Veil of Amethyst

ChapterFour

The air had gone tense in a way I hadn’t expected. The earlier chatter and nervous excitement had died down completely, leaving behind a heavy, waiting silence that pressed against my chest like something physical. What was taking so long?

Vera turned to me, voice low, threaded with nervous energy. Do you think we’re going to make the cut?

Phyn scoffed beside me. I don’t think Z could care less. Her mother signed her up. She glanced my way briefly, softening. I have a good feeling about this, Z. I didn’t share it. Something felt off, like I was forgetting a piece of something important, something I should have already understood by now. I looked around at faces I hadn’t seen before and likely never would again. Some were hopeful. Some anxious. Some already wearing the particular stillness of someone who’d decided to expect the worst.

Then I noticed the officials. They’d drawn together near the edge of the arena, heads bent close, voices too low to carry, looking a lot less like deliberation and more like a heated debate.

Vera noticed too. Do you think they’ve already decided?

Of course they have, Nora said from my other side, steady as ever. They knew from the moment we stepped forward.

That didn’t make me feel any better.

A loud clang rang out across the arena, cutting straight through the tension. Silence dropped instantly, so complete I could hear my own pulse in my ears. The officials began making their way toward the podium. Nyx Varro of the Sable clan stepped up first, a scroll in hand, his expression unreadable, his presence calm in a way that made a whole crowd fall quiet without him needing to ask for it.

Those whose names are called, he began, voice even, unhurried, have been selected to proceed into The Ascension. He let the words settle before continuing.

Only twelve will be chosen.

A ripple moved through the crowd, murmurs rising and falling like a held breath finally let go. That’s small, Nora muttered, compared to other years.

I filed that away without meaning to, another thing she seemed to know that I didn’t, information that had no business being common knowledge. I made a note to ask her about it later. For now, all that mattered was not hearing my own name.

Nyx unrolled the scroll, and something in the way he held it, flat and level, gave nothing away.

The following:

Around me, the whole arena seemed to lean forward at once, hundreds of girls holding their breath in unison, each of them silently rehearsing the same private wish.

Seraphyn Vale.

Phyn’s hand found mine instantly, gripping tight. I… Z… I made it, she whispered, barely holding back a grin. I nodded, and meant it completely. I knew you would.

Nora Verdane.

Nora barely reacted, just a slight lift of her chin, like she’d expected nothing less.

Vera Lune.

Vera gasped softly beside me, hand flying to her chest. Oh my… Her voice trembled around the words.

Erynn Solis.

Nyx’s voice carried the same flat, funereal rhythm with every name, no rise, no pause for reaction, as though the outcome mattered to him only as much as reading a ledger might.

More names followed. Six. Seven. Eight. Each one pulling a different girl forward out of the crowd, each one tightening the silence around the rest of us a little further. I counted without meaning to, some small, anxious part of my mind keeping score. Nine. Ten. Eleven.

Eleven names, and mine hadn’t come.

Something in my chest loosened, just slightly. Maybe I really had done it. Maybe the blank palm, the practiced stillness, had been enough after all. I felt the beginning of something like relief creeping in at the edges, foolish as it was to want it and not want it in the same breath. I even opened my mouth toward Phyn, some half-formed thought about slipping away quietly the moment this was over, about going home to the fashion house where I belonged

Someone cut across the platform just then, breathless, and pressed something into Nyx’s hand. A folded slip of parchment, hastily creased. Nyx paused. Read it. His expression didn’t change, but something in the way he refolded the scroll did a stiffness that hadn’t been there a moment before.

The silence stretched a beat too long.

Then he looked up, and for the first time all day, his gaze found mine directly before he spoke.

Zaya Dawton.

The crowd went very, very still. For half a second, I thought I’d misheard it entirely, then Phyn’s grip tightened around my fingers. Z. That’s you.

No. No, no, no. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I’d made sure of it, the blank palm, the practiced stillness, nothing to see and nothing to find. So why? And then, I felt a prickling awareness, crawling up the back of my neck. Someone was watching me.

I looked up and found it, the intensity of it catching me off guard. His gaze was fixed, unwavering, and for one unsettling moment I could have sworn I saw the ghost of a smirk cross his face before he turned and walked away without a word.

