by Isla Frost
“I think Millicent must have accepted your gift,” Ameline proclaimed in a proud parent sort of way.
There was one way to know for sure.
We rushed on quiet feet to the girls’ bathroom.
Bryn, in honor of her hard work, went first.
“Ohhh,” she moaned in bliss under the steaming showerhead. “It’s hot. And it’s freaking marvelous.”
I grinned and turned on my own tap. Sure enough, the water that came out was warm. I ran my fingers through it to make sure.
Yes!
My body hummed in delicious anticipation, ready to enjoy my first wondrous experience of a hot shower. A luxury Ameline had been trying not to rave about too much for the entire two and a half weeks since we’d arrived out of consideration for my feelings.
Still grinning, I stepped under the spray.
For a fleeting second, I experienced what the others must every time they stepped into one of these stalls.
Then the water turned freezing cold.
My eyes sprang open at the shock of it, and I swear I saw ice chips swirling down the drain.
Damn, damn, and double damn.
Millicent had only forgiven Bryn.
I spent the next week lamenting that in all my efforts to prepare for life after the runegate, none of the skills I’d acquired were useful for winning over a snotty, grudge-holding sentient manor.
Funny how I hadn’t anticipated the need for that.
I was beginning to wonder if Millicent might enjoy holding a grudge more than any gift I could conjure up.
I mean, I had helped with the carving. At least I’d tried. I’d helped find the piece of mahogany timber. I’d gone with Ameline to talk Glenn and Glennys into giving us the tools. And I’d fetched Bryn her meals and read our study notes aloud until my voice went hoarse to buy her time for carving.
I was getting desperate.
Time was speeding by, the season growing colder with the approach of winter. Some mornings the frosted grass crunched under our boots as we ran laps around the lawn.
We were almost a third of the way through the trial phase, and I was no closer to understanding the sinister purpose underlying it all, nor what would happen at the end of it.
How could I protect Ameline, protect anyone, if I didn’t know what was coming?
What if excelling at our studies and the trials wasn’t enough? What if—despite what Dunraven and Theus had claimed—there weren’t supposed to be any human survivors? Because nearly a month after stepping through the runegate, I hadn’t seen hide nor hair of a single surviving firstborn from a previous year.
Not to mention Bryn was threatening to go snooping without me unless I thought of something fast. And she’d probably drag Ameline along with her.
I walked down the noisy, creaking stairway, trying to come up with fresh ideas. Maybe I could slay a creature in the next trial, preserve its skin, and stretch it over a pot to make a drum for Millicent to bang. Since she liked expressing herself so much and all.
Unfortunately, I knew how long it took to cure a skin. Maybe I could speed up the process with magic…
I was trying to work out if that was feasible when I literally tripped over a new idea.
The dining hall rug.
Ameline and Bryn had sent me to return the carving tools to the golin as if that might change Millicent’s mind about me.
I’d agreed mostly because I was feeling restless, chafing at the delays. Chafing at my ever-increasing list of unanswered questions.
I eyed the frayed edge of the rug I’d just tripped over. Maybe my luck was about to change.
The eclectic pattern in reds and blues would’ve been glorious once. It stretched across the center of the room, softening the large space and adding an opulent, luxurious feel that matched Millicent’s ornate high ceilings and the painstaking care that had been given to every detail.
At least it would have done back in the rug’s heyday.
But it was faded now, worn in patches and stained in others. It served little purpose other than to muffle students’ footsteps.
I would never be able to create something like this from scratch. But maybe, just maybe, I could restore it to its former glory.
I smiled, suddenly certain this was it. Maybe Millicent had even shifted the rug to trip me and draw my attention to it.
Tools forgotten, I climbed onto one of the dining tables for a better view and studied the carpet’s faded hues, imagining how they had once shone bright and bold. Visualizing the pattern as it would appear in those rich, vivid colors without the stains marring their geometry. Pictured the fibers whole and unthinned by time.
Then I aimed my wand.
The magic caught me around the neck and dragged me into darkness.
Chapter 20
I woke in the infirmary, the scents of herbs and chemicals pungent in my nostrils. I was tucked so tightly to the bed that at first I thought I was restrained there.
What had happened?
Memory returned and I flushed, feeling stupid. I’d almost killed myself prettying up that darn rug for Millicent. And for all I knew, she didn’t even appreciate it.
Whatever magic affinity I might have, it didn’t include fixing things. Could breaking things be an affinity?
I struggled free of the constricting sheets and sat up. My head swam. My mouth felt like I’d been chewing on Glenn’s furry face. And I wanted nothing more than to press my finger against Millicent’s wallpaper and see how hard she bit me.
I wondered if they had a mental health wing of the infirmary.
Given the way the room was wobbling, I stayed where I was.
Slowly my vision stabilized, bringing my surroundings into focus. A giant tree dominated the circular space, its trunk a pale silver, its branches stretching to occupy every inch available beneath the glass ceiling. Dozens of narrow hospital-style beds claimed the space below. Not just the floor space either. The beds hung in the air, suspended on silver thread from the branches above.
