MELISSA’S POV

The next morning, frost glazed all over the courtyard stones as students gathered for the final day of trial week. Our instructor called it Blood on Stone, though the name was more literal than symbolic. The field was a circle of pale rock stained darker near the center, the remnants of too many failed victories.

Kennedy gave a low whistle beside me. “You would think they would at least clean it once in a while.”

“It’s intentional,” I murmured. “They want us to remember what happens when we fall.”

Joem stood across the ring; he looked calm and composed. His dark coat was trimmed with the same Blackthorn...