Chapter 34
I Choose You
W hen I stir, I’m under starched white sheets.
It’s cold, so much colder than the warm pool I was in.
The endless pool of darkness, the one that swallowed me whole.
I blink, a distant buzzing whirring like a siren.
Then I focus, finding rows of beds, like the one I’m in.
And beside me, face turned towards me, eyes closed in sleep, is Alden.
I watch him for a moment, that peaceful face, seeming so much younger in repose, with all the worries of life shifted from him.
His arm is bandaged, lying on top of the covers, and I wince as I remember the charred flesh.
That burn, one of magic, and I know he’s lucky to still have his arm at all.
‘She’s awake. Sophia, thank goodness.’ Tessa is suddenly crouched beside me, blocking out Alden, throwing her arms around me, shaking with sobs. ‘I thought when I couldn’t find you in the courtyard …’
‘It’s all right,’ I say, throat full of blades and I swallow quickly. ‘I’m fine.’
‘Better than fine, I should say,’ Knox says, swinging into view with a wink. ‘Fellow alchemist. Nice one, DeWinter.’
Tessa hunkers down lower, so it’s only the two of us for a moment. ‘For what you did, thank you. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be here. And to think, my grandmother promised we’d all be rivals. She couldn’t have been more wrong. I’m so glad she was wrong.’
I huff a laugh and groan, Tessa finally stepping away, wiping at her eyes. ‘I was number twelve. Knox, of course, was number one. First person to make it out of the arena.’
‘I was number fifteen,’ Greg says proudly, waving at me from a few feet beyond the bed. ‘Had to transform into a werewolf, but the professors agreed it was technically allowed, and somehow I got a commendation for transforming back seamlessly without nibbling anyone.’
I crack a grin at them all, pride and relief hitting me in a wave. They all made it through. We all made it through.
‘You were number twenty-one,’ Tessa says in awe. ‘How? How did you open a damn portal, when you’d only just discovered your dominant magic? That takes years of honing, right, Knox? Years! And only if that’s your specialism within alchemy.’
‘I have absolutely no idea,’ I say honestly, swallowing back a wince. My throat feels like sandpaper. ‘And if you asked me to do it again right now, I don’t think I could. It was just … will. And stubbornness. I don’t even know yet what my specialism is.’
‘Sheer dumb luck,’ Alden croaks. Everyone turns to him as his eyes fall on me and he shakes his head. ‘I’m really fucking mad with you. You could have died.’
I grin at him as the others all shuffle aside. ‘Hi.’
‘Hi,’ he says, grinning back.
‘Well, this is fun,’ Knox says, pointing a finger between us. ‘Enjoy your convalescing. No getting frisky in the medical wing.’
I chuckle as Tessa motions to Greg. ‘We’ll leave you to rest,’ she says and they all troop out.
For a moment, the silence deepens between Alden and me. There’s no one else in the beds here. And I’m still so weak, I can barely keep my eyes open. They’re weighed down with lead. But I keep blinking, studying him, the relief almost overwhelming that we both made it out of there.
‘You nearly lost your place because of me,’ he says quietly. ‘You could have stepped through that portal and guaranteed your place as a scholar.’
‘I chose not to leave you behind,’ I reply. ‘You could have gone through a portal long before me. You shouldn’t have waited to check I was all right.’
‘You chose me,’ he says, eyes deep and velvet, all caramels and mahogany. ‘You fought for me.’
‘Yes. I chose you. I choose you , Alden.’
Somehow saying it now, in the stark cold of day after the frenzied turmoil of the Ordeals, I realise it’s true.
It isn’t rooted in trauma, it’s something pure and good that has grown despite what we’ve been through.
I reach out, reach my fingers towards him, and he winces, holding out the hand on his good, unbandaged arm, his fingertips just brushing my own.
That contact is like air in my lungs. It’s everything.
I choose him. I choose this man, and I don’t regret it.
‘But you didn’t know if you’d get through, if you’d make it—’
‘And yet we’re here,’ I say. ‘Back at Killmarth.’
