by Liz Delton
It soon became impossible for them to stay in the woods, which had become tangled with brush. They extracted themselves from the snarly vines and bushes and stepped onto the shore. They were hit with a stiff wind, cold enough that it bit through Neve’s many layers of clothing.
The Scouts were running, tucked in an awkward crouch, and moving quickly toward one point on the shore. It looked like they were heading for a low spot in the short cliff, where the rock was cracked and eroded away.
Neve was a silent shadow on Sylvia’s heels as they sped along the shore on the edge of the trees. They were exposed, but none of the Scouts had even bothered to turn around and watch their backs. Perhaps they had gotten too complacent with their animal counterparts guarding the woods for them, Neve thought.
The first Scout reached the crack in the rock, and the others gathered around him, all of them looking eager to get out of sight and off of the shore. Sylvia stopped running and they edged out further onto the shore, staying low. Neve came up beside her and sunk down, her feet silent on the white stone, and watched, wondering what the Scouts would do once they got into the water.
Out of the corner of her eye, Neve saw a small black bird soar by. Suddenly her body was struck with wracking pain—all over; her chest, her fingers and toes, her legs had frozen with constant, pulsating pain.
She could not move.
By her side, she saw that Sylvia must have been hit too; and far in front of them, the Scouts had all frozen in place. Their groans reached Neve’s ears, which were throbbing in pain.
Her head began to ache fiercely as her whole body was wracked with the sharp pain. What felt like thousands of needles stabbed through her bent legs, which were suddenly spasming at random. Was it getting worse? What was happening to them?
She wished it would stop; wished she could close her eyes, wished she could bring her hands up to her head to protect it from the current that seemed to flow painfully through her.
It wove through her veins, vibrated through her bones, and sank into her gut. The agony went on for an eternity, and she was trapped, drowning in pain forever. Her eyes weren’t shut, but she could no longer see anything of the twilit shore.
Finally, she let out a moan and sunk to the ground as something released her.
Before her eyes closed she saw the small bird flit toward the island.
Ten
It was dark, so why was she still in pain? Sylvia groaned. Her skull ached from a fierce headache, making her wonder if she had hit her head.
Had night fallen as she lay unconscious?
She forced herself to sit up, motions awkward, as she willed her weakened limbs to cooperate. It was then that she realized there were no stars or moon. An ember of fear began to burn inside of her. She sniffed the air and realized the smell reminded her of Riftcity—stone rooms with little fresh air.
With her shaky arms, she felt around the floor—it was definitely a floor, not the shore—her entire body weak from that shocking pain. What had happened? One moment she and Neve had been watching the Scouts; the next, she was paralyzed in pain, until it had completely overtaken her senses and knocked her unconscious.
Her hand bumped into a wall. She edged toward it and leaned against it, gathering her strength for what was coming next. Because there could be only one explanation—they were inside the fifth city.
“Neve?” she whispered after a moment.
No answer. She forced herself to crawl, feeling each wall, measuring the room. She could not yet stand.
The dark room was tiny, more like a closet, and completely empty. There was no furniture, nothing except bare walls. She felt the blood pounding through her aching skull, threatening to lose consciousness again, so she slumped against the door she had found.
After three deep breaths with her eyes closed, she focused her thoughts on the door, trying to fend off the pain.
The door was wood: sturdy and heavy. She could feel the deep grooves of the grain under her fingertips, and wondered if it was solid oak. Her fingers slid over bulky, metal hinges. There was no handle.
She leaned to the crack in the door and hissed, “Neve? ”
As if it were a signal, the sound of boots pounded outside her door, their rhythm growing louder as they approached her cell. She scrabbled back from the door.
It swung open and banged against the wall. She was immediately blinded; the light that streamed in through the open door was too much for her pained head and dark-accustomed eyes.
She could do nothing but cower against the wall, eyes clamped shut as the boots approached and a thick fist grabbed her arm and pulled her up, dragging her out of the cell.
Stumbling through the brightness, she forced herself to try and adjust her eyes.
