The hall fell silent, heavy with the sharp smell of metal from the Holy Knights' swords. Alden stood still in the center, his shadow long under the flickering torchlight. The Patriarch's order lingered in the air like a threat.
"Silence!" the Patriarch shouted, his voice shaking the banners showing the Lionfelt crest—a golden lion on red. The Matriarch's smile faded for a moment. "You've gone too far this time," he growled, staring at Alden. For a second, Alden thought he saw something in the Patriarch's cold eyes—maybe doubt, maybe interest.
"Send him to Evelyn," the Patriarch commanded. "Let her test him." He glared at the Matriarch. "But cross me again, and you'll learn your place."
The Matriarch bowed her head, her jeweled headpiece glittering dangerously. "Thank you for your… kind forgiveness," she said sweetly but with poison in her voice. Her fingers brushed the dagger on her hip—a habit Alden remembered well. "And for this… chance."
She moved toward Alden, her dark robes flowing like water. When she placed her hand on his shoulder, her nails dug into his skin. "I will ruin you," she whispered.
Alden didn't look away. Years in the wilds had taught him to face worse threats. "It'll be fun, Miss Evelyn," he replied, smiling coldly.
Lady Evelyn jerked back as if burned. Without a word, she stormed out, her knights stepping aside. The Patriarch nodded at Alden. "Follow her. She'll test you now."
Alden bowed—quick and stiff—and walked out. The Holy Knights' stares burned his back, some angry, others curious. Let them watch, he thought. Let them see what I can do.
Outside, the sun blinded him briefly. Evelyn stood ahead, stiff and sharp near the training grounds where young fighters practiced with wooden swords. Their thudding sounds echoed like faraway drums.
"Stop following me!" she snapped without turning.
Alden caught up, his boots crunching on gravel. "We're past the hall," he said calmly. "And you should be careful, Lady Evelyn. The Patriarch's patience is thin." He paused. "Stay quiet until we… help each other."
She spun around, eyes blazing. For a moment, he thought she'd hit him—then she laughed, a harsh, broken sound. "You think you're smart, cub? The trials will crush you."
"Then crush me," Alden said softly. "But do it quietly. Your drama tires me."
Evelyn's grip tightened on her dagger. She turned and marched toward the eastern barracks, Alden following just behind.
Back in the hall, Leonhardt shifted nervously, sweat on his brow. The Patriarch looked at him, and suddenly Leonhardt felt like a child caught stealing.
"Leonhardt."
"Yes, Patriarch?"
"I hope this didn't upset you." The Patriarch's voice was softer now, tired.
"No trouble," Leonhardt lied, forcing a laugh. "It was… interesting."
The Patriarch frowned. "Interesting?"
Leonhardt's throat tightened. "I—I meant it's good to see your strength… so clear," he stammered, waving at the knights.
The Patriarch stared, then sighed. "Good." He pointed to the glowing healing mark on a knight's armor—Leonhardt's work. "Thank you for helping my people. Our magic met your needs?"
"Yes," Leonhardt said, bowing. "The spells are… strong." Strong but rough, he almost added.
"When do you leave?"
"After a few more patients. Then I'll rest here awhile."
The Patriarch waved him off. "Go then. Rest well."
Leonhardt bowed again and hurried out. Outside, he leaned against a warm stone wall, breathing hard. "Crazy," he muttered, watching trainees carry arrows to the range. "All of them, crazy."
A maid glanced at him. He straightened his robes and rushed to the healers' quarters, praying to gods he barely believed in.
In the hall, the Patriarch stared where Alden had stood. Garrick Stormcrest—a Holy Knight with a scarred face and hard eyes—stepped forward. "Why send him to the Matriarch?" he asked boldly. "You're feeding him to wolves."
The Patriarch didn't turn. Through the windows, Alden disappeared into the barracks' shadow. "Wolves?" he murmured. "No, Garrick. Wolves can be controlled." He gripped his sword's lion-shaped handle. "What Evelyn has in her heart is worse."
Garrick opened his mouth—then closed it at the Patriarch's raised hand.
"If he's truly a Lionfelt," the Patriarch said, more to himself, "he'll survive."