“Marcus,” he says, his voice a newly sharpened knife. “You know war is inevitable—if not now then certainly by the time you are meant to take the throne. Baiseen needs your warrior!”

A subtle reminder of my failings. “Yes, Father.”

“If you can’t master your phantom soon, you’ll lose your vote at the Summit as well as your right to succeed me.” His eyes narrow. “You know this?”

“I do.”

“Then why are you acting so bones-be-cursed weak?”

I couldn’t choke out an answer even if I had one. Even Petén looks away. My eyes drop to Echo’s mane as it ripples down her neck. When I look up, Father’s face turns to stone. He cracks his reins over the hunter’s rump and gallops away.

Petén and I trot the horses back toward the palace, cresting a gentle rise to come out on the hill overlooking the expanse of Baiseen. The view takes in the high stone walls and gardens of the palace, the watchtowers and bright-green training field in the center of the Sanctuary, all the way down the terraced, tree-lined streets to the harbor and the white-capped emerald sea beyond. It’s beautiful, but no matter where I look, those three dead men seep back into my mind.

“If they were spies, then war’s coming sooner than we thought.” I ease Echo to a halt. “But if they weren’t, we’ll have to—”

“We?” Petén cuts me off. “Keeping the peace when Father tempts war is your problem, little brother, not mine.” He chuckles. “If you make it to Aku in time, that is.” His face cracks wide with a smile. “This year’s your last chance, isn’t it?”

I open my mouth to answer, but he’s already pushing past me, loping the rest of the way down to the stables.

Yes, it’s my last chance, the last training season on Aku before I turn eighteen. That’s when our High Savant, head of the Sanctuary, will hand me over to the black-robes if I haven’t held my phantom to form. It would mean no initiate journey. No chance to gain the rank of yellow-robe or higher. No future voice at the council. No Heir to the Throne of Baiseen.

No trained warrior to help protect my realm.

The weight on my shoulders grows heavier. I know my father. He’ll not let this incident with the spies go, and his actions may finally bring the northern realms down upon us. My thoughts lift back to those three nameless men. When I close my eyes, I can still see their shocked faces, hear bones cracking as their chests split open, smell the blood spattering the ground.

War draws near. And if our enemies are infiltrating our lands, I may already be too late.

Let’s be friends!

@EntangledTeen

@EntangledTeen

@EntangledTeen

bit.ly/TeenNewsletter