Wings of Roses

Chapter 3

The courtyard is silent as the dragon crawls back into his den. Chains rattle around his feet, something I hadn't noticed when he had emerged. Is he not able to fly freely about the lands? What a cruel fate that would be. I stand beside the girl with green hair once again, and after composing himself following the dragon's interruption, Augustus stands at the front of the platform to address the crowd.

"This concludes this year's blooding ritual. Those chosen to serve in the blood legion will now be escorted to their chambers. Families, take care in your travels. Thank you for joining us on such a joyous occasion and allow the Gods to bless you today and for eternity. Midsummer blessings to all." The audience claps and stands, chatting among themselves. Augustus turns to us. "Miser will escort you to the barracks. Tomorrow you will receive a tour of the grounds and begin your training with several of the cadets. At this time next week, a ball will be held in your honor. I suggest heading to the tailor in the city to find appropriate garments. Supper is to be served in an hour. Blessings to you all." He bows deeply, but I feel his small eyes on me even in the darkness of his hood. The dragon had undermined his decision to send me home, and judging the Priest's reaction, that hasn't happened before. At least, not in Agliath.

Miser appears from his perch beside the king and beckons us to follow. I can feel Augustus's and His Majesty's burning gazes upon my back as we pass them. We are taken through a small wooden door that opens to a narrow hall made of polished stone illuminated by oil sconces along the walls. The girl I'd been standing beside outside bumps my shoulder, making me look up at her. She grins down at me as she says, "Hello."

"Hi," I say, returning to keeping my head forward so I don't bump into the person in front of me. Out of the twenty that stood on that platform, only ten of us made it through the ritual and were accepted into the legion. It would have been nine if Bruthynth hadn't stepped in.

"That dragon sure was something. I wasn't expecting to see him. I hear he's under lock and key in that cave." The girl has a bounce to her step, her emerald eyes glancing around to take in the shiny walls and floors. When I don't reply, she adds, "I'm Elswyth."

"Aeris." I'm not used to people I don't know making small talk. The villagers avoided me, called me the Maiden of Death. It always puzzled me as to why, but I always chalk it up to being chosen for the ritual. Most know those chosen never truly return. Most perish in the war, and those who do make it to retirement aren't the same people as when they are enlisted. It's expected, I suppose, with all they must have witnessed. Dread settles in my stomach, making me feel heavy as we descend the staircase. Miser leads us down another hall and stops before the first set of doors.

"This portion of the castle is the blood legion's wing. This hall is your barracks. You are lucky half of you were turned away, otherwise you would be doubling up. There are ten rooms, one for each of you. Supper will be served in approximately thirty minutes. I suggest you freshen up and return upstairs to the legion's dining hall. If you get lost, find an officer and they will escort you to dinner. May the Gods bless you." We press against the wall to make room for Miser's exit, his round body still rubbing against all of us in the narrow hall.

Elswyth and I head toward the end of the hall. I choose the room at the very end on the right, and she the one beside it. Before entering, she turns to me, "Want to sit together for supper?"

"Alright, I'll meet you in the hall at the chime of the bell." I turn the brass knob on my door and push. The chamber is small like I expected. There's enough room for a small bed, a desk for writing, and an armoire. The cream walls are bare, and unlike the hall outside, the floors are hardwood that creak beneath my weight. I open the only other door in the room which leads to a small bathing chamber. A tub, a sink with a mirror, and a toilet. Bottles of soap sit on a shelf above the tub and the walls match the cream tile on the floor. I enter, tapping the faucet before turning it. Cold-water splashes against porcelain. I quickly scoop some up in my hands and douse my face, as if that could wash away the pain of walking away from my family. When I turn off the tap to gaze into the mirror, I don't recognize who stares back.