Through the tiny slit in her eyelids, she glimpsed a brightly lit white stone corridor, but there were no windows. She opened her eyes a little wider to study the man attached to the fist that gripped her. He was covered head to toe in black clothing, with a wide array of weapons, or tools, or who knew what hanging from his belt.
His dark hair was slicked back, revealing a distinct hairline and a heavy jaw grazed with neat stubble. He stared straight ahead down the corridor, without a care for the girl he carelessly carted with him. Sylvia immediately disliked him.
Blinking still, her eyes began to adjust as they turned sharply around a corner, and the man dragged her down more hallways that all looked the same. Sylvia fought her growing headache, determined to keep her eyes open, alert through the pain.
Finally they stopped in front of a towering wooden door. Another man dressed in black opened it for them, and Sylvia found herself blinking at a wide room, with stone columns that reached up to the high ceiling, where globes of different sizes glowed like miniature suns. Her eyes were drawn downward to a beautiful woman, who sat on what Sylvia could only think of as a throne.
The man dragged her into the chamber and stopped a short distance from the woman, who was perfectly thin, extremely tall, and unreasonably beautiful. Dark curls cascaded down her back from where her hair was pinned atop her head, and an elegant turquoise dress flowed over her body, with silver threaded accents glinting in the light.
Suddenly the man’s hand was no longer clenched around Sylvia’s arm, and she stumbled forward. She caught herself and forced her weak muscles to remain standing.
“Thank you, Barton,” the woman purred, and the man retreated a few steps back.
Sylvia stared up at the beautiful woman, whose bright grey eyes were framed by a few delicate wrinkles.
“Where’s Neve?” Sylvia demanded.
The woman let out a low chuckle as she surveyed Sylvia from her throne.
“Aren’t you a brave one?” the woman said in wonder, then, in an odd motion, flicked two fingers across her thigh.
Sylvia stared at her, mesmerized by the woman’s dress—the silver thread seemed to move by itself, shimmering along the fabric in the light. She blinked twice and looked back up at the woman’s long, pale face.
The woman said nothing, only smiled at Sylvia. Sylvia wasn’t sure what to say next. She wasn’t entirely sure of anything right now. Instead, she focused on not passing out; the dizziness from her headache had swelled now that she had stopped moving.
After a few moments, the heavy wooden door boomed open and Sylvia turned to see Neve being led in by another man clad in black. Her nerves eased at the sight of the girl, who looked just as Sylvia felt: ruffled, sore and aching from pain, and spitting mad.
Neve was led to stand by Sylvia, where she stumbled, then stared wide-mouthed at the tall woman on the throne.
“Now, tell me,” the woman began, and leaned forward to pierce them with her gaze. “Why are you here?”
Sylvia looked at Neve then back at the woman.
“May I ask who you are first?” Sylvia countered.
The woman laughed, and the sound echoed through the empty hall. “Oh, brave and polite; my, well we should do introductions, shouldn’t we?”
&nb
sp; She flicked a bit of invisible dust off a turquoise and silver sleeve and pinned them again with her stare.
“I am Lady Naomi Blackwater, and you are standing in the receiving hall of Castle Tenny, on the island of Seascape,” she said succinctly.
Sylvia rubbed her temples as she cleared her throat. “My name is Sylvia Thorne, and I’m a Rider from Meadowcity.”
She paused, but Neve remained silent to her right. “And this is Neve, from Lightcity.”
Lady Naomi smiled—it reminded Sylvia of a mountain lion about to go for the kill—and said, “Well, now that we’ve observed the pleasantries, please tell me why you were attempting to force your way into my city.” The Lady leaned back on her throne and watched them with mild interest.
“We weren’t!” Sylvia protested, “We were following those Scouts, trying to find out what they were doing!”
“A convenient tale.”
“We followed them from Lightcity, because we thought they were headed here—”
“And why would one lone Rider and an inexperienced glassworker be the two selected for such an important task?”