No wonder whoever was in charge here tucked their patients in so tight.
My own bed was on the second level of floating mattresses. High enough that an uncontrolled landing would hurt but not so high that I couldn’t climb down.
Well, under normal circumstances anyway. Right now my body wasn’t offering me peak performance.
The room was quiet. Almost eerily so. I could see only one other bed that was occupied.
“Hello?” I called.
No answer.
I heaved out a sigh. How long would they expect me to stay here lying quietly? I had things to do, buildings to befriend, and more homework than you could wave a wand at.
My next thought was disconcerting. How long had I already been here? An hour? A day? More?
I glanced at the sole other patient three beds across on the just-above-the-floor level. He looked like he’d been here for ages.
A reddish-brown beard adorned his face, too straggly to be intentional, and yet the length suggested at least two months of growth. His hair too was overlong. But beneath the untidy jumble of beard and hair, he looked young.
My age. And human given the imperfection of his facial hair.
Except I didn’t recognize him.
The academy was large enough that I didn’t know everyone’s names, but their faces were all familiar. His wasn’t one of them.
So who the heck was he? And why was he here?
Curiosity overcame the wisdom of resting any longer. I shed the last of the covers, swung my legs over the side of the bed, and tried for a controlled descent.
What I got was a crash-landing with the blankets tumbling down around my head.
Newly grateful that no one else was here—no one awake that is—I wrested myself free of the bedding a final time and made my way over to the mystery man.
“Hey,” I said.
He didn’t respond.
I “accidentally” bumped the bed. “Are you awake?”
Not
hing.
I shook his arm gently. It was warm at least, but he didn’t stir a whit.
Feeling faintly irritated (okay, so I get cranky when I’m sick), I poked him in the ribs. Hard.
Nothing.
Which was about the time I came to realize he was probably not just asleep.
Drugged then, or unconscious. Maybe even comatose.
He was thin, and the circles under his eyes were so dark they appeared bruised. But there were no physical injuries that I could see. Pulling back the blanket to check felt like a step too far even for me.
“Oh, Nova, you’re awake.”
I whirled in the direction of the speaker to see a walker woman entering the room. She was dark and willowy with a kind but stern face and clear gray eyes.
“I’m Healer Invermoore, and I expected you to be out longer yet.”
She smiled as she said it. Like it was a pleasant surprise rather than an inconvenience. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine,” I told her, more because I wanted to return to my friends than because it was true.
A trace of amusement suggested she saw right through my deception. But she was unruffled by it.
“That is good news.”
Something about her was more approachable than the other walkers. Something that made me try my luck by waving my hand at the unconscious guy in the bed and asking, “Who is he? I don’t recognize him.”
“A student from a previous year.”
Shock and my lingering weakness made me grab the bed rail for support.
The sole firstborn that anyone’s seen from another year, and he’s comatose?
“What happened?” I asked. “Did he fail one of the trials?”
Healer Invermoore’s expression remained serene. “No, he passed them all. He was one of the few selected to continue.”
My gut tightened. The still figure in the bed was one of the successful kids?
“Then what happened?” I asked again.
Theus had told me most of the kids from previous years were still alive. Had he lied? Except the guy behind me was technically alive. And I remembered Theus modifying his answer with a muttered “sort of.”
Is this what he’d meant?
The healer stepped up to the bed and looked down at the guy in question. The patient she must’ve cared for, tending to all his bodily needs, for months. Maybe years.
She straightened the blankets around his motionless form—the ones I’d mussed in my ill-considered attempts to wake him.
If I wasn’t so afraid of what his comatose state might signify, I would’ve been feeling rather embarrassed about that now.
The silence stretched too long. Long enough that I thought she wasn’t going to answer.
But at last she said, “Those who are selected to continue with the academy undergo a kind of transformation ritual. He came out of his like this.”
She finished adjusting the blankets.
“But he may yet wake up. One day.”
She shifted her gaze to me then and must have caught something in my expression that made her realize she’d said too much. Shock. Horror. Confusion. I didn’t know what my face showed. But hers shut down as a result.
She wasn’t going to say another word. Not on the topic of the comatose kid.
But she did have plenty to say about taking care of myself.
I barely heard a word of it. Over the past month, the majority of my focus had been on surviving and passing the training and trial period. And of doing everything I could to make sure Ameline passed the trial period with me.
Sure, I’d wanted to know what was coming afterward, wanted to gather information so I could devise my own plans. But I’d always assumed we’d figure it out eventually.
Now—for the first time since Dunraven had given us his little introductory lecture—I wondered if knowing would not be enough to save us.
Chapter 21
Millicent forgave me.
But my joy over that accomplishment was tempered by the news we had a trial tonight.
And the haunting image of the boy in the bed. Utterly unresponsive.
I suppose his fate was better than Jayden’s. But Jayden had been a coward, a bully, and a fool. Spoiled by his father and unprepared for life at the academy.
