Chapter 22 #2
Now I’ve confirmed it’s him, I decide this meeting will be on my terms. ‘Why did you never tell me? About the cold ones, about what they can do? Why did you send us there that night?’
‘Straight to it then? No pleasantries? All right,’ he says with a small shrug. ‘Have it your way. I didn’t tell you about them because there was no need for you to know. Not until the time was right. And what happened that night with Dolly … it was unexpected.’
‘Unexpected?’ I explode, unable to hold it all inside myself. ‘She died! She was ripped apart, she was in my arms—’
‘Don’t think I don’t regret sending you both there every single day,’ he says suddenly, sitting forward. ‘What happened to Dolly was a tragedy, and if I had known … if I had even suspected that a cold one would get there first …’
‘What do you mean, get there first?’ I ask. ‘You kept me in the dark for years, quite literally! You shaped me with terror, you took away my choices—’
‘I saved your life,’ he snaps viciously. ‘I did everything I could. I protected you; I made you strong—’
‘You made me your creature!’ I scream, not bothering to be quiet. ‘Then you sent me to-to that place, and the one person, the one person who loved me is dead!’
‘And more will die too, because you are not ready ,’ he says quietly, sinking back in his chair.
‘You’ve done well so far, surviving the first two Ordeals and avoiding the most bitter rivalries.
You’ve remembered your training; you’ve stuck to the shadows.
That’s good. Your mentor has done all she can, dug deeper into your magic in a way I couldn’t.
I’m no illusionist. But you have to realise by now, you won’t survive this semester.
In this Ordeal or the next, you will die. ’
A bitter, sad little laugh claws its way up my throat and I shake my head. ‘You think so little of me, don’t you? Even now, you come here, when I am finally free of you—’
‘And how do you think I got in tonight, Sophia?’ he says, tipping his head to the side. ‘How do you think I got past the gate?’
I hesitate. ‘I don’t know …’
‘This is the third Ordeal. It’s always the same, though they mix it up a little to better test the hopefuls … it’s when the wards are weakest. When they invite guests into Killmarth and if you’re patient, if you’re quick, you can sneak through. The uninvited can get in.’
A chill sinks its teeth into me. ‘The uninvited?’
He smiles humourlessly. ‘Let us hope it is only me who wanted a way on to this island tonight. The Great Hunt is coming, and you are not ready. I was so sure, your parents were so sure of what you could become … but I have seen no evidence of it. There’s not a spark, not an ember.
You’re nothing but ash. And now you have broken our contract …
’ his eyes flick to my bare wrist, then up to my eyes ‘… I can no longer protect you.’
More questions, more words spring to my tongue, but before I can give them voice, before I can hurl more hate at him, he stands abruptly. ‘ Bona fortuna , Sophia. May the gods save us all. It’s perhaps all we can hope for now.’
‘ The gods? When have you or they ever protected me? You lied to me, telling me you were my uncle; you made me terrified, anxious, alone …’
He takes a breath, fixing me with a hard stare.
‘I promised your mother, so I’ll tell you this.
She knew you would be vulnerable. She wanted you strong, and able.
But your training is incomplete. You haven’t sparked.
Unless you dig deeper, you will die. Look for the initials – that’s all I’ll say.
The only clue I’ll give you. I cannot interfere in the Ordeals.
There are too many bonds and wards on this place to ensure there is no interference from wielders. ’
‘I-I am more than capable—’ I splutter.
‘Farewell,’ he says with a sad smile, crossing to the other side of the room.
He places a hand on one of the mirrors, turning to me.
‘If you won’t heed my warning, and decide to stay on at Killmarth, I advise you to watch out for more of the cold ones.
They caught your scent that night and I’ve done my best to protect you from them.
To protect you, to train you so your magic will spark …
they amount to the same. And I will reiterate, you are not ready.
The cold ones smell magic in blood … but you haven’t unlocked your full potential yet. ’
‘Then tell me, tell me what you’ve danced around. How do I unleash—’
‘It doesn’t work like that. You have to find the answers yourself. The wards on this place, on the Ordeals … they’re already pushing me out of these walls.’
Before I can unleash my fury, the mirror beneath his hand … shifts. It moves like water, undulating gently before forming a new reflection. Of his office, in the back rooms of his antiques shop in the city.
