by Megan Crewe
The next few minutes passed in a blur of groping hands and crinkling wrappers. I’d inhaled a ham-and-cheese sandwich and plowed halfway through a pear before the gnawing hunger inside me subsided enough for me to think about anything other than sating it. My head felt a bit clearer, the jabbing in my forehead duller.
The raw, bloody smell of my ruined shirt filled my nose as I inhaled, and I almost vomited up everything I’d just eaten. I should probably take care of that.
As I stood, Prisha slid through an opening above me to descend the stalk. Rocío appeared at another a second later. They both carried sacks slung over their shoulders by cords.
I shuffled to the tap and held my shirt out under it. The rush of water slicked right over the ’chanted bandage on my hand, but it soaked through the shirt’s fabric, chilly where it smacked my skin. Scarlet eddies swirled in the stream that careened across the ground to the pool.
By the time both of the girls had reached us, I looked less like a horror-film victim. A stain remained in the pale blue fabric, but it could have been from tomato juice for all you could tell now. I splashed a little water onto my face to further revive myself and stepped back. We gathered around Desmond, and the girls dropped their sacks.
“They feed us, they give us a chance to relax, and then they hit us harder,” Rocío said. “That’s how it’s always gone so far.” She eyed the spires, the black hovels spaced between them, and the dark line of the hedge beyond.
“They’ve always given us at least part of a night between stages,” Prisha said. “But who knows, for this last one?”
“I wouldn’t put anything past them now,” Desmond said. “They proved Judith right, didn’t they?”
My gaze snapped to him. “What do you mean?”
“What she was saying before,” he said with a jerk of his hand that belied his nonchalant tone. “The part about them liking to see how far they can push us.”
Horror swelled inside me. I’d forgotten what Judith had said just before the test in which we’d been forced to murder those people. She’d disparaged the Exam committee and the Confed...
And a couple hours later, the Exam had killed her, even more quickly and efficiently than it had assaulted Mark.
When I’d overheard Prisha, she’d been protesting that she couldn’t tell them anything more. Anything more than what? She might have repeated every one of Judith’s incriminating remarks before I’d interrupted.
Prisha went rigid when my gaze caught hers.
“What had you already said?” I forced out. “Before I found you. What did you say?”
“Finn,” she said, “we were all in that trap.”
Judith’s cage had been the farthest out of reach, and hers might have closed even faster than ours too. The examiners could easily have made it seem as though she’d simply failed when they’d never intended her to survive.
Rocío frowned at me and then Prisha. “What’s going on?”
I couldn’t bring myself to drag out Prisha’s horrible secret in front of the others. I shouldn’t have to be the one to say it. It had been her choice.
She hadn’t denied she’d spoken about Judith. She’d told them something.
I couldn’t accuse her outright, but I couldn’t stand to look at her right now either. I couldn’t stand her being here, talking with Rocío as if she wasn’t waiting for her to let the wrong comment slip. We were all too emotionally raw to be perfectly cautious.
“You should go,” I blurted out. “For tonight. Find someplace else to wait it out. That’ll be better for everyone.”
“What?” Rocío said. “No! We have to stay together.”
Prisha inclined her head. “It’s okay,” she said. “Finn has a point.”
“If we’re splitting up, shouldn’t we at least stay in pairs?” Desmond said, his eyebrows drawing together.
“Maybe,” Prisha said. “You want to find a spot to stake out with me? You’ve just got to swear you’ll keep the conversation light.”
She glanced at me, like a promise and a plea.
O gods, of course I didn’t really want her off on her own in the midst of... whatever wretched tests this place concealed.
The examiners hadn’t asked her to press Desmond. She’d told him to stick to lighter subjects of conversation. It was Rocío she was most likely to hurt.
I knew she didn’t want to hurt anyone—but I also knew that even after what had happened with Mark, she’d gambled on Judith’s life to protect her “deal.”