Sylvia opened her mouth, but Neve spoke first.
“How do you know I’m a glassworker?” she blurted out, “Sylvia didn’t say I was.”
Sylvia looked incredulously over at Neve, then back to Lady Naomi, whose mask of calm indifference cracked as she let out a frustrated sigh.
“Ah, well, you have me there,” she grinned coyly, but didn’t explain how she knew about Neve.
“Very well—I already know that you are not Scouts; we have sorted out those fools already. But what struck me as very curious was that two young girls were tasked with solving Arcera’s latest crisis—it seems Governor Greyling has shown his hand at last.”
Sylvia’s heart missed a beat. How did this woman know about Greyling’s plans?
“I’m trying to protect my city,” Sylvia said, muddled with confusion. What was going on here?
“And you?” Lady Naomi asked Neve pointedly.
Neve didn’t answer, only stared toward the Lady, not looking her in the eye. Her skin flushed a deeper gold.
“Miss Thorne,” the Lady said. “Did you know that Miss Stoughton here is the genius inventor of Skycity’s curious explosives? Now, I thought you must have known, after traveling with each other.”
Sylvia’s heart began to thud erratically.
“Wh—What?” Sylvia stuttered. A satisfied smile curled up Lady Naomi’s lips—the woman was doing her best to unnerve them—but how in Arcera had she known that? And what she said about Neve inventing the explosives…
“I really was curious, Neve, about your motivation to go with Miss Thorne—were you trying to make up for it?”
Sylvia wanted to slap the woman.
Neve’s eyes were sparkling with unshed tears, and the girl wouldn’t look at Sylvia.
“Look,” Sylvia burst out, taking a step forward. “You clearly know all about what’s going on in the Four Cities—Greyling’s plan, and what he’s done—won’t you help us?” she nearly shouted, wanting to wipe that smug smile off the Lady’s face.
“My dear, Seascape is in no danger from that idiot and his ‘plans’, if you would call them that. We have no need to confront him. We shall defend our island—and as you saw, our defenses are quite effective.”
“What was that—on the stone shore?” Neve asked. Her eyes were red, but she finally met the Lady’s gaze.
“A small defense, should anyone unwanted come within the boundaries we set, they will experience an electrical current that, well, I’m sure you remember. I do apologize for subjecting you to that, but we didn’t register the Scouts until they got close to the perimeter, and we thought you were clear.”
A small defense? Sylvia raised her eyebrows. Seascape was truly far more advanced than any of the Four Cities—no wonder Greyling was after them. And surely they would be able to help them defeat Skycity’s army…
“Lady Blackwater,” Sylvia started. “Won’t you help us? Greyling has attacked and enslaved our cities—trying to get to you.”
The Lady narrowed her eyes at Sylvia, and the Rider nearly took a step back, but held her ground. When facing a mountain lion, you mustn’t back down, or appear weak.
Lady Naomi cocked her head to the side as if listening for something, and then she smiled slyly at Sylvia.
“You do intrigue me, Miss Thorne,” she paused to idly trace a pattern on her sleeve. “What would you say to… a test?”
“What kind of test? And then will you help us?” Her hopes sprung up, but she did not trust this strange woman.
“A test of will,” the Lady spoke slow and low. “I admit, you have sparked my interest, Sylvia Thorne—but the Four Cities slighted Seascape, and we do not forget. We are safe here. We have no reason to help you.”
The words cut at Sylvia. Selfish, she thought, but she kept her mouth shut.
“However, the timing of your arrival is fortuitous. I will agree to offer help to your plight… if you pass the Trials. They will prove to Seascape that you are worthy. As is customary, you will have no training nor instruction beforehand.”
“And when do these Trials begin?”
“Sunrise on the morning of Winter’s End, until the moon rises at the end the fourth week.”
“I’ll do it.”
The words came out of her mouth without hesitation. Sylvia locked eyes with the Lady, not wishing to change her mind. There was no time for hesitation.
