It had remained undetected in its harness during my capture from the oasis. It was so much a part of my body that I’d forgotten its presence until last night, when I found it in the pile of clothes I discarded before my bath. In her ignorance, the kitchen maid must have removed it. Never again will it leave my body, I thought. If I couldn’t wield the Helix, the ruby knife was my only weapon against the violence that was about to swallow the Kongo.

I laced my sandals on feet spotted with tiny cuts that would disappear now that I wasn’t training. Some of the deeper abrasions would scar. I didn’t mind. At Hasting, they would be a cherished reminder of my days in the oasis. After giving my face a good scrub and pulling my hair back in a mound at the crown of my head, I left my room to take the Final Exam.

The hall was ripe with anticipation. Students and Teachers alike would leave the Schoolhouse within the hour to observe the festivities. I stopped at the nearest window and looked out. The Clayskin contractors had erected a temporary arena in the meadow just outside of the Schoolhouse gate. Clayskin medics and armed Kongo Guards surrounded every entrance. They scanned the crowd waiting to enter. Anyone with fever would be turned away, or worse. I watched as a Kongo Guard led a contingent of workers, some obviously ailing, away from the arena. They walked toward a waiting line of gated wagons. Instinct told me those wagons were not headed back toward the village.

In the Main Hall, I stuck close to a group of chattering secondary students as they took their place in the breakfast queue. I grabbed food quickly, intending to slip out of the hall and eat alone in the library. I couldn’t stand to face my class—not yet. I was almost back through the exit when I hesitated, wondering. Would Hannibal be with the others at the breakfast table? Would she be crippled—maimed? Had Jetson tried to rescue her and been injured himself?

Biting my lip, I glanced over my shoulder at the senior table. To my surprise, it was unoccupied. I turned back into the crowd and made my way around the Hall, dodging maids and heavily laden tables. I made two laps and concluded that none of my classmates were present. I stopped at the senior table, where a battalion of secondary students discussed where to sit.

“We can’t sit at the senior table until after Break, when we’re officially seniors.”

“But the primaries have taken over our seats.”

“Then we’ll just have to tell them to move!”

“Where? The Clayskin administrators have commandeered the primary table for registration.”

“Maybe we should ask a Teacher.”