Chapter 25
I thought I’d be alone with the judges and two other contestants, but when I get to deck three and reach the end of the hallway, a crowd is waiting outside a large wooden door.
Taurean and Ambriel eat oozing slices of spiced honey torte on silver plates with forks from the Harlequin. Their friends surround them.
Mine wait for me too. Even Ivander is here.
Without thinking, I run to them. I stop short as I get to Ivander, not sure if I’m planning to hug him or kiss him.
He lifts me gently by my waist, spinning us with his graceful dancer’s body. Giddy excitement swirls in my gut and I laugh.
As he sets me down, I realize he’s wearing a deep brown overcoat and a black vest with gold buttons. His flowing trousers are decorated with swirling silver embroidery I’m guessing he added himself.
“Someone dressed up.” I enjoy his sheepish look.
I long to know what he’d do if I kissed him, here and now, in front of all our friends.
He’d probably die. I don’t want to ruin this victory with a kiss that would inevitably come with questions.
Like, what if I don’t succeed? Would he kiss me off the ship, or would our connection end here?
Still, that glint in his eye makes me wonder if he wants me too.
“Our next performance isn’t until later tonight. And I figured this was a special occasion.” His lips pull into a sly smile. “I owe the rich girl I met at port an apology. She may have been trying to steal my friends’ retrials, but I helped her do it.”
In spite of myself, I grin. “That girl needed to be brought down a few pegs. She needs no apology. She’s grateful.”
Then my face falls. The next performance.
Even if I pass my retrial, nothing will change immediately.
I won’t see Ivander again. The disappointment I feel reflects in his gaze.
He’ll spend every night alone in the theater again.
A pang of jealousy shoots through me at the thought of him taking on another reluctant trainee in my place.
Niko puts his arm around my shoulders and holds up a piece of flaky biscuit crust smothered in a fluffy spiced honey mousse and a lopsided mountain of cream.
“Doesn’t look pretty but tastes amazing.
” He closes his eyes, taking a bite of the decadent dessert.
“When it’s not for the guests, we don’t have to worry about presentation. ”
“What happened to Alana?” I ask before all the other voices threaten to drown me out.
Niko’s arm falls from my shoulders, and his mouth tightens around the edges. At the sound of her name, Alana turns to face me. She’s been standing with Isla and Zora, congratulating Taurean and Ambriel. Her eyes are puffy and bloodshot.
Isla mutters something that sounds like “bullshit,” but Alana stops her.
She squeezes both my hands in hers. “The votes were close.” She shrugs.
“I made a couple mistakes at dinner one night that must have affected my family more than they said. They mentioned it to a couple other guests who changed their votes.”
Rage and sadness melds into one inside me.
It’s not fair. When I open my mouth to say I’m sorry, Alana cuts me off.
“That’s not all. My family still swore they’d vote for me.
Last night, they told me after I put the kids to bed.
Just last night.” She exhales a shaky breath.
“But I asked Lady Rosemary after they read the votes, and she said they forgot. They forgot to vote.”
Isla curses them under her breath as anger hardens in my gut. Alana forces a tight smile. “I’m lucky because I’ll get another chance. I just really thought it was my turn.”
A wild impulse urges me to give up my trial. Give it to Alana.
“They won’t allow you to give it to me,” she says, knowing exactly what I’m thinking after our weeks of being bunkmates. Weeks of being friends. “Besides, I want you to change things for all of us. Not for me. You can’t do anything if you’re stuck on this ship.”
“That’s why you have to pass,” Isla insists, setting her drink on a nearby bench.
“This place is a nightmare for someone like me, but so many of us didn’t get a choice.
The pain I get is excruciating, and I never know when it’s going to happen.
The bosses don’t care, but they don’t care about anyone. ”
Zora places an empathetic hand on Isla’s shoulder. “We’re counting on you so other Morphics don’t have to go through this.”
The large door finally swings open. The gathered staff go silent.
Ivander’s fingertips touch the ends of mine, and a nervous thrill shoots through my gut. “They’re allowing us to go in with you. Do you want us to?”
All I manage is a quick nod. I expect the nerves to get worse until they set my body on fire, but they dissipate as I walk forward into the retrial room.
