Darian threw his pack onto his shoulders, a mix of excitement and nerves churning in his stomach. He turned to face Breck as the busy sounds of Arbrook village surrounded them.

"Well, my boy, it's time for us to leave the village behind for a bit," Breck said, placing a hand on Darian's shoulder. "You should be proud of how you did in there, no matter what comes next."

Darian swallowed the lump in his throat. The entrance exam had been an exhausting test - three long hours that left his mind completely drained. But he had given it his all, putting down every bit of knowledge he had gained from his long nights studying.

"I only hope I did well enough," Darian said, trying to smile bravely. "If I don't get in-"

"Now, none of that," Breck interrupted. "It's over and done with. No sense in worrying until we get your results."

That was easy for Breck to say, Darian thought even though he knew he wasn't being fair to the blacksmith. He wasn't the one with a family depending on him, pinning all their hopes on a few pieces of paper.

Just then, a voice called out, "Darian! Over here!"

He turned to see his friend Lila running up, her face glowing and eyes sparkling. "I was afraid I wouldn't catch you before you went home," she said breathlessly.

"I'm happy you found us," Darian replied, giving her a tired smile. "How do you think you scored?"

Lila blew out a gusty breath. "Well enough to squeak into Arbrook Academy, I hope. But the Royal Academy? That's a pie in the sky dream."

"You and me both," Darian sighed, scuffing the cobblestones with his boot. "I suppose we'll find out before too long."

"Aye, and 'til then, no point in borrowing trouble." Lila stuck out her hand. "Promise you'll write? Tell me how things shake out in Brookhaven?"

Darian clasped her fingers, calluses rasping together. "Only if you write back. Can't be the only one sending news down the road."

"You've got yourself a deal." Lila squeezed his hand, then let go. "Safe travels, Dare. May Verenia guide your path."

With a wave, Lila melted back into the crowd, her braids bobbing. Darian watched her go, a bittersweet tug in his chest. He'd only known the girl a few days, but it felt like saying goodbye to a lifelong friend. Funny, how hardship could forge bonds so quick and deep.

Breck clapped him on the back, startling him from his thoughts. "Right then! Daylight's wasting. Let's be off before the road gets too choked, eh?"

The two joined the flow of people exiting Arbrook's gates. Most were fellow villagers and academy applicants returning home to wait and see what future awaited them. A sense of fatigue and anxiety seemed to hang over everyone’s head.

The gate guards waved Darian and Breck through. "Keep it moving, folks! No dawdling!" one of them called out, more focused on keeping the crowd flowing than checking each person carefully.

As they walked along the road, Darian found his unease growing. He kept looking around, searching for any sign of danger. The memory of their first journey fresh in his mind - the ambush, the blood, the death... It had been luck and Breck's wily skills that got them through. But would the gods favour them a second time?

Darian moved closer to the blacksmith. "Breck, you don't think... I mean, what if there's bandits on the road again? Folks are awful distracted, and there's plenty of easy targets..."

Breck squinted at the horizon, considering. "I see what you’re saying, lad. Easy pickings for jackals with more greed than sense." He spat in the dirt. "But attacking now would be pure foolishness. Look around - too many witnesses, too much risk of the guards getting wind. Even the dimmest bandit knows that."

"I guess..." Darian chewed his lip. "But desperation can make men daft. Drive 'em to chances they'd never take otherwise."

"Aye, there's truth in that." Breck rested a hand on the haft of his axe, never far from reach. "Tell you what - we'll keep an eye out, same as last time. And if trouble comes calling..." He patted the wicked edge. "Matilda here will have something to say."

Darian huffed a laugh. Trust Breck to name his axe like a pet mule. But the blacksmith's steadiness eased his fear a little. Breck was a trained soldier after all - it'd take more than a few bandits to get the jump on him.

Darian’s gaze fell on a pair of travellers a stone's throw ahead. "Breck, what if we joined up with them folk? There's safety in numbers, aye? And we're all headed the same way."

Breck followed his nod, sizing up the group. After a moment, he shrugged. "No harm in asking. Worst they can do is say no."

They picked up their pace, boots churning dust, until they caught up to the man carrying an oak staff, stout enough to crack skulls if swung hard.

"Ho there, friend," Breck called. "Might my lad and I walk the road with you a spell? Our village lies a day's journey on."

The farmer looked them over careful-like before nodding. "Road's free to all. Name's Jorn, you look to be craftsmen, aye?"

"That we are," Breck agreed. "I'm Breck, town smith. This here's Darian, a hunter of some skill."

Darian ducked his head at the unexpected praise. He knew his way round a snare and a bow, but he was no master.

Jorn cocked an eyebrow. "That so? What brings a hunter and smith all the way to Arbrook? Can't just be for the ale and hot pies."

"The academy exams," Darian blurted. "We came so I could test for a place."

"Did you now?" Jorn's other eyebrow rose to match the first. "Huh. How'd you fare?"

Darian shrugged, scuffing his boot. "Well enough, I hope. The scores won't be posted for weeks yet."

"Ah, the waiting. That's always the hardest part, ain’t it?" Jorn's face softened. "My Kara's in the same boat. All she's ever wanted, to get schooled proper." He thumbed over his shoulder at a girl a few paces ahead, her black hair in a single plait. She looked to be a year or two older than Darian, with the same sharp cheekbones as Jorn.

"Who knows, come spring you two might be classmates," Jorn mused. "Wouldn't that be something?"

"Aye," Darian agreed, trying to picture it. Him and Jorn's girl bent over their tablets, debating history and politics. It seemed so distant, so fantastical. Like imagining himself with wings.

