CHAPTER 2: Grade A-Prime

"Move your feet! NOW!" the guard screams into my ear, his voice cracking like a whip across wet stone.

I flinch from the sound, breaking the strange connection, but the weight stays locked onto my chest as I step into the formation. The cold hits so hard my eyes water. Around me, girls in expensive clothes stumble into place, pulling furs tighter, grabbing each other's arms for support. Some cry openly. One near the front prays quietly, her lips moving without a sound.

I find my place in line and stand straight, refusing to tremble.

The Palace of Lupercal is worse up close. Photographs and whispered warnings at Vivienne's dinner parties had not prepared me for its terrifying size. Black walls go up and keep going, dark stone swallowing the grey sky. Blue fire burns inside iron cages, the flames bending sideways toward the walls as if something inside the stone is actively breathing them in.

"Scared?" The girl directly beside me speaks without moving her lips, eyes fixed forward. She wears a frayed coat far too large for her thin frame.

"Yes," I say, keeping my voice as steady as possible. "I am."

"Me too." She exhales a cloud of white mist. "I'm Mira. House Calloway."

"Aylin," I say back, matching her quiet tone. "Aylin Lunaris."

Mira goes silent. Everyone knows that name. I am used to the pity and strange looks that follow it.

A woman steps onto the marble platform, and frantic whispers die down immediately. Tall and sharp-featured, dressed in solid black, she holds a thin silver rod pulsing faintly at the tip. She looks carved from the palace walls, never once questioning if that is a good thing.

"I am the Matron," she announces, her voice carrying over the wind. "You are not guests. You are not honored. You are a debt your families owe this Pack, and today we find out what you are worth to us."

She steps off the platform and starts down the line, boots crunching loudly in the slush.

The silver rod does different things to different girls. Against one girl's throat, the tip stays completely dark.

"Grade D," the Matron says, moving to the next position without a backward glance. "Kitchens."

The girl collapses into the wet snow, sobbing. Two guards appear from the shadows and walk her away before the sound even fades from the courtyard.

A soft glow appears for the next girl. Brighter for the one after that.

Then she reaches Genevieve.

I noticed her immediately. She stood at the front like she owned the courtyard, wrapped in white fur, her gold hair coiled in braids despite the freezing wind. Back when I attended gatherings with my parents, Genevieve was always loud and mean. I watched her monitor the other assessments with a cool, satisfied expression, knowing how her own would go.

The silver rod touches her throat and glows a warm gold color.

"Grade B," the Matron states, her sharp face showing a rare sign of approval. "Upper chambers."

Genevieve smiles, walking toward the oak doors. Passing me, she slows her pace just enough to speak under her breath.

"Try not to embarrass yourself, Lunaris," Genevieve whispers, full of spite. "Though embarrassment requires a reputation left to protect."

She doesn't wait for an answer, disappearing through the heavy doors.

The Matron reaches me next, stopping dead. Her eyes drop to the crest on my collar, reading the family name in silver thread, and a ripple moves through her expression.

"Lunaris," she says, treating it like a disease diagnosis. "Alaric's daughter."

"Yes," I say, looking her right in the eyes.

"Your father spent his final years talking to walls and chasing a dead woman," she says, lifting the rod toward my face. "Let's see what is left in the bloodline."

She presses the cold tip of the rod straight to my throat.

Nothing happens. One second passes. Two. A girl behind me laughs under her breath. Mira makes a small, sorry sound beside me.

Then, without warning, the silver rod explodes.

A blinding white light tears out so fast the Matron stumbles backward, skidding on wet stone. It is high and sharp, cutting through freezing air, sending girls to their knees with hands over their ears. The blue fires bow toward me, leaning in like hounds listening for a master's call.

The white light wraps around me, humming deeply. The entire courtyard has gone completely silent.

The Matron stands back, staring at the rod in her shaking hand. She looks up, and whatever she sees in my face makes her take one more step back without realizing it.

"Aylin Lunaris," her voice says, losing its edge. "Grade A-Prime. Maximum resonance." She swallows hard, looking up at the tower. "She is exactly what we need. Take her to the Spire. Immediately. The prince must be told."

The guards come forward, and I go with them without a struggle. As they walk me through a narrow side entrance away from the line, I catch two figures standing back in the deep shadows of the grand archway. One leans against the stone casually, his arms crossed over his chest, grinning at nothing in particular. The other stands completely still, tall and broad-shouldered, watching me with a calculating look in his eyes.

The guards lead me up endless stairs to the Spire room. It is small and freezing, with glass walls, a narrow bed, and one candle burning on a wooden block. The grey clouds are level with the floor outside.

I sit on the edge of the bed and press my palms together to stop the shaking I hadn't let anyone see while standing in the courtyard.

Somewhere deep below me in the belly of this palace, I hear it. A low, rhythmic sound. Getting closer. Like something has been asleep for a very long time.

The floor beneath my bed vibrates as a deep, animal growl echoes through the stone, making the glass walls rattle violently.