Alana’s brought a black cloak with silver fastenings to throw over my shoulders.
I guess she thought I might feel more comfortable standing in a cloak than in my uniform, and I admit, it’s nice to have the weight.
I follow Taurean and Ambriel to the center of the room and pull my hair out of its bun.
Messy auburn waves fall over my shoulders.
It all felt so different last time. This time, I’m numb.
The room is much smaller than the one I used for my first trial.
Porthole windows on the starboard side offer a peek at the blue water outside.
On the port side, we see land. Our friends cluster on the starboard side, beneath the portholes.
There are no seats and no decorations. In the back corner of the room, there’s a reclining metal chair and a potion.
I feel nothing when I see it. I can’t allow myself to consider the possibility of extraction.
Taurean shifts from foot to foot beside me.
He’s changed into a ruddy brown overcoat and a worn matching vest. A wolf pin is tacked to the outside of his coat.
He must have been a member of Tamarynth’s army before coming here.
It’s hard to imagine outgoing Taurean as a soldier.
Ambriel picks at her nails as she waits for the judges to speak.
“Rosaline Damarcus.” One of the judges with curly black hair and bright red lips wrenches my attention forward.
I force myself to face the judges’ table. It’s just a wooden table bolted into the floor. I don’t recognize any of the judges. Falling back on years of training, I dip into a low curtsy.
“Lady Rosaline Damarcus, you will be going first.”
My chest clenches as Taurean and Ambriel scoot to the side to stand with the other viewers. They let out tiny exhales of relief. I straighten, rolling my shoulders. The judges will see no fear from me.
“This is your one and only retrial. You won this opportunity due to your performance, as recognized by our guests and your superiors. Please understand that if you pass your retrial, you will be permitted to keep your Morphic gift of resurrection indefinitely, provided you avoid criminal activity.” The judge pauses, losing her place in her journal and finding it again.
“If you fail your retrial today, you will be permitted no more chances to keep your Morphia. The extraction will take place immediately. Are you ready?”
Time stands still. The nerves I felt at my last trial have transformed into unshakable determination.
Having my friends with me makes me forget I’m in a retrial, and it’s like we’re back in mess at lunch.
When I glance to Ivander, his expression is calm.
There’s no doubt in his eyes. I might know less about the Damarcus name than I thought I did, but I know more about myself. “Yes, I’m ready.”
A murmur of cautious excitement runs through the room.
The four judges set their writing quills on the table and lean back in their chairs.
For a moment, I wonder if they’re waiting for me to start.
Not knowing what they expect me to do, I close my eyes and reach for my connection to the spirit world.
Palms tingling, I take long, slow breaths.
I can’t let the raw thrill of summoning overtake me.
I’ve practiced with Ivander. I wait for one of the judges to call out a name.
A friend. A family member. Maybe one of our council members from a few centuries ago.
I wait for their instruction, building the silver tether between myself and the spirits.
But nothing happens. All I hear is the shuffling of boots scuffing against the floor. A chill crawls up the back of my neck. It’s been too long. Too still and quiet. My eyes fly open, and my breath lodges in my throat.
The judges are out of their seats. It takes me a minute to find them. I look to my right and see the four judges, along with a few of the bosses I recognize: Charmaine, Loren, and Balanyr, standing with the viewers. There are other bosses I had limited interaction with as well.
But what really catches my attention are the long-handled knives.
The four judges and army of bosses hold blades against Taurean’s throat, and Ambriel’s. And each of my friends’.
With my breath rattling in my chest, I force myself to stay put. Alana cries out as Charmaine yanks her head back farther and presses her knife harder against the sensitive skin of her neck. Taurean elbows his captor in the nose, but his captor slices his cheek. Blood spatters the floor.
This isn’t real.
I force myself to stay calm. This is how I lost control last time.
I allowed an illusive to trick me. But what do they want me to do?
Trials are high-stress situations where the Morphic uses their magic to help or protect.
I flex my fingers, trying to determine how I could disarm the bosses without hurting them.
Perhaps they’re challenging me to protect my people without drawing blood.
“This is real!” Alana yells, but Charmaine clamps a hand over her mouth. I can’t let the illusion win this time, even if the dread in my chest is crushing.