Around me, the air itself seemed to shift, a current running through the crowd that had nothing to do with wind. Whispers rose on every side, quick and low, question after question passed from mouth to mouth. I couldn’t make out the words, but I didn’t need to. I could feel the shape of them well enough.

Who was he? And whywas he staring at me like that, like something about me was already familiar to him?

Nyx’s voice cut through the moment again. There will be a ball tomorrow evening in honor of the selected contestants. You are all expected to report to the palace beforehand to settle in. Further instructions will follow after.

A brief pause.

You are dismissed.

He stepped down without another word, and the crowd broke apart around us into noise and movement.

I took a slow breath and forced a smile onto my face, pushing the unsettled feeling as far down as it would go. I guess we should get going. We’ll meet at the palace tomorrow. I’m glad we all made it.

Vera let out a soft squeal and pulled the three of us into a hug. I’m so glad we made it! she said, beaming, already halfway to forgetting the nerves from an hour ago. See you tomorrow, she added, walking off with Nora close behind.

Z. Are you okay? Phyn asked once we were alone.

As okay as I’ll ever be, I said, the smile still doing most of the work.

But I knew I wasn’t.

Twelve names. Not fifteen. Three from each clan was how it had always been done, five clans, three apiece, a number simple enough that even a child could do the math. I did it now, standing there in the thinning crowd, and it didn’t add up. Someone hadn’t gotten their three. Someone’s allotment had been folded into someone else’s, quietly, at the last possible moment, on a slip of parchment, someone who hadn’t existed in the plan an hour ago. Someone had made sure my name was included.

We left the arena not long after, the ride home stretching longer than it should have, quieter, heavier, every wheel turn dragging me closer to a conversation I wasn’t ready to have.

The moment I stepped through the door, a servant approached. Miss Zaya, your father has requested your presence.

Of course he had.

Walking toward his study felt like walking toward a verdict. Each step heavier than the last, each breath harder to pull in. I paused outside the door, hand hovering just short of knocking.

Come in.

I pushed the door open.

My father stood by the window, back to me, silhouetted against the last of the evening light. My mother sat nearby, composed as always, hands folded in her lap. They were both waiting, and something about the stillness of the room told me they’d been waiting a while.

So, my father began, without turning, you made it.

Yes, I said quietly.

He turned then, gaze sharp enough to feel from across the room. And how did that happen?The question caught me off guard. I… I passed The Proving.

That is not what I asked.

Silence settled between us, thick enough to touch.

You were told not to stand out, he continued.

I didn’t, I said quickly. I made sure I didn’t.

And yet you were selected.

Something in his tone unsettled me more than the words themselves. It wasn’t pride. It wasn’t approval. It was suspicion, plain and unmistakable.

Derek, my mother said softly, she made it. That’s what matters.

He didn’t look at her. She is not ready.

My chest tightened. I didn’t ask to be ready, I snapped, the words out before I could stop them. I didn’t even want to be there.

Enough, he said sharply, and the room went quiet again.

My mother rose and crossed toward me, her expression gentler now. Zaya, she said, this is a good thing. You’ve been given an opportunity.

An opportunity I didn’t choose, I said.

Her expression softened further, something almost sad behind it. I know. But sometimes the things we don’t choose shape us the most.

I looked between them. One pushing me forward. The other holding something back, something I couldn’t yet name.

Why does it feel like something is wrong? I asked quietly.

Neither of them answered right away.

Then my father spoke. You will attend the ball tomorrow. You will behave accordingly.

A pause.

And Zaya. Be careful. My breath caught slightly. Of what? I asked.

But he’d already turned back toward the window.

Am I dismissed?

Yes.

I turned and walked out, my thoughts louder than they’d been all day.

Nothing about this felt right. Not the selection. Not the silence stretched between my parents. Not the warning repeated twice now by a man who rarely said more than he had to.

And definitely not him. Whoever he was.

Twelve, not fifteen. My name where it shouldn’t have fit.

Something had begun.

Something I didn’t understand.

Something I couldn’t control.

And somehow, I was already too deep in it to turn back