Page 166 of Spark of Sorcery
While we wait, shivering in the cold, the day overcast and the odd snowflake swirling in the wind, the dignitaries and representatives from the different quarters start to arrive, filling up the stands.
From the very back of the group of Slate students, I watch them take their seats, some gazing our way, pointing out various people. There’s no sign of the Empress yet or any of the teachers and I wonder how much longer they’ll keep us waiting. It’s all part of the game – ensuring we’re all so nervous we can barely walk.
The snow begins to fall in clumps, catching in my eyelashes and in my hair and making me shiver even harder. I blow on my fingers and stamp my feet and try to concentrate on all the things Clare attempted to drill into my brain.
“Where’s your collar, Storm?” I jolt. Stanley is standing right beside me. I was so lost in my thoughts, I hadn’t even noticed him.
His voice is low and he stares straight ahead as if he doesn’t want anyone to spot he’s talking to me.
Is that because he still considers me scum and too lowly to be seen with? Or is it because at this moment the other shadow weavers come striding across the field to take their places in their area, the snow somehow failing to fall on their heads.
“Why?” I ask him. “Were you hoping to steal it? I don’t think it would work for you.”
He snorts. “Didn’t you see how many points I earned in the last two trials, Storm? I’m on my way out of this,” his lipcurls as he motions at the other Slate students in front of us, “and am on my way to Iron.”
“Congratulations,” I say sarcastically. “I’m so happy for you.”
“Shame you won’t be joining me,” he snarls.
“Shame? I thought you’d be rather happy about that.”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. We had some fun times, didn’t we?”
He lands his hand on my shoulder, and his touch is so repulsive to me, I jolt on reflex. He snatches his hand away with a quiet hiss as if I burned him.
“You weren’t always so jumpy,” he whispers. “You used to like my hands on you.”
I gaze up at him in absolute disbelief. He’s been treating me like I’m some kind of diseased vermin ever since that glow up meant he could throw his weight around back in Slate. He’s avoided me, barely spoken to me and when he has, more times than most, his words have been accompanied by his fists. But now, he’s looking at the time we spent together – those brief few weeks where he was into me and I was into him – with … what? Fondness?
Is that because I now belong to the Princes and in his eyes that means I’m worth something?
I scowl at him.
“That isn’t exactly how I remember it.”
“Yeah, you were pretty inexperienced back then. Not exactly the best lay.” His hard gaze flicks down to meet mine and there is definitely no fondness in his eyes. They are vindictive and cruel. “I’ve heard that’s changed now though. I’ve heard you’ve become quite the slut.” He slides his tongue along his lower lip and his gaze down my body. “So if you ever find you want to hang out …”
He lets his words hang unfinished in the coldair.
I don’t bother to respond, I push through the crowd of students to the front of the group, away from him.
What the hell?! Where did he get that idea from? Is he just making assumptions based on the fact me and the Princes are now hanging out? Or have the Princes been talking about what we’ve been doing?
He wouldn’t be wrong in his obvious assumptions but that doesn’t mean I want people talking about me in that way. It doesn’t mean I want the Princes discussing the intimacies of our time together with their friends. Bragging about it. The idea makes me sick.
My cheeks burn and my heart hammers. I peer back over to the shadow weaver section and spy Dray and Beaufort laughing and joking with a group of other boys. Are they talking about me now?
But I don’t get a chance to finish those thoughts because the academy staff are now parading out to the field. Madame Bardin, dressed in a black fur-lined cloak, climbs up onto the raised platform as Fox takes his seat in the stands.
“Welcome students to the third Firestone trial. Your hardest yet. For in this trial you will face your greatest fear.” Inwardly, I groan. That doesn’t sound good. “As before,” the Madame continues, “you will be called forward one at a time in the following order, and admitted to the trial site.” She waves her hand and the list from before appears – only this time everyone’s scores are included alongside their name. A big fat zero against mine.
There’s some murmuring among the students and from behind me I hear Stanley gloating about the number of points he’s earned. I ball my hands into fists. He didn’t even completethe maze and I did.
Madame claps her hands and glares at us all, everyone falling silent.
“The same rules apply as before. You’ll have an hour to complete the task. You are not permitted to take any equipment into the trial with you. And you are not to provide aid to others or accept help from another student.” She glowers down at me with such ferocity, several students turn their heads to see who exactly she is glaring at. When they spot it’s me, murmuring ripples across the groups and Madame Bardin seems perfectly happy to stand and wait for it to peter out this time.
When finally, there’s silence again, she claps her hands. “By trial and truth, your Quarter calls.”
