Amaris had been waiting for this day for years, and now that it was finally here, she felt like she might be sick. Joy and nerves roiled through her stomach in a tangled, excited twist of nausea and emotion. After dinner, she’d washed, dressed, and plaited her hair with shaking fingers. She had no reason to be nervous. She also had no reason to be presentable, as most of these men didn’t so much as own a comb. Still, staring at her reflection in the mirror gave her something to do with her nervous energy.

Now she swallowed once, then twice, as if the ceremony were little more than a hunk of dry bread caught in her throat. She continued staring at the rectangle at the end of the hall where the granite of Uaimh Reev sliced into the vibrant colors of sundown. As soon as they stepped out of the corridor, the rite would begin.

“It’s tradition,” Odrin whispered back, “plus, oaths require a certain sense of drama, don’t you think?”

Amaris flexed her hands several times to get the blood flowing to her fingertips. She glanced at her palm, knowing it would be the last day her hand would exist without a deep, silvery scar. Her heart skidded as another thrill shot through her.

Odrin led her forward, exiting the keep to stand in the red light of dusk, joining the eleven other men. Everyone in the reev, save for Brel, was accounted for. The night was warm, with the lightest breeze to move the loose dust and sand of the ring in small swirls at their feet. The open-air fighting arena served many purposes, though this was the first time she’d seen it used for ritual. This was only the second swearing-in ceremony to take place since her arrival, but she hadn’t been permitted to attend Ash’s rite, as she had not yet been a reever. She’d pressed her face against the windows of her room throughout the ceremony but had seen nothing.

Now that her time had come, she had no idea what to expect. Every time she’d asked Ash about the rite, he’d merely winked and flashed the bright pink scar on his hand. She usually scowled, but she understood that taunting composed at least half of his personality.

The night was warm, with just enough of a breeze to make the torches flicker dramatically around the ring. Their flame joined the blazing oranges and crimsons of the dying sunset overhead. The smell of oil and smoke joined the otherwise crisp mountain air where they convened. The other men had gathered near the steps, sitting and chatting in a variety of positions. They pushed themselves to their feet, standing in a rough semicircle as Amaris approached.

“Ready to add to your collection of scars?” Odrin asked as he left her side to stand by the men.