I don’t tell him what I was thinking in those moments when I realised there was only one portal left.
When I shoved him through. But Dolly flashes in my mind now, smiling, eyes full of nothing but love.
She would have been proud of the decision I made; I know it.
Prouder still that I fought to find a way through, even when all hope was lost. And she would have liked Alden.
He sighs. ‘So you’re allowed to swoop in and be a hero, but I’m not allowed to protect you.’
I crinkle my nose. ‘Looks that way, doesn’t it?’
He chuckles and I feel those deep, honeyed notes all the way to my toes. ‘This means we’re not even, DeWinter. I owe you, and I don’t like it.’
‘You’ll find some way to repay me, I’m sure.
’ I sigh, retracting my hand and snuggling lower under the sheets.
My entire being aches and throbs, as though the magic I shoved with brutal force into the air to create a portal, a path to him, left me on the point of burnout.
And this is the result: a stay in the medical wing, a mortal body that needs time and rest. And a beautiful face, just next to mine, alive and whole and luminous.
‘How about this: I promise to protect you when you actually need protecting. And you save me when I need it. How about that?’
‘I can live with that,’ I say, eyeing him carefully. ‘But you do still owe me one other thing.’
‘Yes?’
‘You owe me a date, Alden Locke. If we’re together now, I want romance,’ I say, closing my eyes and feeling that distant lure of slumber. ‘You owe me a damn good date.’
I hear his answering chuckle before I’m swept all the way under.
Alden’s arm heals over the next few days, but the scars, the burns of magic, blaze silver.
Threads, like molten metal weave over his skin from shoulder to wrist, an ever-present reminder of what he endured.
What we both did. He may have survived the final Ordeal, but his arm will forever feel cold, as though a vice of ice wraps around it from the burn of magic and shadow he endured.
As the ceremony begins, I touch the mark on my own wrist. The mark of darkness, a spider web of inky lines flaring out over my skin from those twin puncture wounds.
When they meet daylight, I’ve found the mark burns with a searing pain.
Perhaps it’s because he drew more than just blood.
Perhaps he tried to offer something of himself in return.
But I survived him. I survived that monster with the gentle man’s polite smile, the careful tailoring, the wicked, vicious thirst, but barely. And if one of his ilk finds me again, if they come for me, I know they’ll be more prepared. Although, I suppose, I will too.
We’re sitting in Keeper’s Hall and it’s oddly reminiscent of the dinner held before the Ordeals began, minus a poisoning.
I catch Tessa’s eye and smile. She’s sitting across from me.
I wonder if she’s thinking about it too as she reaches for her drink, swirling her toquay, the golden liquid teeming with tiny bubbles in the goblet-like wine glass.
We were sitting here a few weeks ago, not knowing what would happen to us. It feels like a lifetime ago.
Professor Grant addresses us all. ‘Congratulations on completing the Ordeals. Tonight we will dine, then you will mingle. The professors are making their selections for their halls, based on your magic, the qualities you demonstrated throughout the Ordeals, and whatever bargaining they undertake behind the scenes.’ She raises her eyebrows at Professor Lewellyn, who grins crookedly back, then smiles warmly at me.
‘I can’t wait to see where you all end up, and the wielders Killmarth will shape you into.
But before we begin, let us take a moment to remember the fallen hopefuls who joined us and are not sitting with us today. ’
It’s hard not to remember them, with half the hall now empty.
Tables that were filled with hopefuls just like me at the beginning of the semester.
And I realise, sitting here now, that the people around me, the scholars around me include every single hopeful I teamed up with.
Partnered with. We forged alliances and we are stronger because of it.
Tessa, Greg, Frances, Knox, Alden … they’re all sitting here.
Even though the Ordeals are designed to be undertaken alone, I see now that it’s almost a test in itself.
Courage, cunning, conviction and connection.
‘Now you have survived the Ordeals, the true work begins next semester,’ Professor Grant continues.
