noisy campsite, and would cer-
tainly draw notice, even deep in the Greatwoods—if not for a woman
named Farrah, the first recruit after Ada and Nix, who can manipulate
sound itself. She absorbs the explosive blasts of gunfire, smothering
each round of bullets so that not even an echo ripples across the valley.
As the newbloods expand their abilities, learning to control them
as I did, I begin to hope. Cal excels at teaching, especially with the
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children. They don’t have the same prejudices as the older recruits, and
take to following him around the camp even when their training les-
sons are over. This in turn ingratiates the older newbloods to the exiled
prince’s presence. It’s hard to hate Cal when he has children milling
around his ankles, begging for another lesson. Even Nix has stopped
glaring at him, though he still refuses to do anything more than grunt
in Cal’s direction.
I’m not so gifted as the exile, and come to dread the morning and
late-afternoon sessions. I want to blame my unease on exhaustion. Half
my days are spent recruiting, traveling to the next name on our list, but
that’s not it at all. I’m simply a poor instructor.
I work closest with Ketha, whose abilities are more physical and
alike to my own. She can’t create electricity or any other element, but
instead destroy. Like Silver oblivions, she can explode an object, blow-
ing it apart in a concussive cloud of smoke and fire. But while typical
oblivions are restricted to things they can actually touch, Ketha has no
such limitation.
She waits patiently, eyeing the rock in my hand. I do my best not
to shrink from her explosive gaze, knowing full well what it can do.
In the short week since we found her, she’s graduated from destroying
clumps of paper, leaves, even branches, to solid stone. As with the other
newbloods, all they need is a chance to reveal their true selves. The
abilities respond in kind, like animals finally let out of their cages.
While the others give her training a wide berth, leaving us to the
far end of the Notch clearing, I can do no such thing. “Control,” I say,
and she nods.
I wish I had more to offer her, but my guidance is woefully poor.
I myself have only a month of ability training under my belt, much of
it from Julian, who wasn’t even a proper trainer to begin with. What’s
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more, it’s incredibly personal to me, and I find it difficult to explain
exactly what I intend to Ketha.
“Control,” she repeats.
Her eyes narrow, deepening her focus. Strange, her mud-brown eyes
are unremarkable despite the power they hold. Like me, Ketha comes
from a river village, and could pass for my much-older sister or aunt.
Her tanned skin and gray-tipped hair are firm reminders of our humble,
unjust origins. According to her records, she was a schoolteacher.
When I heave the rock skyward, tossing it as far up as I can, I’m
reminded of Instructor Arven and Training. He made us hit targets
with our abilities, honing our aim and focus. And in the Bowl of Bones,
I became his target. He nearly killed me, and yet here I am, copying his
methods. It feels wrong—but effective.
The rock pulverizes into dust, as if a tiny bomb went off inside it.
Ketha claps for herself, and I force myself to do the same. I wonder if
she’ll feel differently when her abilities are put to the test, against flesh instead of stone. I suppose I can have Kilorn catch us a rabbit so we can
find out.
But he grows more distant with every passing day. He’s taken it
upon himself to feed the camp, and spends most of his time fishing or
hunting. If I were not so preoccupied with my own duties, recruiting
and training, I would try and snap him out of it. But I barely have time
to sleep, let alone coax Kilorn back into the fold.
By the first snowfall, there are twenty newbloods living at the camp,
varying from old maids to twitching young boys. Luckily, the safe
house is bigger than I first thought, stretching back into the hill in a
maze of chambers and tunnels. A few have shafted windows, but most
are dark, and we end up having to steal lanterns as well as newbloods
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from every place we visit. By the time the first snow falls, the Notch
sleeps all twenty-six of us comfortably,