Page 10 of The Ordeals
I sniff, crossing my legs. ‘Well, it looks like we’re the only ones here at this little entrance exam.’
‘I wouldn’t count on it.’
He shoves off the wall and stalks to the armchair opposite, sliding into it with lethal grace. I swallow, studying him as he continues to stare at me, as though weighing me up. He’s just as immaculately dressed as when I met him in the Pickled Gargoyle, and seeminglyno worse for the velvane he consumed. I run through the known types of wielder: illusionist, masquier, botanist and alchemist, wondering which one he might be. I try not to let his presence rattle me, even though only a few hours ago those eyes were molten with desire, not distrust and cool assessment, as they sweep over me. All I have to do is hold my nerve a little longer. I’ve been doing it my whole life on assignments.
‘Were you given any other instructions?’
‘None,’ he says, shuffling in his seat to rake his gaze across the room. ‘Just to wait in here.’
‘Surely if your family has attended Killmarth, then you know what to expect from the Crucible?’
His eyes flash, regarding me. ‘That’s presumptuous. And why would I share that with a rival?’
‘Come now,’ I say softly, leaning towards him, clinging to my role. ‘Let’s kiss and make up. You would have shared with me a few hours ago …’
His smoky, intoxicating scent and the memory of his lips against mine lure me even closer without my realising it. But the sound of an unseen gong echoes through the quiet parlour, breaking the momentary spell. I frown, instantly alert, and step over to the door.
The gong sounds again.
I try the door to the parlour. ‘It’s locked.’
An envelope slides beneath the door at my feet, hurried footsteps tapping away on the other side. I bend to open it with a prickle of foreboding, ripping it open along one edge.
‘Well?’ he asks from across the room, striding over. I pull out the note inside and we both stare down at it, reading the short, clipped message within.
You have five minutes to leave the room.
Welcome to the Crucible.
Chapter 4
Into the Fire
Isnap my gaze to his as a hissing sound erupts from a grate in the ceiling. A plume of smoke snakes its way overhead, forming a cloud that begins to gather above us. I rush to the window, the only other obvious escape route, and thrust back the curtains to find not glass, but a solid brick wall. Just what kind of entrance examisthis?
Striding back to the door, I feel along the hinges, seeing if there’s any way I can simply lift it clean away and get out. But someone must have tried it before; the hinges are stiff, the kind with a hidden mechanism.
‘Do exactly as I say and we’ll both live.’
I whirl around in disbelief, my eyes locking with his as I bark out an incredulous laugh. The cloud overhead is thickening, obscuring the white ceiling in dusty grey, tinged with green, the weight of it descending in slow eddying circles as the grate continues to hiss. I reach down into my boot, flick open my switchblade and try levering the hinges with that. ‘Unless you know far more about the Crucible than you’re letting on, I don’t think so. I’m more than capable of leaving this room on my own.’
‘Perhaps, but you clearly have a skill set I don’t. You’re an accomplished liar, you came prepared with that blade, you’re already trying a method I hadn’t even considered and even though we’re rivals—’
I grit my teeth, giving up on the hinges and turn to him. ‘If you’re so quick to call me a rival, maybe that’s how I should consideryou. How can either of us trust each other?’
‘Well, we’re going to have to, at least for the next few minutes …’ He pauses, eyes widening as he sniffs the air. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say they hold something close to … fear?
‘What can you smell?’ I ask urgently, glancing up at the swirling smog still accumulating above our heads.
He coughs, once, twice and shakes his head before confirming my own fears. ‘Poison. An immobilant of some kind.’
I crouch down instantly, staring up at the ceiling, the grate still hissing in the corner of the room. The Collector taught me about poisons or rather, how to avoid being poisoned. Never accept a drink that’s handed to you, never spray perfume from an unknown source … and if you’re in an enclosed space, get as low to the floor as possible. I begin tapping along the walls, searching for a seam in the wallpaper to suggest a secret door, slicing at sections with my switchblade to peel them back to find another way out,anything. ‘An immobilant is usually concentrated, in a drink, or, or a tablet—’
‘Do you really want to take your chances?’ he asks, coughing again before crouching down like me. He begins shuffling through his pockets, muttering to himself, drawing out pieces of leaf, a hip flask, a scattering of tiny shredded petals …
I mean, he could be wrong. Or he could be playing me, trying to throw me off balance before revealing that he knowsexactlyhow to get out of this room, and then leaving me sealed within. Trapped. I continue shuffling around the edges of the room, spreading my hands over the wallpaper. But as I reach the windows again, bricked up and useless as an escape, I have to admit that I’m running low on ideas. If this is the entrance exam for a college of wielders, surely it’s a solution of magic? But this smoke, still hissing from that gratein the ceiling, is not an illusion; it’s not something I can deal with. I’m a sitting duck.
‘Here, take my jacket,’ the man says as he shrugs it from his shoulders, eyeing the smog now curling its way just a foot above our heads.