‘Honing this raw power you have flowing through your veins, unlocking key pieces of your true selves and learning to trust the right people and navigate situations where there is no one to trust. Now, scholars, professors, we feast.’
We eat five courses of fragrant, delicately prepared meals, and by the end I’ve washed it all down with more toquay than I’d usually allow myself.
But tonight, I’ve achieved. I’m in. I’m a scholar and I’ve found my dominant magic.
This knowledge settles over me as I eat and drink, a fire stoked inside me that can never be snuffed out.
I’m closer to my parents, my legacy, the people who laid the foundations for me to step into my power at this moment.
And it leaves me dizzy with pride and hope.
I am no longer a shadow, a creature of misery haunting the edges of gatherings. I am my own person. I am free.
As the tables are cleared and pushed back, all of us getting up to talk and laugh and drink, I can’t help remembering all those people, every single one of them who got me to this point.
The people who stood beside me, who believed in me.
My parents, Dolly, Banks, even the Collector, all of them pushing me, nurturing me to reach this moment.
Then Lewellyn is before me, reaching for my hand to clasp it. ‘I knew you’d survive. I knew you could do it, Sophia.’
‘Not without you,’ I say honestly back, my eyes shining, throat suddenly thick. ‘You made me believe I could be a better wielder. Without you, I wouldn’t be standing here.’
She releases my hand and leans closer. ‘I saw it in you, what you might become. But it was all you. You just had to find yourself. And what I told you, what I imparted—’
‘Your secrets are safe with me, Hester,’ I say quietly. ‘I will help all I can.’
She releases a breath and nods. ‘Thank you.’
‘DeWinter, a moment,’ Professor Hess says, grinning as he steers me away from Lewellyn. ‘There’s someone who would like to meet you.’
He steers me to the woman who has watched over every Ordeal, scrutinising us, assessing us, wearing a careful twinset, perfectly applied makeup and an intense expression.
Her dark hair is styled around her face, dropping just past the jut of her jaw as she bobs her chin to me.
She holds out a hand, and I shake her fingers before she retracts them, her pale blue eyes almost silver in the low light, fine age lines feathering out around them, never leaving mine.
‘Charmed. I’m a representative of the Crown, as you’re aware.
We like to keep an eye on the most promising scholars at Killmarth.
We like to keep them close. You’ve had a most interesting journey, truly riveting.
’ She fishes in a handbag, slung over her arm and passes me a small, cream card, with a telephone number and nothing else printed in black on one side.
‘Phone me next semester for a chat, DeWinter.’
‘Thank you,’ I say, pocketing the card. I smooth down my trousers, shaking back my hair, and my eyes flit down to my wrist for a heartbeat, checking the jade green silk of my blouse still covers it.
When I look back up, I find her eyes darting to meet mine, as though she too was inspecting my wrist. I don’t mention the cold ones, the murmurs about the Great Hunt, but I sense it dancing at the corners between us.
The words she hasn’t said, but the ones that I know are the sole reason for her interest. ‘I shall look forward to our chat, Ms Ivey.’
‘Call me Caroline,’ she says, smiling with all her teeth. ‘Sophia.’
The music piping from some unseen, alchemist-made speakers kicks up a notch, and waiters carry around more mirrored trays of toquay in pearly goblets and velvane in cut-crystal tumblers.
I search for Knox, ready now with some questions, now the Ordeals are behind us, now we’ve all survived.
But before I can hunt him down, Professor Grant makes her way over to me and crooks her finger.
I raise my eyebrows, bending to hear her whisper, ‘There’s someone here to see you.
Use my office. Next floor up, second door along. ’
I thank her, downing the rest of my toquay, and discard the glass on a table before exiting the hall and the music for the first floor.
The floor above is carpeted, hushed and plush, a ruby-red pile that my heeled boots sink into as I walk.
I wait outside the door for a moment, knowing exactly who will be there.
And this time, I don’t knock. I don’t wait for permission to enter.
Thrusting open the door, I regard the man staring back at me.
Ezra Darley.