Page 57 of The Teras Trials

I say nothing to her comment—what am I meant to say?—and in the silence, I watch in my periphery as Bellamy slowly straightens himself. I know him. I know he’s determined to rid himself of any sign of physical weakness. Hand to God, he is regretting speaking to me this morning with anything other than his usual confident drawl.

Fred sniffs, and gestures vaguely to the window. “Second trial. Hemlock. Is that all we have?”

I shake my head, thinking of Thaddeus’ paper. “It said plant from two is a toxin, but not that it had anything to do with the trial itself.”

“I agree,” Silas said, appearing out of nowhere. His face practically materialises over his sister’s shoulder, which is upsetting and haunting this early in the morning. “BUT I think we will be doing our future selves a disservice by not taking some today. If we see it.”

With that sorted, we gather the rest of our little party, and walk to the Great Hall. As we go, I recite the classes affected by the hemlock. Cerberus Class, Arion Class, Stymphalian Class, Caledonian Class. I hope we face none of these today. They’re all D tier and higher, making them formidable enemies.

“Alright?” Leo asks me when we’re outside and crossing the field, and it’s such a benign little sentence I almost start laughing. I look at him, I see the face he makes when he comes, and I immediately turn away.

“Peachy as always, Mr Shaw,” I say. He gives me a nod. He says nothing else.

I wish last night had diffused the tension between us, but it seems to only be worse.

* * *

“Down three this morning,” Dean Drearton announces, as if it’s eggs that are missing from the kitchen. “Two xenos, which did not surprise me—no offence to our lovely applicants from beyond the wards, but you do have quite a lot less to lose. Which is to say, there was one Londoner who exited the mortal coil last night. Now, I know all this is a lot. But London—and the entirety of England—needs graduates who are willing to do what it takes. We need protectors, the very best of the best. Please focus. These trials are only a taste of what you’ll face should you graduate.”

I cross my arms. And we can’t be bothered wasting time training up the worst of you.

“Today,” the dean continues, “will be the second trial for this cohort.”

We are gathered, as expected, in front of a dazzlingly large greenhouse. It looks to be nearly a hundred metres long, though I can’t see most of it from this angle. The greenhouse is deep into campus. We were escorted here by Blood Hunters—the same ones who killed the runaway, I imagine. Thankfully, no one bolted on the walk over. I am not in the mood for seeing more death.

On the walk over, I could see the building had two dome-shaped pavilions; a colossal Victorian-style greenhouse, green-cast iron. Up close, the glass is slightly frosted by the humidity, dewy droplets obscuring much of the inside beyond a vague green haze of plant life. If there are teras waiting inside, I can’t see them. But there are plenty of shadows. A dozen places for beasts to lurk. And the automaton said the greenhouse had protectors.

“Our last trial focused on individual survival skills. But this test will be for groups. Pre-picked, of course. Your roommates.”

A shudder runs through us all as early alliances are either secured, or threatened by sleeping arrangements. I thank my own damn self for cutting a deal with the dean, even if that will come back to haunt me. A manticore is S tier. It took out a whole squad of graduate Hunters. What the fuck was I thinking?

No time to panic now. You might die here, and never have to worry about that.

I take a deep breath and hold it. Victoria and Bellamy step a little closer to me, and the xenos move towards one another. I’m wary of that. I give Leo a glance, because a divide in our team will bring nothing good for any of us. If anything, fucking should have made us closer. I give him a nod. I’m relieved when he nods back.

Trusting is difficult enough, but I hope to trust him.

The dean’s voice booms loud. “The trial is this. Imagine a town beyond the wards is being harassed by teras. They’re quick, they are hard to pin down. Your duty is to not to simply exit the greenhouse. You must eliminate the teras threat.”

A few panicked murmurs rise up that the dean resolutely ignores. “Of course, you will have weapons. And yes: I am aware that, for some of you, Hunter is not the mantle you would choose, should you secure a place in the University. Not every one of you needs to fight—but we do expect a basic level of survivability for all our graduates.” He pauses, rather dramatically, though I’m not sure if it’s put on, because his voice has a quaver in it when he next speaks. “Times are changing, you see. The University’s role may shift with it. Artificers may need to work harder and quicker, on the field, to get our Hunters back in action in a timely manner. Scholars may need to consult onsite. We cannot have these disciplines vulnerable. Understand? Good,” he claps his hands before any of us can reply.

Leo leans close to me and whispers, “You were right. This will be a war college soon.”

I don’t want to think about that. Something in my body packages away my terror. I feel, suddenly, close to nothing. Not the bitter cold. Not the misted rain. Not even the heat of Leo at my side. Whatever primal urge to live that sits in my gut is shutting down everything else, making sure I don’t lose myself to panic. I check the pockets of my uniform. Thad’s gun, with its five remaining bullets, sits at my right. The sparker is at my left. I pat them down. I check them again. I do this for several minutes, as the first group heads into the greenhouse.

We wait. I see Peter Drike and some crew of his—roommates, or people to terrorise, I’m not sure. He grabs one of them by their neck and hauls them close, aggressive, whispering in their ear, only to shove them away again a second later.

There’s no commentary. We aren’t told what happens, but there is, once again, screaming. It’s muffled only slightly by the distance and the glass, faint cries like banshee wails rippling through the air.

When my name is called, I am jolted back into the present. Fred moves first, dragging Silas forward. I linger, because Leo lingers, and as he steps forward, he asks me to describe hemlock.

I do, but I look up at him and I think: God, I don’t want you to die for a plant. Even if it screws me over in the next trial, don’t you dare lose your head now for a plant. But instead, I reach out, grazing the side of my pinkie against his hand, and my heart swells with ridiculous joy when he doesn’t flinch away.

“Best of luck, Mr Jones and co,” the dean calls. Fred looks back at us, lingering on me for a moment too long, and when I nod, she shoves open the greenhouse door.

We are assaulted, immediately, by a muggy humidity. My body shivers at the change, shrugging off the cold for this. All of us gather around the entrance, tense and unmoving. Butterflies flit about in the air. A droning buzz of insects makes for ambience. There is no other sound, though we strain to listen.

“No hemlock in this room,” Silas says. “Far too hot.”

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