CHAPTER 1

The fifteen-year-old candidates for the centaur Trial of Worth crowded together on the stage. I was told there were eighty-seven of them this year. On the ground, in front of the crowd, I stood with the five centaurs the children were competing over.

Five centaurs was an unheard of number. Most decades we only had one or two. More centaurs meant more chances to bond and become an arcanist. In addition to the island's population, many of which who had trained since they could walk for this moment, the unprecedented crowd of mystical creatures had drawn every fifteen year old from every surrounding island and quite a few places farther away.

"Recite the words carved into the one-hundred and twenty-two steps of the Pillar of Ruma," Apiona said to the crowd. Like all centaurs who had not yet bonded, Apiona looked like a child on the edge of puberty but at thirty the delicate cream fillie was the oldest of the foals participating. During the island's previous trial ceremony she had been the only unbonded centaur and had rejected every human candidate.

A hand shot up, and a freckled red-headed girl shoved her way to the front of the crowd.

"Someone not from Ruma, please," I amended.

"That question is unfair," a surly larger boy from the city of Fortuna said from the corner of the stage. "Ruma is hundreds of miles away. How are we supposed to-"

"The first step on the Pillar of Ruma says, 'Integrity. Without it, we cannot have trust'," I interrupted. "The second step says, 'Passion. Without it, we grow complacent.' Would you like me to go on? It was a reasonable question."

A shy girl from the opposite side of the stage slowly raised her hand. "What if we don't know all the steps?"

"Any knowledge is better than none," I judged. "One of the benefits of bonding to a centaur is perfect memory. At this point in your lives, your desire to know the world around you is more important than how much you have already memorized."

I glanced at Apiona who hesitated, then nodded her agreement. A few hands shot up, and Apiona called on each in turn.

"I was two when Apiona asked that question at her first Trial of Worth," Devid muttered from my opposite side. "None of the candidates that year even knew where Ruma was."

"Humans aren't born with perfect memory," I agreed. "Centaurs sometimes forget that."

While most of the centaur foals had dressed for the ceremony in elaborate gowns or suits tailored for their anatomy, Devid wore only a plain leather vest with a pocket-watch chain across the front. His chest, arms and even the back of his hands had been covered in complex patterns of mehndi. Importing the artist had cost more than the other foals' fancy clothes combined.

Devid had a way of staring at people that many found uncomfortable, and I fought the urge to stare back when he turned that intense gaze on me.

"You are supposed to be paying attention," I reminded him, my own gaze still on the candidates. "What people reveal when they think you aren't looking can be more important than their performance the rest of the time."

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"You're no fun," Devid muttered, but turned his attention as directed.

Apiona's turn complete, Behmilan stepped forward. Several of the martially inclined candidates perked up. While Apiona was a delicate cream, Behmilan worked out religiously and had grown into a hulking bay nearly twice her size.

"Recite the Song of Roland," Behmilan requested.

Behind me, the entire crowd groaned. Learning epic poems was a standard memory exercise on Klaus, but the Song of Roland was one hundred and eighty-six pages long. Reciting the entire thing was as much an endurance exercise as an exercise in memory.

Hands shot up throughout the crowd, and I called the local teens forward by name to recite a single stanza from the center of the epic, as a group, then allowed the island visitors a chance. One young man, a minor noble's son from the distant city of Ellios was particularly enthusiastic.

Then it was Devid's turn. He paced a bit before he spoke, and one of the older centaurs in the crowd yelled for him to "stand still and get on with it" before another older centaur shushed him.

The interruption rattled Devid more than I expected. His gaze flicked back and forth across the huge crowd gathered to watch the Trial. He twisted his hands together, smearing the delicate brown whorls of mehndi on his fingers. Thirty years of teaching experience screamed he was getting ready to bolt.

"Devid," I commanded. "Look at me."

Intense black eyes locked on mine.

"Breathe." I took a deep slow breath and Devid followed suit. "Again."

Devid's eyes flicked to the crowd behind me. "Look at me."

Again, he obeyed.

"This is your Trial. Your arcanist. Not theirs," I said, then added. "There are no wrong questions."

"What is your most embarrassing moment?" Devin asked me, his voice almost too soft to be heard.

"What?"

"Your most embarrassing moment," Devid repeated, a little louder. "Centaurs — and their arcanists — remember everything. Not just the noble guidance or tales of heroism. Everything.

"I remember pooping on my mother when I was six months old. I remember vomiting on my father when I was too nervous to meet the herd for the first time. I remember every fight, every argument, every unkind word ever said to me, my entire life. And if you become a centaur arcanist, you will live for centuries, you will never age, and you will remember too."

As he spoke, Devid's voice gained confidence, but his black eyes remained locked on mine. Breaking his gaze as he finished his speech, I turned to the assembled teens.

"Devid makes an excellent point. Let's hear them," I said. "Briefly, everyone take a turn and tell us your most embarrassing moment."

"There are hundreds of people here," a parent said with a sweep of his arm toward the crowd. "Surely you don't expect-"

"This is Devid's Trial of Worth. He decides what is important to him. And as I already said he has just asked an excellent question."

Facing the crowd instead of the candidates I saw several centaurs in the back nodding in agreement.

"You first," Devid said to me. "Show them how its done."

After thirty years of teaching, I had no shortage of embarrassing moments to choose from, but I needed one that would resonate with these young candidates.

"When I…" I muttered, coughed, then started again loud enough for the crowd to hear. "When I was much younger, at my first trial of worth as a teacher. One of the candidates was a bit more… endowed than her peers."

I saw a few dirty looks, particularly from the matrons, who obviously had some wrong ideas about where this story was going.

"Nothing happened!" I quickly explained. "But I spent the entire trial red-faced trying to hide an erection which wouldn't go away."

"What was her name?" Devid asked gently as the crowd chuckled.

"I… I don't remember. She wasn't local and it's been too many years."

"If you could," Devid asked, "would you want to remember? Remember exactly what she looked like? What she smelled like? Remember exactly what you felt looking at her?"

I whipped around, away from Devid and away from the crowd, and faced the candidates. "But this isn't my Trial of Worth, it's yours. One at a time, let's hear your stories."