Stolen novel; please report.

"Not much schooling where we're from," he admitted. "Just what old Anna teaches. If I pass the exam, it'll be a ruddy miracle."

"Psh, don't sell yourself short, boy." Jorn wagged a finger at him. "I've known plenty of farm lads with more wits than gentry spawn. Just need a chance to shine, 's all." He raised his voice to carry to his daughter. "Ain't that right, Kara-girl? Being common don't mean being dull."

Kara looked back, flashing a smile. "Too right, Da. Good brains sprout as easy from dirt as from gold."

Breck chuckled. "Sounds like your lass has a nugget of wisdom 'tween her ears, Jorn."

"She does at that." Jorn's chest puffed with pride. "Reads every scrap of paper what crosses her path, that one. If book learning were coin, we'd be richer than the bleedin' baron."

As they walked, the conversation turned to the unfairness of it all. Jorn shook his head, a scowl crossing his face. "Heard tell the prince himself is of an age to enter the Royal Academy this year," he said bitterly. "Not that he needs to prove himself like our young ones, oh no."

Breck grunted in agreement. "Aye, born with a silver spoon in his mouth, that one. Gets his pick of tutors and schools, without even having to lift a finger."

Kara looked over her shoulder, her ears pricking up at the mention of royalty. "The prince is going to the Academy?"

"So they say," Jorn replied heavily. "Though I'd wager it's more holiday than schooling for the likes of him. Probably spends his days hunting and feasting, 'stead of having his nose in a book."

It didn't seem right to Darian that some folk could just waltz into any academy of their choosing when he and Lila and all the rest had studied their fingers to the bone for a mere chance. But that was the way of the world, wasn't it? The high-borns got the honey, while the low made do with the dregs.

Jorn's face darkened further as he kicked a stone off the path. "It's not just the prince we need to worry about. It's the whole bloody lot of them, starting with King Fendrel himself. That one's a right tyrant, he is. Taxes us into the dirt, but heaven forbid he spends a copper on anything but his own pleasure."

Breck nodded grimly. "I heard he had a man flogged half to death just for looking at him crosswise. And another time, he-"

"That's not true!" Kara interrupted, her eyes flashing. "I've read about King Fendrel. They say he's a just and wise ruler, fair to everyone."

Jorn rounded on his daughter, exasperation mixing with the anger on his face. "Kara, girl, you can't believe everything you read. Them books are full of lies, written to make the king look good."

"But why would they lie?" Kara argued, her chin set stubbornly. "The authors have no reason to-"

"Of course they do!" Jorn cut her off. "You think they'd keep their cushy positions if they wrote the truth about Fendrel? They'd be in the stocks before the ink dried."

Breck held up a hand. "Easy, Jorn. The girl's just saying what she's been taught. It's not her fault the books they make them read fills their heads with rubbish."

Darian shook his head, feeling bad for Kara. They had read the same books, but she couldn't see past the lies like he could. It was a shame, he thought, that someone so clever could be fooled by the king's propaganda.

He wondered how long it would take her to see the truth. To realize that the shining heroes in her books were just men, fallible and flawed like any other. And some, like King Fendrel, were worse than most.

He sighed, scuffing his boot against the dirt. It was a hard lesson, one he'd had to learn himself.

As the grown-ups talked and argued, Darian felt a prickle on the back of his neck. That strange, creeping feeling was back, making his skin crawl. He couldn't help but glance toward the side of the road, his heart starting to thud.

The trees seemed to press in closer, with dark shadows gathering under their branches. Was that movement he saw? A quick flash, like sunlight bouncing off metal?

He blinked hard, trying to see better. When he checked again, the flash was gone.

Darian wasn't sure if what he saw was real. Ever since the run-in with the bandits, his nightmares had made him paranoid. Back in the city, Breck had to calm him down a few times when Darian thought he saw danger lurking in every alley and shadowed doorway.

It must have been just a play of the spotty sunlight, Darian shook his head. Even so, he found himself falling back a step, his hand moving to his knife. It didn’t hurt to be on the cautious side.

They kept walking, but now the farmers' voices faded into a dull hum in Darian's ears. He was completely focused outward, looking for any signs of danger. The squeak of leather, the scuff of footsteps, the whisper of wind through the leaves - everything sounded louder, more threatening.

He couldn't ignore the feeling that someone was watching them. That hungry eyes were following their every move, waiting for the right time to-

There! A shadow separated from the trees, turning into a man. No, three men, dirty and thin, with bows in their hands. Darian's blood ran cold. He hadn’t imagined it; they really were being followed.

"Breck!" he yelled, his voice breaking. "Watch out! It's an ambush!"

But as soon as he said it, the bandits fired their arrows. The dark shafts flew from the bushes, fast as striking snakes. One hit Jorn high in the chest. He fell without a sound, his walking stick dropping to the ground.

"DA! NO!" Kara's scream tore through the air.

She ran to her father's side, heedless of the danger, tears streaming down her face. Darian watched in horror as she cradled Jorn's head in her lap, begging him to stay with her.

More figures poured out of the trees, a flood of ragged men holding rusty swords and clubs. Dirty rags hid their faces, but their eyes shone with wild excitement.

This can't be happening. Not again. Darian's mind reeled, threatening to drown in a sea of fear and painful memories. But Breck's voice cut through the chaos like a blade.

"Stay behind me!" the blacksmith roared, lifting his axe, and placing himself between the bandits and the children. "Lad, grab your bow!"

Darian shook off the fear and reached for his weapon, his hands steadying as he tried to focus. He couldn't afford to panic, not with their lives on the line.