“All right,” I said. Rocío made a noise of protest, so I added, “We’ll stay within sight of each other. We’ll be able to keep a wider eye on things if we spread out a little. If you see anything concerning, just shout.”
Prisha helped Desmond to his feet, and they set off in the direction of one of the black hovels. I didn’t want to stay by the central spire either. It felt like too blatant a target.
“We can take that spire,” I said, pointing to one about fifty feet to the right of Prisha and Desmond’s destination. It boasted two platforms, one near the middle and another at the top: a bit of shelter and a higher vantage point from which to keep watch. “If that’s okay with you?”
Rocío was still frowning. “What’s going on with you and Prisha? And don’t tell me ‘nothing.’ You think she said something to Judith that threw her off?”
“Not like that,” I said. “Not precisely. I—” Could the examiners hear us now? There was no way of discerning where their surveillance might begin and end. The thought of spilling the whole story still sent a ripple of uneasiness through me. “It’s complicated. Just be careful what you say around her, all right?”
Behind her, a couple of new arrivals were heading toward the pool. Callum might be lurking, or Lacey. I extended my hand to Rocío. “Trust me?”
For a second, she looked ready to refuse. Then she hefted the remaining sack and joined me.
We slunk across the gritty ground to the spire I’d selected. The lower platform jutted only a couple feet above my head. Rocío slung the sack back over her shoulder and scrambled up a set of handholds. She reached down to help me haul myself up. I winced as I sat down hard.
Rocío paced across the platform. “I haven’t seen Lacey, even though she went ahead of us.”
“She might have taken a different route through the maze,” I said. There was no need to mention the other possibility: that the maze had consumed her as it had Judith.
Rocío sat down, letting her legs dangle over the platform’s edge. Her head bowed.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said, “and no. Not at all. Too many people died today.”
I swiped my hand across my lips, my mouth suddenly dry. “Any is too many.”
“Yeah.” She let out a choked little laugh. “I thought if I just tried hard enough, I could get all of us through this without anyone getting hurt. I guess that was stupid.”
“No. It isn’t on you. It’s on them.” I knew I didn’t need to state which ‘them’ I was referring to.
“I just... I don’t want to be the kind of mage they’re trying to shape us into,” Rocío said. “I don’t want to be the kind of person they’re trying to make me be. But it seems like no matter what, I lose.”
“As long as you’re still you, you haven’t lost,” I said. “I think... I think it’s spectacular that you tried to find another way. They didn’t offer us any good choices, and you tried to make your own. That’s more spectacular than your dragon.”
She glanced at me, her expression unreadable. “Do you really believe that?”
“I do.”
She turned back toward the view. A breeze whisked over us, chilling my wet shirt. The drenched fabric had gone clammy against my skin, which didn’t feel any more comfortable than the blood had. It was seeping water into my pants. I shivered.
No one was nearby. Even Prisha and Desmond had disappeared from view into the hovel they’d chosen.
“I’m g
oing to wring out my shirt,” I said. “Please keep your eyes averted to avoid being blinded by my shockingly impressive physique.”
Between my useless left hand and the jagged pain in my side when I lifted that arm, maneuvering the damned shirt off me was more difficult than I expected. I managed to yank it over my head and scooted to sit at the side of the platform. The surface was smooth, almost silky, as if it were constructed out of real ivory.
Wringing the fabric, I squeezed out at least a couple cups of water. Afterward, the shirt wasn’t dry, but I’d take damp over soaked through. I instinctively swung it flat and hissed as pain splintered through my chest.
Behind me, Rocío sucked in a startled breath. “What happened to you?” she said.
I looked down. Yeah, it was bad. Bruises blackened my skin from my left armpit to just below my ribcage.
I tried to chuckle, but the effort only sent the pain deeper. “Some crazy vines trying to crush me to smithereens happened,” I said, keeping my tone as light as possible. “They decided to bash a few ribs while I was on my way out.”
“You didn’t say anything.”
“My hand was the more immediate problem.”
