Page 66 of Savage Torment

“What about me?Hehitme,” he grunts, and I glance at him out of the corner of my eyes.

“You deserved it,” Wylder states, and I roll my eyes.

“Are you okay?” I ask, genuinely concerned as he tries to hide a grimace.

“I’ll be fine. Do your thing with the chalice,” he murmurs with a half smile on his lips. I think he’s trying to reassure me about something, but the hurt is evident on his face.

An outburst from Tatum isn’t the norm, not one of that caliber anyway, and I feel a little bad that it’s because of me.

Nodding, I try to let the matter go as I reach into my pouch of sand and sprinkle the grains over the rim of the chalice and mutter under my breath. “Revelare. Ostendo.” I repeat the words three times as I run my thumb over the edge of the chalice, and as the third repetition leaves my lips, the chalice grows heavier and water starts to fill the cup from the base.

“What the fuck?” Wylder blurts as I gape in disbelief.

“That wasn’t there before,” Lincoln mutters, stating the obvious.

“Good observation, asshole,” Asher says with a huff of surprise as Tatum scrubs the back of his neck.

“What now?” he asks, and I gulp, lifting my gaze to meet each of their stares.

“Now, we drink.”

20

POLARIS

Idon’t think, I just do. Placing the chalice on my nightstand, I dip my hands into the liquid and bring it to my lips, my eyelids falling closed in the process. It’s a replica of what I did on the first day I arrived here at Trinity Falls Academy, and my gut is telling me it’s going to work this time too. Only, it won’t be my faction that is revealed, but the secrets held in the gold.

The liquid runs down my throat, leaving a warm path in its wake, which feels odd since it’s initially cool against my lips. It’s weirdly sweet too.

I wait a moment, hoping for a flicker of a memory to play on the back of my eyelids or something, but nothing comes. Nothing except a cool breeze dancing over my arms.

With a sigh, I let my hands fall away from my face as I pry my eyes open, slightly defeated, but the moment my gaze looks around my room, I fall short. It’s not the familiar four walls that greet me. It’s… something—somewhere—else.

A burnt orange roof sits above me, kept up by rickety slats that make up what looks like a barn. The first inkling I have is the fact that there’s a huge pile of hay off to my right and a horse settled behind a wooden gate on my left.

This is definitely not where I was a moment ago.

“What the…” My words trail off as I take a tentative step, the smell of fresh hay and horse manure in the air as the sound of laughter dances in the distance. I don’t take any of it in, though, because the first step I take is uncomfortable, my toes squished, and when I look down the length of myself, I find I’m?—

“What the fuck am I wearing?” Lincoln grunts, appearing in front of me, and my gaze snaps in his direction. My eyes widen, acknowledging his question, but I don’t have an answer as I take him in. I don’t get a chance to make full note of his attire from head to toe because he’s in my face a moment later, finger aimed in my direction as a scathing look darkens his features. “Don’t fucking do that,” he snaps, and I slam my palm against his chest, hoping to put some distance between us, but all it does is make me move.

The effort was there at least.

Sighing, I give him a pointed look. “Do what?”

He shakes his head in irritation, his hand dropping to his side as he glances around the barn. “Where the fuck are we?”

“I don’t know, Lincoln,” I grumble, still confused by his initial outburst, but my attention is once again distracted when Tatum appears a step to our left.

“Oh, thank God,” he mumbles, swooping me up in his arms a moment later as Wylder and Asher quickly appear in the same spot.

“What in the magic is going on?” Wylder asks, wrangling me from Tatum’s grasp so he can tuck me into his side.

“I don’t know,” I admit, my worry caught in a tug of war with itself. The lack of understanding of what is going on right now is outweighed by the company I now have, and it doesn’t feel as uneasy as it did when I was alone.

“More so, what the fuck are we wearing?” Asher grunts, and I slip from under Wylder’s arms so we can all take a moment to assess our attire.

Lincoln, Tatum, Wylder, and Asher are all wearing white shirts beneath black, worn suits. Shiny, overly polished shoes are at their feet, and their hair, apart from Wylder, is all swept back with the worst comb over I’ve ever seen.

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