Page 15 of The Ordeals
The slight woman with black hair can’t stop beaming as she shakes the other professors’ hands, then lines up against the wall, watching us. I imagine she’ll be weighing each hopeful who crosses to choose the best partners for the first and second Ordeals. Envy and awe bloom within me as our gazes lock across the expanse of flame and vine, and I wonder just how many Ordeals there are in this semester.
Then a young man steps forward from further down the line and within moments he shows what he can wield. I gasp as he seems to become the man with white hair across the courtyard, assuming the professor’s look and stance, but not quite his clothing,as though it’s a detail this hopeful cannot quite manage yet with his magic. But it works. He steps out slowly, and the vines are still, the flame guttering out as he walks across, unharmed.
Reaching the far side, he snaps back into his true self, leaning over to retch on the ground. But the female professor is beaming and as she turns back to us and calls, ‘Second to cross! You see masquiers, you can trick the courtyard into believing you’re not a threat. This isn’t just for the illusionists and botanists among you. Think outside the limits.’
Another masquier attempts it, a tall man who shrinks down to imitate the red-haired professor. But he doesn’t quite fit, as though the magic he wields cannot get his body shape right, and a quarter way across the squares, he springs back as his true self. In moments, a vine grips his ankles and he slips sideways, temple cracking against the stone of the courtyard. Blood dribbles from his skull and he doesn’t move again.
But even with all this death, the bodies of the failed hopefuls already littering the courtyard and several more filing out through the exit, the professor’s words, her encouragement galvanise me. Somehow, despite the screams in the passageway, the scent of burnt flesh and hair hanging in the air … I want to cross. Despite knowing now that there is more after this when I reach Killmarth, that breaking the contract was all I ever sought … perhaps there is something beyond the crossing of those gates. Something to live for, to aspire to. I look down at my hands and wonder if there’s more I can wield, if the scant illusion I can summon up can be deepened, extended without costing me so much. If these other hopefuls around me can do it, why not I?
I realise I want towin.
‘Well, it is possible then,’ Tessa mutters. ‘For masquiers as well.’
‘The first to cross was a botanist,’ Alden says, eyeing thevines. ‘Did you see how she just flicked those vines away? She can manipulate plant life. Not sure how she worked out the flames though. Perhaps just luck.’
I fold my arms across my chest. ‘Even if it was luck, she’s shown us two squares we can cross unharmed.’ I study the courtyard, my mind already assessing potential routes, like I’m engaged in a game of chess with the Collector. It was one of our lessons, learning strategy, thinking three steps ahead. I never beat him, but I came close and I realise … this really is a game of chess. And I am the Queen. I can move in any direction across this giant board, at whatever speed I choose. But if I am to cross safely … I may need the help of another chess piece. I glance up at Alden, knowing what he wields, knowing that I don’t trust him, not entirely, but that I might well need him. That both of us may need each other, and I murmur, ‘It would take an illusionist who cansenseillusions and a botanist working together to cross and know for sure they aren’t going to die.’
Alden is quiet for a moment and I feel the brush of his gaze as it skims over me, as I nonchalantly observe the courtyard before us. ‘I suppose if we helped each other, we may stand a better chance of crossing,’ he mutters back, so only I can hear.
‘I suppose.’ I shrug. ‘And they never gave specific parameters on how to cross. Just that we have to.’
‘Bending the rules already.’
‘Just interpreting them as I choose.’
He chuckles.
I stare out at the courtyard. The snaking vines, the bursts of ethereal flame … and after considering every angle, every strategy, I know I will not be able to cross alone. Not alive, anyway. And as much as I don’t want to trust Alden,can’ttrust him … I have no choice. It goes against every fibre of my being to team up withanother person, especially to place my life in their hands. But if I don’t … there is only one alternative. Failure. And to me, that is no longer an option I can live with.
‘Agreed,’ I say, looking directly at him, holding his gaze with mine. ‘You deal with the plants; I’ll figure out the flames.’
We face the courtyard and I take a half-step toward the first square before glancing at him. ‘Do we … hold hands?’
‘A little forward, aren’t you?’ he says wickedly, leaning closer so only I can hear him. ‘But then we both know how forward you can be.’
Rolling my eyes, I take another step. Men. Even when our very lives are on the line, they can’t help themselves.
Without waiting for a response, I rake my gaze over the squares of the courtyard. It takes me a few breaths, but everything begins to dim around me, allowing me tofeelrather than see the flames. To ascertain what is magic, what is the work of another illusionist, and what is not. Some are real, the heat an all-consuming barrage of smoke and death. But some are tricks, reflections of light and magic and very much illusionist-made. It’s the part of my magic that has developed more naturally over the years, knowing what is real and illusion, being able to find those threads that glint and glow.
I nod to myself, mapping them all out, working out which squares we can step on, and which to avoid. I can even sense which apparently empty squares we should not risk, even though these are few and far between. That young woman must have just got lucky as Alden thought, because even straying one square over, she would have been baked. Seeing the courtyard like this calls on the small embers of magic I hold in my veins and my temples begin their telltale throb. ‘Ready when you are.’
He holds out his hand and I take it. ‘Let’s not make a habit of this, DeWinter.’
‘Helping each other, or physical contact?’
‘Physical contact that can only be taken so far right now …’
I glower up at him, though I’m trying not to blush. I can’t tell if he’s flirting in earnest or just trying to distract me from the peril we’re about to face. ‘Eyes on the prize, Alden.’
He winks at me. ‘Oh, they most definitely are.’
We step three squares forward, one to the left, then I nudge him to continue with me for five squares in a straight line. As we walk, my headache moves like a storm around my skull. If I’m not careful, my vision will grow cloudy and I could stumble, I could falter … and then we’ll be toasted too. Although nowhere near as taxing as actually wielding illusion, if I strain, if I exert myself too much here, unpicking and seeing the illusion of others does eventually have the same effect.
‘Go faster.’ I tug on his hand, following the route I believe is safe. We’re a third of the way across when I stumble, flame roaring in my ears and Alden yanks me back. I press my lips together, the ground looming up to meet me and take a deep, shuddering breath. ‘Thanks.’
Alden slices through the air with his right hand, vines approaching then snaking back, as though cowering. I’m aware of what Alden can do, but I do not know the extent to which he is able to wield. What if he has the same limitations as me?
‘You’re bleeding,’ he remarks, glancing down at me.