All this time I’d been thinking that if I could just be good enough, perform well enough, prepare hard enough, and bide my time long enough, I might have a chance at bringing down this whole institution.
But the comatose kid, he’d been good enough. He’d been selected. And now he was stuck in that bed, unable to open his eyes, let alone fulfill his heart’s secret desires.
Between Jayden and me, maybe I was the bigger fool.
But I didn’t have time to dwell on that now, because I had a trial to get to.
Healer Invermoore had recommended I stay in the infirmary and sit this one out. I’d come close to killing myself fixing that rug, blowing through every bit of power I had and most of my physical life force besides. She said the closer you came to flaming out, the longer those stores took to replenish. So I needed to be extra cautious about expending too much magic.
But Ameline and I had promised each other that we were in this together, and I wasn’t about to let her risk her life alone. So I joined my roommates and the rest of the students assembled on the lawn.
Unfortunately, my good intentions didn’t count for much.
All the professors were there, but it was Grimwort who stood before the tables piled high with a large assortment of peculiar equipment. He graced us with a pinched look that suggested patience was a virtue he hadn’t mastered and announced, “Each student will be facing the next trial alone.”
Dammit.
Was it too late to slink back to the infirmary?
I exchanged glances with my companions. A worried one with Ameline. A raised eyebrow with Bryn.
“Oh, that reminds me…” Bryn detached a wrapped dagger from her belt and offered it to me. “I know you lost yours in the first trial. I’ve been using my new Millicent privileges to acquire a few things.”
I thought acquired might mean pinched, but it didn’t stop me from sliding the weapon through my pocket into the sheath on my thigh.
I’d missed my old dagger, but there always seemed to be more pressing matters than working out how to replace it. Except somehow Bryn had found time to do it for me.
My throat tightened at the gesture. “Thank you.”
The blade’s weight was especially welcome now. I would be facing this new trial with very limited magic.
My attention returned to the front and found Grimwort’s cold gaze aimed our way.
Oops.
He resumed his bored droning. “This challenge will test your wits and your ability to conserve your magic. So use your meager supplies of both wisely.”
I grimaced. As opposed to nearly killing yourself prettying up a rug, I supposed he meant.
“The difficulty of the trial will be adjusted according to your magical capacity. By now you should each have identified where your affinity lies. I suggest you make use of that knowledge.”
His suggestion made sense. Casting spells within your affinity meant more powerful magic with less drain.
The problem was, I still hadn’t figured out my affinity.
Everyone else’s had been obvious after the first week of Rudimentary Magic lessons. People tended to instinctively use tiny amounts of magic in their everyday lives without realizing it. Ameline’s affinity was with animals. Bryn’s was with heat, flames, and explosions—no surprises there. And mine?
Well, it definitely wasn’t with the restoration of old rugs. Beyond that, I had no clue.
My saving grace to date was that I had more magic than most. But that wasn’t going to help me now when the difficulty was adjusted accordingly.
I was really starting to regret getting out of that nice, comfy infirmary bed.
Even if it had been hanging from a tree.
&nb
sp; “You may now come forward and select one item from the tables to aid you in your challenge.”
“What will we be facing in the trial?” someone asked.
Grimwort showed his teeth in something that wasn’t a smile. “You’ll find out once you’ve chosen your item.”
Bryn rolled her eyes. “Typical.”
But she looked more excited than exasperated. She was an odd duck.
Grimwort raised his voice over the chatter as everyone pushed toward the tables.
“After you’ve chosen your item, see one of the professors, who will translocate you to your individual test. The trial begins as soon as you arrive.”
After the speech Grimwort just gave, most students were choosing an object that aligned with their affinity. Bryn picked up some kind of explosive powder, Ameline chose a sack of grain—animal feed presumably—and a kid who had a knack with plants selected a packet of seeds.
But I didn’t have that option. I mulled over the items, trying to think. To logic my way through the dilemma.
Without an affinity for it, a sackful of grain wasn’t going to do me much good, and the same rationale ruled out a bunch of the other items. I wandered back to the weapons tables again.
The last two trials had mostly been about fighting and defending ourselves. And recent history revealed walkers were a violent lot. Not to mention Grimwort was a jerk who made it clear he believed teaching humans magic was a waste of time. He wouldn’t care if there were a few less kids to teach.
My hand hovered over the bow and its quiver of arrows. I had the dagger Bryn had given me. Whether or not Grimwort knew I had it was beside the point. So should I opt for a long-range weapon to complement it?
I’d learned to use bows and Before-style guns and was a decent shot with both, but I was better with a dagger. Bullets could only be used once, and arrows broke, or fletching got damaged when you trained. Whereas a dagger could be used over and over again and only needed to be sharpened afterward.
The weapon I was considering was a shortbow, but it would still be unwieldy if I had to run or scramble through the tangled forest undergrowth with a monster on my heels. I wasn’t cocky enough to think myself above fleeing.
