“You won’t,” Alistair said. “I know you belong with us. Have faith and a little patience. I’m so sorry I can’t say more, but it’s forbidden.”
“I know, but—” Ember bowed her head. “If I fail, will I be sent home?”
With a frustrated grunt, Alistair said, “I can tell you nothing more than this: the test isn’t one you can fail. It shows where you belong.”
His words brought Ember up short. She turned to stare at him. “Where I belong?”
“Yes.” He kept walking and she hurried to catch him. “And I shouldn’t have said even that much.”
“Is that how you became part of the Guard?” she asked.
“I’ve said too much.” He kept his voice stern, but the corner of his mouth turned up and Ember knew she’d guessed correctly.
Alistair stopped, taking her shoulders and turning her to face him. “I swear, Em, this is where you’re meant to be. You’ve always known it. I know it. We’ll be together.”
Ember gave him a weak smile. “Perhaps.” But her hope had drained away.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
They approached the doors to the great hall, which today stood open, waiting for her. Ember’s mind was turning faster than a spinning wheel, but she nodded.
“Godspeed, Em,” he whispered.
She managed a soft reply, despite her closing throat. “Godspeed, my friend.”
They entered the immense space. Sunlight speared through the intricate stained glass windows blazing amid the dark walls, filling the room with a riot of bright colors. Most striking of all was the impossible broad and tall living tree at the center of the room. Its twisting branches, covered in deep green needles, served as a canopy for the room. The tree’s scent spilled through the air, warm and alive. Ember knew the tree was somehow special, or important, or both.
The great hall exceeded its name. A smile pulled at Ember’s mouth as she imagined her father’s sour face when he laid eyes on a chamber much finer than the hall of his own manor.
Visitors milled about in the gallery above the open space, where the other initiates already stood waiting, uneasy. Unlike Ember, these young men and women had arrived at Conatus due to misfortune, or so Alistair had told her. Conatus drew its members from those for whom there wasn’t a place in the world. Some came seeking charity and decided to stay. Others, like Alistair, sought fortune when it had been denied elsewhere. But cases like his were rare, and today Ember was the sole initiate to be called from a noble family.
A cloud of whispers filled the hall as Ember hurried to take her place beside her peers. Alistair had moved away from her, though she could still see him out of the corner of her eye as he joined the Guard.
She was here as a pledge of Conatus. But her presence was only the first step. Next came the trial.
Where I belong, Ember thought. If the reward was her true place of belonging, she was willing to endure any trial. She hoped she could.
Her heart began to pound. The girl on her left was trembling. The boy to her right stood with eyes shut tight, lips whispering a feverish prayer.
A gray-haired priest came to the center of the hall, stopping in front of them. “I am Father Michael.”
He smiled kindly at each of them. “‘We have many members in one body, and all members have not the same office.’ So wrote Saint Paul in his letter to the Romans. Your presence here today signifies your desire to serve in the body of Conatus and thus perform a holy office.”
From the door behind them, Ember heard the sound of approaching feet. Six people, four men and two women, walked past the line of initiates and formed a half circle around Father Michael.
“Before you join this body, that office must be determined,” the priest said. He nodded to the men and women standing beside and behind him. “The six who stand before you are the Circle—called from within Conatus to lead us, chosen because each has excelled in his or her office.”
Ember looked at the members of the Circle while the priest spoke. It was like gazing into a strange mirror, a reflection of some possible future. Six initiates on the cusp of adulthood, six elders: veterans of Conatus. Ember’s eyes were drawn to the two women in the group. She could guess their identity from Alistair’s letters: the sisters, Cian and Eira. Ember was surprised that they wore their hair long and loose. Their bright, cascading tresses offered a blatant contrast to the black tabard of the Guard. Rather than making them appear softer and more feminine, their untamed hair gave the sisters a wild appearance—like the Amazons of legend or the pagan queen Boadicea, all stories Ember had gobbled up as a child, searching for any sign that a girl could find her way to the warrior’s life. No longer were tales of old Ember’s only hope. The living, breathing example of what she longed to be stood before her now. Alistair had written that everyone in Conatus referred to them as “the sisters” rather than as individuals and that some even whispered of them as “the weird sisters” in snide tones. Indulging her fascination with their history, Alistair had explained that the sisters had been orphaned together and inseparable since they’d arrived in the keep. They’d won their place in the Circle by virtue of their courage and prowess in the field. Within Conatus, the sisters were as legendary as any warrior of history or myth.
“. . . we are blessed by their guidance.” Father Michael was still speaking. “Two souls to represent each major office of our order.”
He paused, gesturing to the two men in cowled robes who stood on his left: “Knowledge.”
Stretching his hand and pointing behind him, the priest acknowledged the next two men—both dressed in the simple garb of commoners. “Craft.”
Father Michael extended his hand to the two sisters, who stood on his right. “War.”
War. Ember drew a quick breath, wondering what war was being waged here. She knew of the ongoing war between England and France but not of any holy war on behalf of the Church. Another possibility was the squabble over the Scottish throne, which could turn deadly at any time. And wasn’t the church divided against itself because of the papal schism? Her heart stuttered. Was Conatus simply acting under orders of the pope in Rome or Avignon to secure a specific outcome? For whom would she fight if she became a soldier in this order?
“Any role undertaken at Tearmunn falls under one of these three offices,” Father Michael said. “Today your task is to find the office of your true calling.”