“Finn...” She stopped at my shoulder. Her voice dipped. “May I?”
If I hadn’t been dizzy with agony, I might have appreciated having a girl I quite liked asking permission to touch my half-naked body. As it was, the best I could accomplish was to nudge myself back from the edge so I wouldn’t go toppling off. “Be my guest.”
Rocío knelt at my back. Her hands hovered over the bruises. Then, so gingerly I barely felt it, she set one against the skin. She whispered a casting.
“I don’t think they’re broken,” she said. “Just cracked.”
“That’s something.”
“Peor es nada,” she muttered. “Yes.”
She spoke again with the soft, lilting tone she’d used when calming my headache and when numbing my hand. It rolled over me like a lullaby, singing the nerves to sleep. The pain crawled away. I filled my lungs with air and felt only a mild pinching.
When Rocío leaned back, the atmosphere shifted. I gripped my shirt, suspecting that if I attempted to put it back on, she’d insist on helping. What would be more embarrassing: submitting to that or continuing to sit here shirtless? I didn’t think the sight of my body was unpleasant, per se. The Academy curriculum included regular phys ed under the principle that a limber body encouraged a limber mind, but…
Her fingers grazed my back to the right of my spine and traced down over the unbruised muscles there. My breath hitched at the sudden flush of warmth her touch provoked. Then it was gone.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to—”
“No, you didn’t hurt me,” I said quickly. “It felt good.” My face flared as I heard the last words spill from my mouth. I fumbled for something else to say, afraid to turn around and witness her expression.
Then her hand settled onto my back again, below my shoulder blade. She let it rest there, just the gentle weight of her palm and fingers. My heart thumped so hard she must have felt it through my skin.
“Are there any other injuries you’ve been keeping quiet about?” she asked, as if this were a normal conversation.
I shook my head. “You discovered them all.”
“You had me stand on you to get to Prisha when you had multiple cracked ribs. You pulled Desmond out of that trap.”
“So what you’re saying is, maybe I don’t make the wisest decisions ever.”
“No. I’m saying you’re definitely spectacular too.”
Her words echoed through me with a rush of a different sort of warmth, one that fortified me to ask, “So does that mean you’ll give me the time of day when we’re back in the real world?”
“I think I’m the one who’s supposed to be asking that question.”
“What?” I said, blinking. “Why?”
Her hand twitched against my back. “Really? How much room is there usually for ghetto-trash street-magic girls in your kind of life?”
I swiveled, not caring that the movement meant her touch fell away. I had to see her face. “Don’t call yourself that.”
She gazed back at me steadily, not looking angry or distraught, merely resigned. In a way, seeing that pricked at me more than if she’d been upset.
“They’re not my words. That’s what people would see if I turned up at your front door, isn’t it? What your family, your friends, your neighbors would think?”
“No,” I said. “My dad— My sister—”
I halted. I longed to tell her how my dad had fought the old Circle so that mages like her could have a chance at a magical future, how my sister had abandoned our old-magic enclave to mingle with the Dulls, and how they would have respected Rocío for her abilities at the very least. Yet of all the friends my parents had invited to their dinner parties, I wasn’t certain even one of them had been new magic, though Dad had mentioned new-magic colleagues. The only people I’d seen Margo socializing with were old-magic kids, just the more rebellious sorts.
I didn’t want to say it if I wasn’t sure.
“I don’t know,” I finished weakly. “I don’t think so, not everyone, but I don’t know.”
Rocío shrugged as if to say, There you go, and started to turn away. Whatever moment we’d been sharing tipped, ready to shatter apart if I didn’t catch it.
I gripped her wrist. “Rocío.” She glanced back, and I barreled onward. “I may be a joke of a half-talent mage who puts his foot in it far too often, but what you said isn’t what I see. It was never what I saw.”
The ache in my side started to pinch deeper from the twist of my torso, but I held her gaze. Her mouth slanted as if it wasn’t sure whether to curve up or down.
