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PREVIOUSLY...
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Azura was forced into the healing waters beneath the school. There she was reminded of a harrowing experience before she arrived in Warroll; the day her brother was killed. Shaken, she followed Erasmus' orders readily in becoming a member of the Order.

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My foot taps against the marble floor, arms crossed over my chest as I lean against the oak wall, impatience curling in my gut. No amount of restless sleep will be able to cure the unease that's settled in my stomach like a sack of stones since setting foot in the Order.

I watch the people that pass me, each of them tossing curious and judgemental gazes at me, assessing my worth, perhaps assessing how long they believe I'll last in this nest of vultures. I resist baring my teeth at them like a rabid dog. He warned me about how dangerous the Order can be. They're not just rebels. They're hunters of the world's filth. They're warriors. And I'll never be one of them, even if I wanted to be.

Erasmus rounds a corner, marching towards me like a soldier on a mission, his shoulders tense, his face a firm mask of neutrality.

I push off the wall, eager to be doing something apart from standing around and waiting for someone to shove a knife in my back.

"Thank you for waiting," Erasmus says in his deep voice, stopping before me. "You've healed well."

I touch my fingers to my temple, finding no wounds, the swelling of my eye and cheek having subsided. I swallow, unease curling in my stomach. They can't know I heal fast.

"The healing waters did their job."

I let loose a breath at that, blinking as I remember the warm water, stripping away years of filth. That doesn't mean I'm not a fool. I should've been more vigilant.

I right my new clothes that don't scratch at my skin or threaten to unravel if I tug the wrong thread, needing to keep my hands busy so they stop longing for weapons I don't have. "What's on the agenda today?"

"Your guide will be here soon."

"My guide?"

"Yes, to show you around the school and to your new accommodations."

"You're not showing me around?" I ask, frowning at that. I already feel like a fish out of water but at least I'm somewhat familiar with Erasmus and his brooding features.

"I have a class to get to and I'm already late," he says with a sigh.

A muscle in my jaw tightens but I nod and resume leaning against the wall to wait for another stranger to be thrust upon me. I'm starting to wonder if gaining answers about myself is really worth all of this.

Erasmus idles beside me, clearly as eager to be moving as I am as he shifts from foot to foot, adjusting the cuffs of his navy tunic. "Your scars," he utters, his words jolting through me and I narrow my eyes. "How did you get them?" He glances at me and I don't meet his dark eyes, feeling every scar upon my body itch like ants crawling along my skin.

He had no right to see me, nor any right to ask about my scars. Neither did Jile.

"It's a dangerous world we live in," I reply, my arms tightening around my chest, eager for this topic to die. It's wishful thinking.

"I've been alive for a while and I've been in the business of killing for most of it. Not all of your scars are from fighting." His gaze settles on the scar at my throat that slashes from the side of my neck to twist down to the hollow of my throat. One of the few I got in Warroll, a gift from Jile. I clench my hand in the fabric of my tunic to stop it from covering the jagged scar. "Some of your scars are precise, meant to cause pain. You were tortured."

Pain is simple. Pain is familiar.

"Clearly there are many different forms of torture and I'm enduring one of them," I bite back, venom in my voice.

Erasmus' lip twitches, a crack in his cold facade. "You don't like answering questions about yourself."

"Keen observation." We resort back to an uncomfortable silence as I become acutely aware of each and every mark upon my pale skin, branding me forever, each scar a reminder of my lessons and hardships.

You were made for a lot more than just survival, little flame. But it's all I can show you...

I glare at the polished marble floor and will his voice from my head, unwelcome in this moment.

"Sorry I'm late!" The loud voice has me wincing and I glance up as a girl dashes towards us, lugging a bag with her. "I was..." She stumbles to a halt before us, huffing out a breath as she looks down at her bag. "I mean, I wasn't stealing from the kitchens. These are books." She looks up at Erasmus with bright green eyes that glisten like emeralds, surrounded by smudged black that blends in with her bronzed skin. "Definitely books."

Erasmus nods. "I believe you, Suri."

My brows knit together. "You do?"

"You must be Azura," the girl says with a wide smile. She thrusts her hand out to me, skin a golden brown. I hesitate for a heartbeat too long before slipping my gloved hand into hers and giving it a hasty shake, then retreat. "I'm Suri and I'll be your guide."

I study the girl before me, an innocence in her gaze that reminds me of Dax. Perhaps I could fool myself into thinking she's someone untouched by the tragedies of this world if it weren't for the deep scar that cuts from just below her left cheekbone and curves into her shaved, dark hair, deep enough to give her mouth a slight lopsided smile.

"Well, I need to go," Erasmus says. "I'll leave you in Suri's capable hands. I trust neither of you will cause any trouble." He looks pointedly at Suri and she gives him a sheepish smile.

"Me? Never."

