In the northern hills of Preliand, where the vineyards gave way to rocky scrub and abandoned quarries, lay the Drayce training yards. The training yards was a cluster of grim stone buildings ringed by high walls and the top was covered with iron spikes. Here, slave children were deemed too young for heavy field labor or too small for the mines so they were seasoned into obedience. The air always smelled of dust, sweat and fear.Silas was no longer called by his true name, he was now known as Boy 47 and had been here for over two years. He arrived at six, small for his age, clutching memories of his mother’s arms and the distant echo of a palace he barely understood. Now, he was nine, he was wiry and quick, with hazel eyes that missed nothing and a face still soft with childhood but hardened around the edges.The day's labour began before dawn.A bell clanged through the barracks which was a long, cold room with rows of straw pallets on the floor. Overseers strode between them, crackin