This could be her only hope of getting any help for Meadowcity. She didn’t have time to return home and let the decision be made for her.
She couldn’t begin to imagine what the Trials might hold; but she knew that if she did not try, they had no chance of garnering Seascape’s help, which Meadowcity desperately needed.
“Sylvia—you don’t even know—” Neve hissed.
Sylvia quelled her with a look. She must try.
“Very well,” the Lady said, her teeth showing again in a predator’s grin. She traced another pattern on her turquoise sleeve, and Sylvia noticed the silver threads shining in the light as she did so.
“The Trials are an historic Seascape ritual, and are not to be undertaken lightly.”
“Each spring, persons of eighteen years may partake, in order to prove their worth to Seascape, and gain certain benefits of their heritage. They will challenge your will, your courage; and they will test your mind beyond any limits you could ever have imagined.”
“Though you look underage, I think we can make an exception—it will be of interest to Seascape’s residents to see how you perform, and to see if the Four Cities are finally worthy of our association.”
Sylvia nodded. She was a little over a year under eighteen, and if they could do it, so could she.
“There are four Trials,” the Lady continued. “And they are each judged by different standards, given their vastly different mental, physical and emotional challenges. There is no one winner. You merely pass or fail.”
“And if I pass?” Sylvia asked. “Then you’ll help?
“Then we will help.”
“I accept.”
Eleven
Neve stared widemouthed at Sylvia; the Rider stood there facing down the formidable Lady without a hint of fear in her eyes.
“Then we have a bargain, my dear,” Lady Naomi said and stood, her long legs unfolding underneath her shining turquoise gown as she stepped down from her dais.
The Lady towered over Sylvia, who held out her hand to seal the bargain. Neve could do nothing to stop her. Sylvia couldn’t know what she was getting herself into—this woman, this Lady could not be trusted. She must have spies all over Arcera to know what she knew.
Neve shuddered again—she felt violated somehow—how had the Lady known she had invented the explosives? And there was something else strange about her…
Soft footsteps came up behind them, and Sylvia and Neve turned to see a narrow blonde man approaching, a polite s
mile at his lips.
“Oliver, you may take Miss Thorne to the Parkhurst suite, we’ll be taking her in through the Trials.”
The blue-eyed man nodded, gesturing for Sylvia to walk with him.
The Rider paused. “Where is Neve staying?”
“Unfortunately, under these circumstances, we simply cannot allow Miss Stoughton to stay.”
Neve’s stomach dropped to her feet. Where was she to go?
“Can’t I do the Trials too?” Neve protested.
“I’m sorry my dear,” the Lady shook her head, but showed no remorse. “But permitting even one outsider to partake in the Trials is allowance enough. It has never been done before.”
Lady Naomi turned and sat back on her throne, and Neve saw the glint of something silver tucked inside the woman’s ear.
Neve’s heart was racing. What was she to do? Leave, alone?
Sylvia turned to Neve, and quickly pulled her out of the direct hearing of Oliver and Lady Naomi.
“Listen Neve, I need to do this, I need to see if I can pass their test, and get help. Go to Meadowcity—it’ll be two or three days north of here—and tell them what’s happened. Please, can you do this for me?”
Neve nodded woodenly. Of course she would. It was only the beginning to make up for what she had done. She would go out in the wilds alone.
“You’ll be fine in the woods, just watch out for the Scouts, alright? They could still be near the shore, or on their way back north. You’ll be okay.”
Neve’s eyes began to swim. Couldn’t she stop these infernal tears?
Sylvia suddenly pinched her, and she all but yelped.
“Stop it,” the young Rider chastised, surprising Neve. “You couldn’t have known what Greyling was going to do with those explosives.”
Neve jerked her head.
“I don’t fault you for it, and you shouldn’t either. Just—go—you’re good on the trail.”
“It was an accident,” Neve whispered suddenly, needing Sylvia to know. “And they heard about what it did, and asked us to remake it. I didn’t know—” she choked out, refusing to look over at Lady Blackwater, who was probably listening.