Erasmus' eyes flash with amusement before he takes his leave, abandoning me to the mercy of this curious girl.

"Right, first thing's first; magic," Suri says, whirling to me, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Magic?" I question, an incredulous note to my tone.

"Yes. This place has a lot of interesting magic. Follow me and you shall be astonished." She twists on her heel and begins a fast pace down the hall.

My brow quirks as the crackle of energy that seems to surround her grips me and I follow her without hesitation.

"I'm sure you're aware the school has some aspects of magic with that great bath you were no doubt forced to take."

I snort at that and she glances at me with a crooked smile on her lips. "You had to take it too?"

"Most of us do, depending on what we were up to before we came here. Elder Palmira has a skill of knowing things she shouldn't."

"So, it's not just me Palmira spies on," I state, not sure whether I should be comforted or unsettled by this fact.

Suri just shakes her head with a sigh and leads me through a hall bathed in sunlight, streaming through the glass that curves over us, encasing us in fragility. My lips part as I gaze upon the glass and I halt on the marble. The gods watch over us, depicted within the colourful stains of the glass, wielding mighty swords and bows, their wings engulfed in ivory light.

"Elder Palmira has a fascination with the gods," Suri tells me, studying my face as I gaze upon the brilliance that surrounds us. "And by the look on your face, you do too."

I reach out a hand, tracing my gloved fingers along the glass, closer to the gods than I've ever been. "This is a depiction of the Great Rebellion," I say in a breathless tone.

"You know the story?"

I trace a figure, his wings stretched wide, black with his choices. "Lucifer," I whisper. "He's the one who rose up against the other gods."

"And fell to Hell because of it."

"He wasn't alone in that fall." My eyes settle on the other gods with him and I recognise Emera and her golden swirls of hair, accompanied by a pack of savage wolves. I retract my hand, my throat constricting as I remember the Emera I encountered only yesterday. Brave and foolish and now dead like the rest of the street rats. "The stories don't matter anymore." I keep walking through the glass and lower my gaze to the marble beneath my feet, remembering where I am and how I got here.

"Right," Suri says, catching up to me and leading the way again. "Through here is what I wanted to show you." Suri shoves through a pair of glass doors at the end of the hall and a brisk wind whistles towards me, carrying the sweet scent of leaves and wet earth. But it doesn't smell like the muck of Warroll filled with death and misery. Instead it smells of life, of breathing things and a world with a heartbeat.

I step through the doors, the sun sinking into my skin. The courtyard is bursting with plants and trees, clustered with greenery and flowers, plump with life. I walk forward, clean air filling my lungs, nearly choking me. The suffocating stench of blood and corpses has been my home for too long. This cleansing scent stings my eyes.

"This way." Suri continues forward on an uneven stone path, cracked with thick roots pushing against it. She takes me to a tree that towers above the others in the expansive courtyard. It sings a song of gentle chimes as it shifts in the breeze, its emerald leaves fluttering.

I stare at the tree, a crease forming between my brows.

I know this place. I've seen it in my dreams when they aren't bathed in blood.

I approach the tree, remove my left leather glove, and stretch my fingers towards the ancient trunk. It seems to hum with breath, blue veins throbbing through the wood. The chimes tinkle amongst the overhead branches, dancing and swirling.

"No," I whisper, smoothing my palm over the trunk, the bark scratching at my bare skin, but it radiates warmth, just as my brother described.

"You've seen it before?" Suri asks.

"Not seen," I mutter, looking up at the twisted branches. "I was told about it." A great tree amongst the centre of conflict and blood.

I pull my hand back, bile rising in my throat.

He warned me about the Order, told me they're dangerous and never to be trusted. But this was his home, the home he abandoned to help me.

He was one of them.

Liar.

No. There has to be a reason my brother didn't tell me he was part of the Order.

He was a dirty liar.

I close my eyes and shake my head, trying to dislodge the voices that demand I hate and turn my back on him.

He never cared about you.

It begins to make sense. His abilities in fighting. His knowledge. The weapons he used being the same as Erasmus'. Even the way he spoke about the Order, like he knew more than most about them. I should've realised.

He was using you.

But for what? And why? The reasoning doesn't make sense. If he was using me, hiding his ties to the Order, then to what end?

It doesn't matter. He was a liar.

"It's said this is the centre of the school's magic," Suri says, her words shattering the voices and bringing me back to this moment. "Apparently the school was built around the tree by witches and it was home for a coven for a long time."

"What happened to them?" I ask, needing something else to focus on.

"What happens to all great people of power; the Sharlik Empire."

I slip my hand back into the glove and turn away from the tree, ignoring its song. I remember why I'm here. Not because my brother was using me, not because he lied to me, but because this place is the best shot I have of cutting Jile's throat and getting the answers I need about what and who I am.

I lift my head, my resolve strengthening. "I think it's time to continue on with the tour."