Page 95 of The Ordeals
We’re sitting in Keeper’s Hall and it’s oddly reminiscent of the dinner held before the Ordeals began, minus a poisoning. I catch Tessa’s eye and smile. She’s sitting across from me. I wonder if she’s thinking about it too as she reaches for her drink, swirling her toquay, the golden liquid teeming with tiny bubbles in the goblet-like wine glass. We were sitting here a few weeks ago, not knowing what would happen to us. It feels like a lifetime ago.
Professor Grant addresses us all. ‘Congratulations on completing the Ordeals. Tonight we will dine, then you will mingle. The professors are making their selections for their halls, based on your magic, the qualities you demonstrated throughout the Ordeals, and whatever bargaining they undertake behind the scenes.’ She raises her eyebrows at Professor Lewellyn, who grins crookedly back, then smiles warmly at me. ‘I can’t wait to see where you all end up, and the wielders Killmarth will shape you into. But before we begin, let us take a moment to remember the fallen hopefuls who joined us and are not sitting with us today.’
It’s hard not to remember them, with half the hall now empty. Tables that were filled with hopefuls just like me at the beginning of the semester. And I realise, sitting here now, that the people around me, the scholars around me include every single hopeful I teamed up with. Partnered with. We forged alliances and we are stronger because of it. Tessa, Greg, Frances, Knox, Alden … they’re all sitting here. Even though the Ordeals are designed to be undertaken alone, I see now that it’s almost a test in itself. Courage, cunning, conviction and connection.
‘Now you have survived the Ordeals, the true work begins next semester,’ Professor Grant continues. ‘Honing this raw power youhave flowing through your veins, unlocking key pieces of your true selves and learning to trust the right people and navigate situations where there is no one to trust. Now, scholars, professors, we feast.’
We eat five courses of fragrant, delicately prepared meals, and by the end I’ve washed it all down with more toquay than I’d usually allow myself. But tonight, I’ve achieved. I’m in. I’m a scholar and I’ve found my dominant magic. This knowledge settles over me as I eat and drink, a fire stoked inside me that can never be snuffed out. I’m closer to my parents, my legacy, the people who laid the foundations for me to step into my power at this moment. And it leaves me dizzy with pride and hope. I am no longer a shadow, a creature of misery haunting the edges of gatherings. I am my own person. I am free.
As the tables are cleared and pushed back, all of us getting up to talk and laugh and drink, I can’t help remembering all those people, every single one of them who got me to this point. The people who stood beside me, who believed in me. My parents, Dolly, Banks, even the Collector, all of them pushing me, nurturing me to reach this moment.
Then Lewellyn is before me, reaching for my hand to clasp it. ‘I knew you’d survive. Iknewyou could do it, Sophia.’
‘Not without you,’ I say honestly back, my eyes shining, throat suddenly thick. ‘You made me believe I could be a better wielder. Without you, I wouldn’t be standing here.’
She releases my hand and leans closer. ‘I saw it in you, what you might become. But it was all you. You just had to find yourself. And what I told you, what I imparted—’
‘Your secrets are safe with me, Hester,’ I say quietly. ‘I will help all I can.’
She releases a breath and nods. ‘Thank you.’
‘DeWinter, a moment,’ Professor Hess says, grinning as hesteers me away from Lewellyn. ‘There’s someone who would like to meet you.’
He steers me to the woman who has watched over every Ordeal, scrutinising us, assessing us, wearing a careful twinset, perfectly applied makeup and an intense expression. Her dark hair is styled around her face, dropping just past the jut of her jaw as she bobs her chin to me. She holds out a hand, and I shake her fingers before she retracts them, her pale blue eyes almost silver in the low light, fine age lines feathering out around them, never leaving mine.
‘Charmed. I’m a representative of the Crown, as you’re aware. We like to keep an eye on the most promising scholars at Killmarth. We like to keep them close. You’ve had a most interesting journey, truly riveting.’ She fishes in a handbag, slung over her arm and passes me a small, cream card, with a telephone number and nothing else printed in black on one side. ‘Phone me next semester for a chat, DeWinter.’
‘Thank you,’ I say, pocketing the card. I smooth down my trousers, shaking back my hair, and my eyes flit down to my wrist for a heartbeat, checking the jade green silk of my blouse still covers it. When I look back up, I find her eyes darting to meet mine, as though she too was inspecting my wrist. I don’t mention the cold ones, the murmurs about the Great Hunt, but I sense it dancing at the corners between us. The words she hasn’t said, but the ones that I know are the sole reason for her interest. ‘I shall look forward to our chat, Ms Ivey.’
‘Call me Caroline,’ she says, smiling with all her teeth. ‘Sophia.’
The music piping from some unseen, alchemist-made speakers kicks up a notch, and waiters carry around more mirrored trays of toquayin pearly goblets and velvane in cut-crystal tumblers. I search for Knox, ready now with some questions, now the Ordeals are behind us, now we’ve all survived. But before I can hunt him down, Professor Grant makes her way over to me and crooks her finger. I raise my eyebrows, bending to hear her whisper, ‘There’s someone here to see you. Use my office. Next floor up, second door along.’
I thank her, downing the rest of my toquay, and discard the glass on a table before exiting the hall and the music for the first floor. The floor above is carpeted, hushed and plush, a ruby-red pile that my heeled boots sink into as I walk. I wait outside the door for a moment, knowing exactly who will be there. And this time, I don’t knock. I don’t wait for permission to enter. Thrusting open the door, I regard the man staring back at me.
Ezra Darley.
Chapter 35
Brace Yourselves
Ezra Darley.
The man who raised me. Moulded me. Shaped me into a hunter, a shadow, a tool to be used. The man I have hated and feared, the man my parents entrusted me to.
‘Sophia,’ he says, gesturing me to sit as he is, as always, sitting behind a desk. I almost expect to see the map hanging on the wall to my left, the scurrying ant-like dots of every mark in the city of Dinas Tar. At least, all the marks still living and not floating in the curves of the Serpentine. ‘Please, sit. Join me.’
I stalk forward but refuse to sit. The toquay I’ve consumed, the slow-building rose-tinted haze I was gathering in my head like sugar-spun clouds dissolves instantly. He may have guided me with the letters he concealed in that trunk, but I still cannot trust him. He’s lied to me my entire life about everything. ‘You have five minutes.’
He raises his hands, palms out as though in surrender. ‘As you like.’
I clear my throat. ‘Well obviously, you were wrong. I didn’t die, as you see.’
He bows his head. ‘You surprised us all in the end. Would you like me to clap?’
‘I would like you to grovel,’ I hiss. ‘I would like you to explain every single decision you made in raising me.’
‘My job was to keep you alive and safe, which I did, and to raise you strong, which I did.’
