Chapter 27 · Gold on the Slate

Chapter 27: Gold on the Slate

"Get up, Calder." Silas's voice hit the mic that was supposed to be dead hours ago. "The board doesn't care if your knees are tired."

Ten thousand of them were still down behind me, pack howls dying off into a rumble that shook dust loose from the rafters. I got up anyway, because a king telling you twice is a king about to make it an order.

He pressed something into my hand before I'd even found my balance. Hot. Heavier than it looked.

"Torch," he said. "White flame. Don't drop it, you'll take the floor with it."

"What am I doing with a torch, Silas?"

"Writing your name where it was supposed to be eight years ago." He turned me by the shoulder, hard, toward the slate. "And your father's. Garrett Calder. Look familiar?"

It did. Second row from the bottom, under a smear of old grey paint someone had used to cover a name they didn't want standing. My stomach dropped faster than the torch heat climbed up my wrist.

"That's not possible." My voice came out smaller than I wanted. "My father ran crates. He wasn't a fighter.