Page 2 of The Ordeals
There’s a sharp bark of a laugh then a sliding sound, before one of the men stands and I look away, tapping my fingers against my glass. ‘My family don’t come into this – you know that. Good luck tonight. Don’t get yourself killed.’
I glance up just in time to see the back of his head of dark hair and a tailored jacket as he walks past the bar, Pewter giving him a particularly longing look before the young man sweeps out. This is my chance, myonlychance to find out where the Killmarth entrance exam is held and insert myself amongst the hopeful scholars undertaking it. I slide forward in my seat, waiting for the exact moment the other young man with the melodic voice stands and moves forward, so I can bump into him.
‘Sorry!’ I say, empty glass in hand as I blink up at him, careful to keep my expression startled, doe-like.
He’s frowning, as though deep in thought, but as his gaze slides over me, the frown falls away. Surprise throws me off kilter as I take all of him in. He’s gorgeous. All dark brown hair and soft brown eyes, mouth and cheeks slightly flushed, a rugged quality to his features. There’s nothing manicured about him, like he might not fit in a standard sort of college for learning. He looks more suited to a battlefield.
He’s wearing what most of the other scholars are in this bar, a white shirt and slacks, but somehow on him, they fit like a disguise he’s thrown on. As though he’s trying to blend in, just like I am. He’s adopted the appearance of a brooding scholar, but as he pushes his hair back from his forehead, gaze sweeping over me, I can’t help noticing the way his muscles bunch underneath that white shirt and my treacherous heart flips. No scholar I’ve ever met is this buff. ‘My fault. I wasn’t looking.’ Then his eyes drop to my glass. ‘Going to the bar?’
‘Well, I was just leaving, but maybe …’
‘What are you drinking?’ he asks, leaning in so he can hear me over the shrieks of a nearby group. ‘The least I can do is buy you a drink for nearly knocking you flying. Velvane?’
I chuckle and twirl my hair around a finger. ‘Maybe I’ll have just one more, if you’ll join me.’
He hesitates for a heartbeat then nods. ‘Love to. My friend had to leave, and it’s left me at a loose end for a while.’
‘Well, I can tie that up for you,’ I say with a small shrug. ‘Lead the way.’ He smiles, placing his hand on my elbow to steer us through the groups of scholars to the bar, then his hand moves to my lower back, sending a trail of heat across my skin. Now this … this is someone I could lose myself in. Someone to drown in and forget what I do, who I am, if only for a few hours. And if it wasn’t so pressing, if I didn’t need information from this man so badly, I’dhappily while away an evening with him. But today, he’s my mark and I am a huntress.
Taller than me, he leans past, signalling for two more drinks and I imagine Pewter’s mouth becoming a thin, unimpressed line as he pours them out and swipes the floren note this stranger places on the bar beside me. I can’t take my eyes off him. He smells of silky velvane and woodsmoke and something else, something I can’t quite put my finger on, something rich and intoxicating.
‘We could grab a table again at the back. It’s kind of crowded by the bar …’ he murmurs in my ear and I allow him to guide me back through the groups of scholars, again with his hand on my lower back, to one of the tables in an alcove and a bench seat, only just wide enough for two.
I slip in beside him, tapping my glass against his and remind myself to stay focused. ‘Salutar.’
‘Salutar.’
Not missing a beat, I know how this goes, I brush my hair behind my ear, running my fingers down my throat. His eyes trace the movement, turning dark and molten as he swallows, angling his body towards mine. The faintest thrill of lightning crackles in my chest, warming my entire body as I lick my lips. I line up the key information I need to coax from him in my mind, about the Crucible, where it’s being held, and about Killmarth. If I’m careful, he won’t even realise what he’s given me. ‘Are you a scholar too?’
‘Not like this lot,’ he says, indicating the now packed bar with a slight wince. ‘But yes, a hopeful scholar, I guess you could say.’
‘Oh?’ I shift slightly, sipping my drink. ‘In the city?’
‘Not here, no,’ he says and grins at me. His mouth dips to the shell of my ear and I feel rather than hear his next words. ‘Killmarth College, a place for magic wielders.’
‘So you’re a wielder,’ I say, all wide-eyed and breathy, reachingout to run a finger, feather light along his jaw. Those soft brown eyes darken to chips of charcoal and I know I’ve captured him. ‘How did you … get a place there? I’ve heard it’s really hard to get in.’
He moves his leg against mine, as though adjusting to better listen to me, and the press of his thigh on my own sends a flush of heat straight to my core. Clearly, he knows how to play the game too, although if I play this right, he won’t even realise we’re playing different games until I’ve won. ‘I haven’t got a place yet. There’s an entrance exam, shall we say? Tonight. I shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be drinking before it, I guess.’ He shrugs with a grin.
‘You seem like the kind of person who can take a risk,’ I say resting my head on my hand so the caramel waves of my hair fall over my shoulder. His eyes trace the movement, then slowly sweep back to mine. ‘Is the entrance exam … difficult?’
‘Well, kind of.’ He sips his drink, watching me over the rim of the glass. ‘But it’s the best college in Kellend to train your magic.’
‘Fascinating,’ I breathe, as I tiptoe my fingers along his arm, admiring the swell of his bicep before looking back at him. This is more detail than I’ve found in months. The mere scraps I’d gathered before about Killmarth, listening closely on assignments for the Collector, or hanging around public lectures on magic are nothing compared to what he’s giving me now. He’s a gold mine. But before I ask more about the Crucible, I need to be sure. Unconsciously, my hand strays to the bracelet on my wrist, the one the Collector put there. The one that binds me to him. ‘You must be such a strong wielder. What happens when you get there?’
He angles his body even further, leaning on the table with his forearm. Now it’s just us in this small space, the rest of the bar, the scholars seeming to drop away. ‘Well, Killmarth has wards, powerful ones. They measure your magic, and strip any outside magic away, except your own. You can’t trick your way in. No one but a hopeful,a scholar or a professor can enter. So, you do have to be … really strong.’ He reaches out, fingers fluttering over my jawline, tracing the curve of my neck and, despite myself, a coil of heat unfurls inside me, the toffee scent of velvane and woodsmoke hovering between us. ‘And this is my last night in the city for some time. In fact, I’ve only got a few hours before the entrance exam begins.’
‘Ah,’ I say, pulling a face as I craft my next lie. So close. I’m so, so close to getting everything I need from him. ‘Well, I kind of have somewhere to be soon … Do you have time tomorrow, after this entrance exam?’
He shakes his head slowly, regretfully. ‘It starts at midnight, then after, if it all works out, I’ll have to leave.’
‘Maybe I could meet you before, nearby. Where is it?’ I ask, running a finger over my bottom lip, so his focus stays there, and doesn’t dwell on the questions I’m asking, the information I’m extracting, drop by drop. I don’t want to push it or make him suspicious.
‘It’s this place called Alabaster House, not far from here, but I have to prepare … a pity you have to leave soon. Is it for work? What do you do?’
‘Oh, it’s boring really,’ I lie. ‘Just a city job gathering information.’
His gaze intensifies. ‘I can’t imagine anything about you being described as boring.’
