Free Daughter of Moth (The Moth Saga, Book 4) by Daniel Arenson

vaulted and painted deep blue. Many
tables stood in neat rows, and upon each lay a strange device; it
looked like a wishbone carved of iron. Two chairs stood at each
table.
    "Billygoat!" The voice
rose from the crowd of other applicants. "I mean—Madori! Thank
Idar."
    Tam wormed his way through the
crowd, coming to stand beside her. He grabbed her hands and smiled
shakily.
    "Tam, what's going on
here?" she said.
    He brushed back a strand of her
hair which fell across her left eye. "I thought you wouldn't
make it this far. You're the last one through."
    She bristled. "Of course I
made it!" She looked around her at the other applicants. "Idar's
bottom, those last two trials weeded out quite a few."
    From two thousand applicants,
she doubted that more than four hundred remained. They stood
clustered between the columns, talking amongst themselves, laughing
nervously and discussing their ordeals. Most were Magerians, but
there were some foreigners too, even a few Elorians. The latter stood
in the shadows far from the windows—their natural habitat—and spoke
amongst themselves in low voices. Madori saw that the strange boy
with the dragon tattoo stood among them. Again he was staring at her,
his eyes intense, boring into her as if peeling back the layers of
her soul.
    A chill running down her spine,
Madori tore her eyes away from him. But as she kept scanning the
crowd, her heart sank deeper. She cursed to see that Lari
Serin—looking as pretty, prim, and proper as always—had made her
way to this last trial. She stood among several other youths with
Radian brooches, basking in sunbeams that fell through a window,
laughing as if these trials were no more challenging than a garden
stroll. When Lari noticed Madori, her eyes widened. She smiled and
waved, her face oozing honeyed poison. It was the face a
sweet-talking traitor gives his master before thrusting the blade.
    Bearded Professor Yovan cleared
his throat—a squeaking sound—and raised his arms, letting his
sleeves roll down to his shoulders. He spoke again.
    "I shall now divide you
into pairs! As I call each name, step forth and sit down upon the
glowing chair."
    Madori narrowed her eyes and
tilted her head, seeing no glowing seats. The other applicants all
turned to face the professor, their conversation dying. The old man
unrolled a scroll, leaned toward it, and called out the first name:
    "Tam Shepherd!"
    Tam—going by his father's old
commoner’s name, rather than his secret royal styling—gave
Madori a little smile and pat on the shoulder.
    "Good luck, Billygoat,"
he whispered and stepped toward the professor.
    A seat began to glow, and Tam
approached it and sat at the small table. When the professor read
another name, the seat across from Tam glowed too, and another
applicant approached to fill it.
    Professor Yovan kept reading
names from the scroll, and slowly tables were filled—two applicants
at each. Upon every tabletop lay the iron wishbone.
    "Madori Greenmoat!"
    She stepped forward dutifully,
made her way toward the next glowing seat, and sat down. The table
was small, just large enough for two chairs. She stared at the item
on the tabletop, finally getting a good look at it. The metal
wishbone was as large as a lyre, its surface craggy; she couldn't
guess its purpose. The seat across from her was still empty.
    "Lari Serin!"
    The seat across from Madori
glowed.
    Oh
wormy sheep hooves.
    Madori had not thought this turn
could have gotten any worse. When Lari approached, a small smile on
her lips, Madori's heart sank down to her hips. Lord Serin and her
father were cousins; Madori felt ill to think that she and Lari
shared blood.
    Her hair a perfect fountain of
golden locks, Lari neatly swept her skirt under her legs and sat
down, knees pressed together, her back straight. She smiled sweetly
at Madori.
    "Hello, mongrel," she
said, voice pleasant.
    Madori leaped to her feet,
clenching her fists. "I don't know how you made it this far, but
you're failing