Page 68 of The Ordeals
Crossing to the door, I reach up, my fingers closing around the key. Hanging on the hook, next to the door, waiting for me all along. The truth right there, if only you can first see through the lies.
This Ordeal … it’s a test of control. How I can remain calm enough to think, to act, even in the midst of my own personal trauma. As I turn the key in the lock, pulling open the door, I allow myself a small smile. This is only one step in the Ordeal, one component of the test. I still have to discern the truth from lies and find the right person to give my code word to. It’s not over. It’sfarfrom over. I have a masquier ball to return to but, first, I need to find my partner.
Twenty minutes later I’m less sure of myself. Alden is nowhere to be found. I’ve searched every stack, every archive room, and the whole place is drowning in silence. No other hopefuls, no scholars or professors, or wandering guests of the masquier ball. As I move to the corridor, reluctantly leaving the sanctity of the library, I glance down at the courtyard through the windows flanking the corridor, and find the door to Keeper’s Hall open, light spilling out, and several hopefuls stalking towards it.
They must have their code words too, I realise. Maybe Alden found his, then when he couldn’t find me, he went back there, maybe thinkingIhad gone back there …
When I reach Keeper’s Hall, I find the masquier ball in full swing. Toquay sloshes from glasses, the dancing far wilder than before, and the crowd presses in with every footstep, cutting off my view every few feet. I begin moving more purposefully, ducking and weaving through the guests and hopefuls, too many faces I don’t recognise, magic limning almost everyone, as though everyone is caught up in a lie. Making it all the way to the string quartet at the front, I turn to survey the hall and scan every face, again, desperately hoping to spot Alden—
When my heart stops.
There,there, standing in the far corner … it can’t be.
He raises his hand.
‘You’ve got to be fucking joking,’ I say quietly.
Here in the third Ordeal, the Ordeal of Lies no less, is the Collector. My heart jolts in my chest, then I note the gold weaving over him. A masquier … or an illusion? I’m unsure, but his likeness here, if not his presence, is far too worrying and I shoulder my way through the crowd, not bothering to be polite. Perhaps it’s foolish of me, perhaps I should hesitate before doing something so potentially reckless, but I have to be sure. I have to know why I’m seeing himhere, why now. People sway in and out ahead of me and I lose sight of him in the melee. By the time I reach the place where he was standing, he’s gone. I whip around, scanning the hall, searching for his face, for his nimble gait …
I see him.
Just as he steps through a door on the other side of the hall by the raised platform. I release a soft string of curse words and begin the tortuous journey around the hall, eyes fixed on the door he disappeared through. The crowd is raucous, the music somehow louder than before, and as I slip through the door on the other side of the platform, I know I’ve taken too long. The masquier or the illusion, whatever it was, will be long gone.
A corridor leads away from the hall, the noise of the Ordeal stuttering out to silence. I make my way along the dimly lit space, wooden floorboards creaking beneath my heels. It’s as cold as the winter night outside and I move more swiftly. I walk through a door at the end of the corridor and find a room holding the two full-length mirrors used in the first Ordeal, a velvet drape half concealing them. And in the corner of the room—
‘Hello, Sophia.’
I bolt backwards, jamming into the door at my back.
It’s him.
It’s really him; I’m sure of it. Despite the shimmer of gold, despite my surety that there is magic at play. A rush of shock laced with anger and hurt and grief all tumbles through me and I’m suddenly a lit match. A match, sparked and burning, ready to be consumed by flame. I want to shout at him. I want to bellow. I want to prise an apology from his jaw and hear a flood of regret for what happened to Dolly.
But the fear holds me back. Fear of this man who moulded me, who I ran from instead of confronting. I have to remind myself thatI’m safe here. That bracelet, the weight of the contract around my wrist has been broken. He no longer has a hold over me.
He’s sitting on a chair in the corner, as though waiting for me, perfectly at ease amidst this dust and silence. It’s the Collector, at Killmarth College, and we’re alone. I suddenly remember, perhaps a little too late, that no one knows where I am. That this could be a masquier who knows far too much. It could even be the murderer … but I have to be sure. ‘Why are you here?’
He considers me with those calculating eyes. ‘You got the trunk I sent down?’
‘And your note, yes,’ I snap, crossing my arms, as though I can hold the tidal wave inside myself. ‘Prove it’s really you.’
‘Prove it’s …’ He chuckles. ‘All right. Ask me a question.’
I narrow my eyes. ‘Where did we go when I was twelve?’
‘When you were …’ He considers then his features darken, as though a storm has drawn in. ‘The Morlagh. Eight years ago. We stayed in a hunting lodge – you, me and Dolly.’
Now I’ve confirmed it’s him, I decide this meeting will be onmyterms. ‘Why did you never tell me? About the cold ones, about what they can do? Why did you send us there that night?’
‘Straight to it then? No pleasantries? All right,’ he says with a small shrug. ‘Have it your way. I didn’t tell you about them because there was no need for you to know. Not until the time was right. And what happened that night with Dolly … it was unexpected.’
‘Unexpected?’ I explode, unable to hold it all inside myself. ‘She died! She was ripped apart, she was in my arms—’
‘Don’t think I don’t regret sending you both there every single day,’ he says suddenly, sitting forward. ‘What happened to Dolly was a tragedy, and if I had known … if I had even suspected that a cold one would get there first …’
‘What do you mean, get there first?’ I ask. ‘You kept me in thedark for years, quite literally! You shaped me with terror, you took away my choices—’
‘I saved your life,’ he snaps viciously. ‘I did everything I could. I protected you; I made you strong—’
