“The familiar face must be nice,” Tariza said, his eyes roaming the cafeteria. “And getting on the same team? What were the odds of that?”
“Yeah, do you guys have an uncle on the inside or something?” Grene asked, grinning with too much teeth. She talked with such enthusiasm that every word out of her mouth should’ve ended with an exclamation point.
“Just luck,” I said. I ate fast, without needing to taste the bland fare. Eating only enough to fuel my body was like second nature.
“Slow down there, Nel,” Tariza said, eyeing my tray. “The food isn’t going anywhere.”
Heat filled my cheeks at the insinuation. Because Avan had told them we were from the lower North District, the worst section of the Alley, they would assume that we had been poor and underfed. And they were right, for the most part, but I still didn’t like his tone.
“Grene is from the South Quarter of the White Court,” Avan said. The South Quarter was where the Watchmen headquarters and the Academy were located. “She was telling me about how her aunt was a sentinel.”
Grene twirled her slender fingers through her blond hair as she ate. Even her smallest movements bounced with energy. Either she was nauseatingly upbeat or she was buzzing with nerves.
“She died on a mission to the Outlands a few years ago,” Grene boasted, in the same way that someone would announce she had won a trophy.
I had to wonder if she wasn’t dead at all but had joined Irra instead. Maybe we had eaten with her in the mess hall or danced with her at the party.
I hadn’t considered it before, but the disappearances worked both ways. Ninu kidnapped people such as Tera, the prostitute’s sister, while Irra could very well have taken Grene’s aunt. Either way, families were left broken.
“Ever since, my father has been betting on me becoming a sentinel. I completed the courses at the Academy with top scores.”
I wished I could tell whether or not she was mahjo. Magic must not manifest in every descendant if her aunt had been a sentinel but not her father or mother. And since neither of Avan’s parents had been taken for the Tournament, they didn’t have any mahjo blood, either, since I knew both of them had donated at the energy clinics.
“He insists he can’t live without the honor of having a sentinel in the family, even though it means never seeing me again,” Grene explained. She said it so airily that I couldn’t tell if she agreed with her father or not.
“What do you know about the sentinels?” I asked.
“Not much more than the rest of you,” she admitted. “But I like the secrecy. Makes them seem all mysterious or magical or something.”
Or suspicious. But Grene obviously hadn’t considered that.
I polished off my tray, while to my right, Avan ate slowly, forming his potato mash into a tall peak and then demolishing it.
“You okay?” I asked.
Avan gave me that lopsided smile that made my chest tighten. He didn’t try to manipulate me like he did Grene. This was genuine.
He looked at me and murmured, “Perfect.”
I held in my laughter.
“Nervous about your match?” Tariza asked Avan.
“Kind of.”
“You’ll do great,” I said, because I believed it. We had yet to see these cadets fight, but, like me, Avan had managed against a fully trained sentinel. And he healed fast. I didn’t need to worry about him, I told myself.
The others finished eating, and then Grene showed us to the prep room. All the cadets reported there first, where we would be called out to the arena. Observers to the matches were restricted to the judges and the participating cadets’ teams to avoid scouting out another cadet’s strengths and weaknesses. Personally, I was glad. I didn’t relish the idea of being scrutinized by strangers and potential opponents.
Other cadets with early matches joined us in the hallway as we headed for the bright-red door. Avan entered first.
I saw the way his body tensed before he moved into the room. His hand found my wrist, pulling me close to his side. The intimate gesture caught me off guard. I pushed against his chest, but his hand tightened around my wrist, and, a moment later, I saw why.
Three sentinels stood in the middle of the room, facing away from us. It was jarring to see his collar on display, but I recognized him all the same. I would have recognized him anywhere.
Reev.
CHAPTER 27
I STARTED FORWARD. Avan held me back, his other hand gripping my waist.
“No,” he said so softly that his words reached only my ears. “Look around. This room is filled with Watchmen.”
I couldn’t look around. Reev filled my vision. His reassuring back; the breadth of his shoulders; his hair, shorter now, curled around his collar.
I tried to wrench free of Avan’s grasp, but Reev was already moving away. He followed the other sentinels through an entryway. Panic rattled my rib cage. He was getting away. He was leaving again. I had to stop him.
Strong hands seized my shoulders and spun me around. Avan’s dark eyes met mine. He smoothed down my hair, his fingers cupping my face.
“Kai,” he whispered. “Get ahold of yourself. We’ve got time.”
Another hand waved tentatively at me. “Nel, you okay?”
It was Grene. I pushed away from Avan and drew in a slow breath. And then again. I had almost reached for the threads to delay Reev. I could have blown our cover. I turned to face Grene.
“I’m just . . . a little tired,” I said lamely. I looked at her chin to avoid her eyes.
“Well, don’t let it interfere with your match,” Grene said. “We’re scored as a team.”
“Maybe you can nap after Avan’s fight,” Tariza suggested.
I doubted I could sleep at all now that I knew Reev was within reach.
A man in a high-collared black tunic and green cravat appeared from the entryway through which Reev had left. He moved into the center of the room, clasped his hands at his waist, and scanned the cadets.
The chatter stopped.
“Welcome, cadets, to the first round of the Tournament,” he said, his thick brows drawn together into a severe line. He had a nasally voice, made more pronounced by how loudly he was talking. The White Court really needed to find a way to make announcements without shouting. “This marks another year in which our young warriors rise to the duty of defending our great city. Let us once again give thanks to Kahl Ninurta I, who gathered the scattered peoples of the land, stricken and floundering in the dark, and built them a haven. The only mahjo to survive the devastation, who dedicated his life and his magic to restoring order and providing safety behind the protection of our mighty walls.”
Avan and I shared exasperated looks. We already knew the story. Every Ninurtan did. It was retold every year on Founding Day.
More than two hundred years ago, Kahl Ninurta I—who Irra had referred to as Conquest and claimed was the same person still ruling today—had led survivors of the Mahjo War into the ruins of an abandoned city and declared it his own.
I glanced around. Some of the cadets looked bored, but others clung to his words. I wondered what they would think if they knew other mahjo were still around, enslaved by the Kahl.
“Kahl Ninu thanks you for your service,” the man continued. “All matches will be overseen by a jury of sentinels. The sentinels may award the victory to either opponent based on skill and execution, regardless of the match’s winner. Do your best, and you will succeed.” He paused for dramatic effect before announcing, “Cadets, let the Tournament begin!”
The cadets cheered. I pumped my fist so I wouldn’t stand out.