I stiffen, eyes snapping to his. ‘You’re an alchemist.’
‘Yes, Sophia,’ he says and before I can ask any more, he steps through the mirror and vanishes. I choke on my shock, stride forward and slam my hand into the mirror’s surface. But it’s returned to its former state, an ordinary mirror in a dusty back room of Keeper’s Hall.
An alchemist. How did I never realise? The map, the way he could take a person’s blood and distil it into a mark he could track and follow … that’s manipulation of a tangible object.
That’s alchemy .
I swear viciously, sinking my head into my hands.
What a fool I’ve been. An utter fool. It was right there in front of me all along.
The Collector, my supposed uncle, wields the rarest of magic in such a unique way, I never contemplated how the map came to be.
The evidence of alchemy in Kellend is in structures like the twisting metal ceiling of the train station in the city, but to take living matter and manipulate it into non-living?
Perhaps his lesser magic is botany. Perhaps he’s like Fion.
In any case, I have underestimated him. He’s more powerful than I ever imagined, and I never thought to ask him about his own abilities all those years.
Maybe as a child I was curious, but Dolly never had the answers, and I didn’t dare question him.
Then as I grew older, I was too wrapped up in my own misery, my own bitterness to really look .
I’m a fool. A damn, stupid fool. It was right in front of me, all those years.
I remove my hands from my face and close my hand into a fist before placing it against the cool glass.
The chill of the mirror’s sur face nips at my knuckles and I release a snarl.
All he did was distract me. His warnings, his reasonings …
all to make me lose my nerve. There’s no guarantee I will succeed, of course …
but to insist there’s no hope, that I will fail …
and die ? He doesn’t know that. Can’t know that; I’m sure of it.
I am ready. I’m halfway through, and I am in the middle of the third Ordeal, to warn me now, to shake me … why?
Why would he seek to break me now?
He’s rattled me more than I care to admit.
Bringing reminders of Dolly, of that night, of every time he’s looked at me and I’ve shrunk in on myself, every time he dragged me to the vault and made me powerless …
I’ve been surviving Killmarth, somehow flourishing in this cut-throat semester of Ordeals …
and yet one conversation with him shatters all of it.
I stalk back to the hall, readying my mask, just as I did for every assignment.
Every time I stepped into a society function, every room full of braying toffs, of moneyed aristos …
I sink into who I am here, what I am and I hold my head up high.
Inside I might be shaking. I might be losing my nerve.
But no one needs to know. This Ordeal – this night is mine. I cannot falter now.
After slipping back through the door, I throw myself into the throng, determined to complete this Ordeal and find the person to deliver my code word.
Determined to find Alden and ensure he is all right as well.
I linger by a group of hopefuls, sipping a glass of honeyed toquay I’ve plucked from a passing waiter’s tray, pretending to watch the dancing at the centre of the hall.
One insists it’s a professor, another agrees and then …
‘It’s Professor Grant. Has to be,’ Charlotte, a young woman with short brown hair says. She eyes me then leans in to whisper to her friends. ‘She’s just appeared, which seems interesting? She wasn’t here earlier. Who else would it be?’
‘But we might all be delivering code words to different people. I never heard a rule that it was the same professor.’
‘True,’ the woman, Ceilie, a fellow illusionist says. ‘Maybe we need to be asking them questions …’
I take another sip of toquay and weave my way through the crowd, gleaning snippets of gossip as I walk.
‘… Grant’s right over there …’
‘Heard Knox already passed, the bastard …’
‘… Fion failed, can you believe it?’
‘Professor Grant …’
‘Who else would it be … ?’
I sift through the words I hear, feeling sure Fion failing is fake news, and therefore none of the rumours can be trusted, then find Professor Grant herself watching the dancing. ‘Professor.’ I nod to her and a small smile dances at the corners of her mouth.
‘DeWinter. Nice to see you’re still in the game.’
I shrug and take a sip of toquay. ‘It’s an interesting game. The gargoyles were a nice touch.’
‘Oh yes, the ones outside tonight. Yes.’
I don’t let the flicker of unease mar my expression as I glance at her. Surely she would know there were gargoyles in the last Ordeal, unless …