Chapter 71: Sorting Part Five
Evanora's voice cuts through the hushed hall. "The ceremony is dawning to its conclusion fast, dear students," she purrs, as if this whole thing is a private joke. "Aren't we having fun?"
I don't like how she asks that question, all too pleased with herself, eyes glittering like she's in on some secret the rest of us are too dull to see. She spins with theatrical flair, her white proctor robe flaring out around her like a storm cloud as she gestures grandly to the side. For a second, I see nothing just empty space but then a man steps forward, and I jolt, surprised. I hadn't noticed him at all. He's not much taller than me maybe five-seven, five-eight at most but there's something about the way he moves that makes him seem bigger, denser, like a boulder in a river. He glides up beside Evanora, movements precise, smooth and unhurried.
He's striking in a way that feels unreal. Medium-length white hair, cut in that wolfish, layered style that's suddenly everywhere among the highborn crowd. His skin is pale, almost translucent, and his face is all hard lines and symmetry, so perfect it's unnerving. But it's his eyes that pin me a striking, unnatural white, no pupils at all. Just blank, endless frost. He looks straight ahead, features set with such stern resolve that he could have been carved from marble. He reminds me of the queen.
Around me, I hear a ripple of whispers, mostly from the girls in the seats ahead. Their tone is unpleasant hungry and covetous, all at once. I sneer at their indecency. How quickly the crowd turns from fear to longing, perverts.
The man speaks, and his voice is shockingly deep deeper than it should be for his frame, resonant and cold, powerful enough to hush the entire room. "To stand tall in the shadowed valley of death is to become a figure so bold even the gods must lift their eyes." The words wash over me, and I shiver. The voices at the edge of my mind hiss in pleasure, greedy for more.
He lets the silence stretch, the words hanging in the air, and I realize I'm holding my breath. Then, in the practiced rhythm of this whole spectacle, Evanora flicks her wrist and the banners in the hall shudder and shift, colors streaming like spilled blood and sunlight. Every flag morphs into that familiar image: the stylized silver sword gripped by a figure with wings of fire bursting from its back. The blade points down, braced against the earth, and behind it, the rising sun blazes in a perfect gold halo. The voices coil tighter, whispering that I belong beneath that banner, that I, too, can and will make the gods look up. I grit my teeth.
The man surveys us, at least I think he does him not having pupils is creepy and its hard to tell where he's looking. "Those of you chosen for House Apophis have been judged worthy." The white-eyed man's voice is, cool. "You show the traits we desperately want to see in our best and brightest. You all have the potential to be peerless, to be Spellbreakers."
He pauses, letting the words settle. The entire room is silent, every student even the ones already chosen straining forward with a kind of desperate hope or envy. Even I'm leaning in, breath caught. Spellbreakers. Then they chose the most powerful for this house? Seems unfair. Or is there other factors involved not just strength of mark?
His tone shifts, and something colder enters his voice. "However, children, the tragedy of the gifted is the belief that they are entitled to greatness. This is false. As a human, you are entitled only to death. So if you wish to be great, you must claim it."