Page 169 of Spark of Sorcery
“Hold still, you silly bitch,” she grunts, her face red with rage, her piggy little eyes bulging in their sockets as she swings the broom about frantically and I dart from side to side. Most of the hits I avoid, but one more catches me on the shoulder and another around the face. “You worthless bitch. Nobody wants you. Nobody loves you.”
I freeze. Because that isn’t true. Not anymore. Beaufort Lincoln says he loves me. I have four fated mates who want me. I even have friends, actual friends. And all that was real. It wasn’t an illusion, it wasn’t a dream.
I raise my arm and catch the broom in my hand.
She tries to wrestle it from my grip and the two of us tussling over the old broom – its bristles bent and missing,the handle cracked – makes for such a ridiculous spectacle that I laugh. She looks at me in horror, like I’ve lost my mind. And for the very first time, I see her for what she is. Not the demon, the monster, the witch, I’ve always feared, but a bitter old woman with nobody and no one who loves her – who even likes her. Not even my father, who I doubt remembers her name on most days. A bitter old woman so desperate she married a drunk from the dirtiest, poorest part of the most worthless Quarter in the realm.
I grip the broom-handle with both my hands and push her backwards.
“I’m not afraid of you,” I spit. “Not anymore.”
And just like that, as if my words are potent magic, my stepmother dissipates into smoke, curling away on the breeze. I watch as she’s carried up into the sky and far, far away.
Then the broom in my hand melts away too, along with the yard.
And I realize itwasall an illusion.
Was it part of the trial then? And if so, is it over now? Did I complete it?
I spin around on the spot, expecting to find myself back on the academy field, expecting twin number two to start blowing his whistle in my face and sending me on my way.
But I’m not.
Chapter Sixty-Three
Briony
I’m somewhere else, somewhere I don’t recognize. The ground is hard like home but it’s warm beneath my feet and the landscape is barren. No trees, no flowers, no grass. Not even any houses. Just hard brown earth and the wind hot and full of sandy dust.
I raise my hand to my eyes, shielding them from the glare of the startling sun, and peer across the landscape.
“Hello?” I call out, my voice coming back to me in a hollow echo.
Is this part of the trial again? Another round, the next level.
Far away in the distance, silhouetted against the vast blue sky and only just visible to my eyes, a lone figure crouches down low at thehorizon.
Is that my next challenge? I swing my gaze around, there is no one else here – nothing else here!
I cross the empty landscape and as I come closer, I see the man is cowering on his knees, his hands crossed over his head.
For a moment, I think he’s praying, then I hear a cry of such anguish it permeates right through to my bones.
I squint, trying to make out what’s wrong. Is he hurt?
Then a crack of wings like thunder catches my attention. I tip back my head and look up into the bright dazzling sky.
The dark silhouettes of sinister shapes loom above. They circle like vultures and then, with vicious shrieks, dive at the man as he trembles in terror.
Dragons?
But I know they are not. They are more human than reptilian and there is something unsettling about their form. They aren’t solid, as if their bodies are made from air and not flesh. They are long and thin and bony, their large scaly wings fanned out behind them, twisted horns crowning their heads.
These dark shapes slash at the man’s head with pointed beaks and sharp talons, tearing through his flesh and ripping his skin to shreds.
The noise they make is hellish too, halfway between high-pitched wails and unbearable shrieks. I cover my ears, pain reverberating around my skull. But even still the sound of the injured man reaches me.
“No! No!” the man sobs. “I didn’t mean to. Please, I didn’t mean to hurt them. I was trying to save them. I didn’t want that to happen.”
