"Six academies," Nero said. "Every second-year from each of them."
He touched his tablet, and the blinds on the east windows slid shut. Above his desk the projector drew six crests in a slow ring: Mythos in black and crimson, Slatemark in white and gold, Starcrest in red, Pillen in silver, Serpentstone in green, Gravehold in cobalt.
"Six hundred competitors. Ten events. The festival opens in three weeks, and Mythos is hosting, which means five hundred visitors will be sleeping in our dormitories and eating in our halls and judging us by both." His grey eyes moved along the rows. "There are a hundred second-years at this academy. All one hundred of you compete. The other classes are hearing this from their own instructors this morning."
"Each competitor enters exactly two events," Nero went on. "Not one. Not three. Each academy may put no more than twenty students into any single event."
