course, you can shift!”
I looked away from her gaze to my feet and just stood there. I stopped fiddling with my nails and tensed my arms to keep them by my side. I could feel the judgement of those watching behind me burn into the back of my head.
“I won’t tell you again, shift and stop wasting my time,” she shouted, all signs of laughter gone.
I dug my nails into my leg, anything to stop my shaking hands. The Commander stepped down from the dais and I felt her hot breath, her face inches from mine. I looked up, her face covered in faded marks and scars, a constellation of battle wounds.
“Do it,” she seethed.
“I can’t,” I said.
She held my gaze a few moments longer then looked away, taking the longest inhale through her nose. “Fadine, come.”
Fadine stepped forward, “Take over, I will be back.”
The Commander thrust the parchment into Fadine’s hands and turned to leave the room. When she reached the door, she turned to me. “You, follow me.”
I ran to her; my deep-seated anxiety had taken full control over my body. I caught Petrer’s gaze as I walked passed him, his eyes wide.
We left the throne room through a side door.
My footsteps echoed as I hurried through a grey stoned hallway ahead, matching the frantic pounding in my head and chest. The Commander didn’t turn to check if I followed, only moved forward. I kept my eyes trained to the back of her neck and I noticed a dark symbol that sat underneath the neckline of her garment, a sigil unknown that I didn’t recognize. I could only see the top of it peaking from above her collar, unable to make out the shape or design. It was uncommon for elves to mark their bodies with ink and piercings. To see the King’s first in commander with such a mark shocked me. It was not a common practice; even my Mam lost her mind when I turned up with two piercings in my right ear two moons ago.
The walk was endless, the hallways and stairs blurred into one. She’d not uttered a single word to me since we left. I wanted to ask where we were headed, but I didn’t need to.
This part of the palace dripped in wealth, more than I had seen in any other part. Cases of jewels and strange stones lined the hallways, and elaborate paintings of King Dalior and his lost wife covered the walls. We were headed for the King.
She stopped before a door at the end of another corridor and knocked with purpose. At first there was no reply, so she knocked again, harder. When a voice piped up from inside the room, my heart almost dropped when I recognized who it belonged to. It was not the King.
“Enter.”
She pushed on the oak door, the smells of burning incense greeting us. The room beyond was huge, the ceiling so high it was dark in its own shadows. Bookcases lined the walls, each filled with different sized tomes. The walls were a sandy stone colour, and the floor was covered in faded red rugs. Beside the bookcases there was only a desk and behind it sat Prince Hadrian.
His hair hung limp over his shoulders, but kept from his face by the silver circlet placed around his head. He didn’t look up when we entered, only carried on scanning the open tome before him. The candles burned on the edge of the desk, flickering from the breeze that followed into the room from the open door.
“Please close the door, Commander, I have only just gotten over a cold and I really do not want another,” he drawled, still refusing to move his attention from the book before him.