‘What is it?’ said Violet.
‘It’s a belt made with a sliver of metal from a Dark Guard’s armour,’ said Beatrix.
‘Like the Remnants,’ said Violet.
‘Not as strong,’ said Beatrix. ‘It’s not a full armour piece. That would kill him. But it’s strong enough. Most who fail the test go to their knees right away.’
Carver stayed on his feet. And when the two Stewards moved away and back, Carver drew his sword.
That was when Will realised that the test was not the triten.
It was control. To stay a Steward in the face of the Dark. To hold to your mission. To fight.
Will’s heart was pounding as Carver began the first of the triten, the amphitheatre utterly silent. He could hear each footstep Carver took as part of the sequence, his sword cutting the air, arcing down from left to right. The belt around his waist was like an anchor stone, and he was soaked with sweat.
The second triten – he must have drilled it thousands of times since childhood. Will recognised the movements, had seen Violet perform this same sequence only last night. It was longer than the first, and now Will could hear the exhalations of breath as Carver completed each motion. By the time he finished the second triten, it seemed impossible that he could continue. He looked like he could barely stay on his feet. The entire amphitheatre seemed to hold its breath – and they kept holding it in the long pause. Will saw the moment when Carver gathered himself to begin the third.
‘What if he falters?’
‘He won’t. His blood is strong,’ said Beatrix.
Words of faith from his friend. Carver’s grey skin had mottled, and a thin trickle of blood was running from his nose. He kept going, movement after movement. It was like watching a man keep his hand in the fire while the skin burned away. But Carver’s sword arm never faltered, and he completed the final movement with a steady blade.
The amphitheatre erupted in cheers. ‘Carver!’ Emery and Beatrix leaped to their feet, shouting with pride. On her seat at the edge of the arena, the Elder Steward smiled. The two Stewards in the arena quickly came forward and took the belt from Carver’s waist, hurriedly locking it back up in its casket. Carver, to his credit, did not drop to the ground with exhaustion but instead made his way forward to face the Elder Steward and knelt for her a second time. He managed to make it seem like a graceful movement, rather than a collapse. The Elder Steward looked down at Carver with kind, proud eyes.
‘You’ve done well, Carver,’ she said. ‘Now it is time.’
Six Stewards emerged from the archway, dressed differently from the other Stewards in the Hall. They wore Steward whites, but long robes in the manner of a janissary, instead of the usual Steward short tunic. Most surprising of all was the insignia they wore on their chests: a cup, carved with four crowns. Will had never seen a Steward wearing anything like it. He had thought that all Stewards wore the star.
They walked in twos, paired as Stewards always were. The cup on their tunics gleamed, bell-shaped. It gave them a strange, ceremonial significance. Carver rose and accompanied the six Stewards in a processional through the archway and out of sight.
‘What’s happening?’ said Will.
‘He’s going to the drink from the Cup,’ said Beatrix. ‘It’s our Order’s most secret rite. He will take his vow, drink, and return with the gift of strength.’
‘The Cup?’ said Will.
‘The Cup of the Stewards,’ said Beatrix. ‘The source of our strength.’
So this was where Stewards gained their supernatural strength: from a cup. It explained the six Stewards and the insignia they had worn on their chests. They must be the Cup’s attendants or guardians. But what did it mean for a novitiate to drink? Will’s mind filled with questions. ‘How does a cup give him strength?’
‘No one knows. No novitiate or janissary has ever seen the rite. Even the vow is secret. Only those who pass the test know what it is. But it’s said only those with the strongest Steward blood can withstand the great power bestowed by the Cup. It’s why there is a test. You have to prove your strength of will before you drink.’
Will’s eyes swung back to the archway at the end of the arena. ‘You mean he risks his life?’
Stewards already gave up so much. They lived lives of self-sacrifice and dedication only to die young in battle, while the janissaries lived out full lives, marrying and having children. Of the hundreds of Stewards in the Hall, only the Elder Steward had taken the whites and lived to old age.