“And I don’t see a joke,” she said. “All right?”
“All right,” I said, my voice abruptly rough.
Rocío moved to stand, and I let go of her arm. She tipped her head upward. The faux sky overhead was dimming from yellow to burnt orange. Long shadows sprawled away from the spires in an intermittent ring.
“I guess we’re meant to rest,” she said. “I’ll cast a shield to alert us if anyone approaches. Who knows how long the examiners will leave us before they start up the tests again.”
I stood up too and pulled my shirt over my head with a careful tug. Easing my arms into the sleeves, I watched Rocío sing her casting.
Focus tensed her features. Her fingers wove through the air in precise motions as she conducted her intent into being. The quiver in the air around me heightened slightly. Her expression relaxing, she lowered her hands. The breeze tossed her hair, and all I could see was how beautiful she was.
She turned and caught me staring. “What?”
“You work like an artist,” I said honestly. “It’s beautiful.”
Her cheeks flushed. She dropped her gaze to consider her clasped hands.
“I’m not confused anymore,” she said.
My pulse stuttered. For an instant, I couldn’t recall how to move. Then I was crossing the short distance between us, reaching to touch her cheek the way I’d tried to before. This time, Rocío leaned in to meet me. It was the most natural act in the world to lower my mouth to hers.
She kissed the way she cast, with a focused certainty, as if she were conjuring me into being with the press of her lips against mine. My hand slid up into her smooth hair. She shifted closer, and if I could have drowned in the feel of her right then, I likely would have happily. It was heaven simply losing myself temporarily in the heat of her breath, the sparks tickling over my skin as her fingers trailed down my chest, the little sigh that escaped her when I kissed her again.
When we came up for air, she leaned her head against my shoulder. I wrapped my arms around her, reveling in that beautiful, fragile moment. The landscape around us was still and silent, but we both knew it wouldn’t stay that way. Likely it was that sense of fragility that loosened my tongue.
&
nbsp; “I’m falling in love with you,” I said.
“Finn—”
I interrupted before she could argue. “I know it hasn’t been very long and this situation is so far from either of our real lives, but… I know what I feel. I know I’ll still feel it when we’re out of this place. If I get out of this place. So I wanted to say it now, before I could lose the chance. That’s all.”
Rocío was silent for a time, peering across the darkening clearing. “Okay,” she said. “I’m not going to say anything like that back, but I can say that nothing is going to happen to you as long as I’m here to stand in the way.”
I was gratified for the second it took me to remember: “It seems to me you’ve made that commitment to everyone in our group.”
The corner of her mouth curved upward. “I’m going to do everything in my power to protect everyone here,” she said. “That’s true. But... with you, it seems like there’s a lot more ‘everything.’”
My breath caught. I held myself still, afraid whatever I said in answer might make her regret that admission. Finally, in the most casual tone I could summon, I managed to say, “So you do like me, then.”
Rocío made a scoffing noise. “Shut up.”
“Why don’t you make me, Dragon-Tamer?” I said with a grin.
She did, exactly as I’d hoped, with another kiss.
What was the proper etiquette for waking up next to one’s lover of sorts the morning after you’d first exchanged kisses? I hadn’t done all that much kissing in general, and I expected that being in the middle of the Exam altered expectations regardless.
I looked down at Rocío, curled against me with her head on her arm in the warm light that was starting to glow across the faux sky, and an ache filled my chest. We had one more day of the Exam before us: the day that might rip this girl away from me.
Rocío snuggled closer and raised her head to brush her lips across mine, then sat up to survey the clearing as if there were nothing all that complicated about the situation. Maybe there wasn’t.
More of our fellow examinees had turned up overnight. A few figures were scavenging on the central spire’s platform, and others had scattered along the fringes of the clearing. Prisha and Desmond, who was favoring his wounded foot, stood outside the hovel where they’d taken shelter. I counted twelve of us examinees altogether, though more might have been lurking beyond my view.
