The Lost Crown Book 1: The Academy of Oswalda
highlight_author
Saphira Aelin
highlight_reads
356K
highlight_chapters
30
Hollisâs Nightmare
I forced my eyes open. Dirt and blood mixed beneath my feet and clung to my leather boots. My skin was no longer its usual deep shade of honey. Instead, it had turned deep maroon as the warm and sticky substance dripped down my body, drenching my clothes and practically gluing my fingers together.
My heart rattled in my chest. What in the world was going on?
Lightning lit up the sky, and thunder drummed in my ears as I tried to get to my feet. My head was pounding so hard I could barely stand it. Black smoke stung my eyes and filled my lungs.
Coughing, I raised my head to take in my surroundings, but my gaze fell again. A man and a woman lay no more than five feet away from me. A realization that I was gripping something hard and cold left me breathless. Did I do this? I shuddered, looking down at the sword that was covered in blood from its handle all the way to the dangerously sharp tip.
The village before me filled with the light of a million flames. Ash rained down from the sky. Smoke rushed out of every doorway and broken window. âShe is to blame,â someone screeched.
When I turned in the direction of the sound, a small group of people led by an elderly woman rushed straight at me.
âWhat? No,â I said, shaking my head violently. Then I dropped the sword and raised my hands in surrender. âI swear I didnât do this. I donât even know how to use a sword, much less how to kill with it.â
The villagers didnât listen and charged forward with their pitchforks anyway.
âLies! This is all your fault,â yelled another woman, a hysterical look on her face.
âHang her!â a man shouted.
The order to kill me jumped from mouth to mouth, echoing through the village center.
My heart was ready to jump out of my chest, but I didnât care. I needed to save myself. Only when I tried to run, my feet wouldnât move.
âPlease, donât do this,â I begged, but the villagers lunged at me anyway.
They held me down and slung ropes around my wrists. Before I knew it, my hands were tied behind my back.
âYou got it wrong! Iâm innocent!â I screamed and twisted my wrists, but the more I struggled, the tighter the knots became.
Just when I decided to try kicking my way to freedom, the villagers tied my ankles together, hitting me in the shins as they did it. An even thicker rope snaked around my neck.
âPlease, I didnât do anything,â I cried out, hot tears sliding down my cheeks. I didnât want to die, especially when I didnât hurt anyone.
âYour words mean nothing. This is your fault,â the crowd chanted as someone tugged on the rope that encircled my neck and threw one of its ends over the nearest tree branch.
âWait. Wait, please!â
Those were the last words I could say before someone tugged on the rope, and it dug even deeper into my neck. My feet rose off the ground. I kicked and screamed, but my body kept rising, the last bits of air in my lungs turning to fire.
My body spasmed. Then everything went dark.
This was it. I was going to die, and there was nothing I could do about it.
That was when I felt fingers gently run down my wet cheek. When I forced my eyelids open, a pair of gray eyes were looking directly into mine.
âDonât give up, Hollis,â a faraway voice beckoned. âI believe in you.â
âHollis, itâs time to wake up.â
This time, the voice was loud and clear.
âPlease, donât hurt me!â
âHollis?â
The combination of the manâs voice and my own screams finally woke me up. I was no longer in the strange village filled with smoke, blood, and angry strangers. Instead, I was in the safety of my small bedroom.
My hands immediately rose to my neck, but the rope wasnât there.
Of course it isnât, I reminded myself. It was a dream, and you havenât done anything wrong.
My nightgown was soaked with cold sweat. Tears spilled down my cheeks until I could taste their saltiness in my mouth.
âAnother nightmare?â my father asked, wiping sweat from my brow.
âYeah,â I struggled out.
My mother, Sarah, walked in and stood at the foot of my bed, her eyes full of concern. Seeing the state I was in, her concern turned to plain sadness.
âGet ready, dear. Today is the day,â she said. Then, probably thinking the same thing that I was thinkingâthat the next time a nightmare struck, she wouldnât be there to pull me out of itâshe hung her head and slowly walked out of my room.
Iâd been having the same nightmare for over a year now. Same accusations. Same fear. The same floating gray eyes begging me to keep fighting. It never changed. Well, except for the part where the villagers killed me. Sometimes, Iâd wake up before anything happened. Other times, Iâd die swinging under a giant oak tree with a noose around my neck.
The dream was so real that it made me feel like I knew the people who wanted me dead. Of course, that was just a figment of my imagination. But what awaited me today? Now that was 100 percent real.
I pushed the nightmare to the back of my mind and focused on getting ready for the big day. I washed my face and attempted to tame my black locks. My hair was long and curly, and it had always been a mess to deal with, but for some reason, I never wanted to cut it. Then I got dressed in the best clothes I owned and made my bed.
When my father had first found out that my mother was pregnant, heâd collected the last bits of savings he had, bought materials, and built a room in the back of the house. Heâd constructed a new bed and even a wardrobe for my dresses. It wasnât much, but it meant the world to me.
I appreciated everything my parents had done for me, but sometimes I felt like a burden to them. Many families in the kingdom were well off. We werenât one of those families. Life in a village as small as Madison meant having to work hard just to survive, but if I couldâve, I wouldâve given anything to make my parentsâ lives just a little bit easier.
Today is the day. My motherâs words rang in my ears.
Every year, the young men and women of Berwick who turned eighteen on or before the first of October were expected to attend Oswalda Academy and find out if they had powers. Our country was mostly surrounded by water. However, there was a large section in the desert that was connected to the enemy territory, Arachnid. The family that ruled it was brutal. So, with Arachnid constantly threatening to harm our people, our kingdom had to gather all the youths, single out the ones with magical abilities, and train them so they could protect Berwick and its citizens.
The academy would teach us how to grow and manage our powers, but there was a good chance that even if you went in with powers, they might never grow. Or you could start the year with powers that were barely detectable and become extremely powerful by the time you graduated. It could really go either way.
Some people thought that having powers was a punishment, because the moment they were detected, your fate was decided.
That wasnât how I saw it. The ability to defend the innocent was an honor. An honor Iâd never get to experience because people in my family had no powers to speak of, and I was no exception. As down in the dumps as I was about the whole thing, Oswalda was my chance to find myself and to experience life outside of my village. I held on to the hope that somehow, I could find a way to be useful, fight for my country, and make my parents proud.
A girl could dream.
For people who wanted to take part in protecting the crown, they could always join the queenâs Army of Knights. If I learned how to wield a sword, that could be my path, but there was also another optionâyou could refuse to serve.
If I didnât show any promise, Iâd get sent home regardless, but I never understood the students with magical powers who chose to go home. I wouldâve done anything, just about anything, to find my purpose, and those people turned their backs on all of it, even though it was the most dishonorable thing one could do.
A knock on the door pulled me out of my complicated thoughts.
âYou ready, darling?â my father asked. His eyes and the tip of his nose were red.
I didnât understand why my parents were so upset. Despite how skilled the Oswalda masters were, it was impossible for children who had magic-less parents to develop magical abilities. As much as I didnât want to admit it to myself, my parents had nothing to worry about because Iâd be back in their arms soon enough.
