Chapter 29
Warm Blood
O n the first day of true winter cold, we gather for the final Ordeal.
Snow shivers from the sky in silent spirals, drifting over the courtyard, painting the world in bleak shades of white and grey in the early dawn light.
The stark colours set a sombre tone, none of us speaking, none of us so much as looking at each other.
Two mirrors are set up in the centre, as with the first Ordeal.
Two mirrors that will lead us to triumph … or to death.
‘The mirrors will send you to the final Ordeal, which is in three movements. In the past, we have partnered you up, but this year …’ Professor Grant sweeps her gaze over us.
‘You are alone. There are twenty places, and there are now twenty-eight of you. Not all of you will survive this Ordeal so I give you leave now, to go.’
A breeze ruffles my hair, the wind whistling over stone like the sigh of a trapped ghost. Not a single hopeful takes up her offer.
We all want to be here today. We all want one of those twenty places.
I don’t look at Alden, but I sense his eyes burning into me, like a fiery kiss, like the echo of a final farewell.
He must realise now that he cannot protect me.
I did the right thing by leaving him last night.
‘So be it,’ she says. ‘The three parts of the final Ordeal will test your strength: mental, emotional and physical. We cannot have weak scholars. Killmarth trains only the very best and only the best of you will succeed. It will also test your magic. Raw power, untrained power is acceptable. Valued, in fact. We want malleable scholars who will learn and grow to become the guardians of our territory, to lead each field they go into. To become the elite. For what lies ahead for us all.’ Her eyes narrow and I catch Caroline Ivey’s assessing gaze darting over us, hands folded in front of her pristine royal blue wool coat.
‘ Bona fortuna , hopefuls. May you make it to the arena.’
The arena?
I glance at Tessa and she shrugs, a frown pinching her features. She hasn’t heard of this part of the final Ordeal either. Greg’s features fold inwards, uncharacteristically glum, as though he is contemplating his survival, and most likely Tessa’s.
Professor Grant moves to the side, with Professor Hess, Professor Lewellyn, Caroline Ivey and Professor Silver flanking her.
We begin shuffling through the mirrors, one by one.
I am wearing tight-fitting trousers I can move in, boots, a long-sleeve top and a thin jumper.
It’s cold out here, but I can’t be weighed down by bulk if I need to move quickly.
My fingertips brush the switchblade in my right pocket, the cold metal giving me a moment of comfort. The wooden stake I’ve left exposed in a holder on my thigh. It seems pointless to hide it, and although the professors eyes flick to it, no one says a word. I won’t back out now.
I step through the mirror and find myself on a cobbled street, standing in the exact same spot as ten weeks ago.
And we’re all here. In front of Alabaster House.
It’s morning, not the cool, velvet dark of midnight this time and just slightly warmer than the chill tidal island of Killmarth.
The gated garden the crescent of townhouses wraps around is at my back, but now instead of the heady scent of roses, all I smell is leaf mould and decay.
Winter has leached the life out of this part of the city as well, lending it an air of depleted slumber.
Alabaster House. Bone-white, a luminous beacon, even in the scant daylight. I wrap my arms around myself, the cold of Killmarth still clinging to my bones. If the final Ordeal is in there, will it be similar to the Crucible? Will I be fighting through poisoned fumes, or slashing at venomous vines?
‘Fond memories of this place. Very fond,’ Tessa says, deadpan. ‘Loved everything about the Crucible.’
I grin and pat her shoulder. ‘Well at least if we don’t make it, we won’t have to survive January at Killmarth. Death by magical cut-throat entrance exam, or freezing our arses off on a tiny tidal island …’
‘Pick your poison I guess.’ Tessa chuckles, smiling at me. ‘Although I was looking forward to being allowed out at the weekends. I’ve heard there’s a café, the Copper Spoon in Marazia, that’s meant to be quite nice. There’s even a pub where you can get a decent pint of rhyn.’
‘Imagine, an actual pint …’ Greg says, swallowing as he sidles over.
‘Whatever gets you through the Ordeal,’ I say, bumping his shoulder. ‘All I want is a room in a main hall so I don’t have to trudge up and down those damn steps twelve times a day.’
‘Big dreams. Aim high.’ Tessa sighs. Then she clicks her tongue, looking at both of us, eyes shining. ‘Seriously though, please don’t die.’
‘I’ll avoid it at all costs,’ I promise, giving her a hug. I bury my face in her hair, hoping this isn’t the last time I’ll be with her. ‘And Greg, next full moon? If you survive, I’ll bring the tea and biscuits. It’s a date.’
‘It’s on the calendar.’ He chuckles, scooping me up in a hug as well before releasing me.
‘Right, well …’ I say, watching as the first hopeful skips to the front door of Alabaster House.
Of course it had to be Fion. Obviously the rumour swirling around the last Ordeal that she’d failed was false information.
She turns to us all, winks and disappears through the crack in the door, closing it behind herself.
Frances follows behind her, and then one by one, hopefuls disappear inside.
As Knox strides towards the steps, we give each other a farewell nod, his features crinkling into something akin to warmth.
As he passes, he mutters, ‘Get in, get out, don’t get caught.
If you see a cold one, you fucking run, yes? ’ Before hopping up the steps.
Those words, that phrase hit me in the chest. Exactly what the Collector used to say before an assignment. Another reason to survive this and win one of those twenty places; now I know the truth, I have so many questions to ask Knox Darley.
‘Sophia, I …’ Alden says and I look up at him.
I catch a flash of something that could almost be regret and he reaches out a hand towards mine.
But then he jerks his hand back, stuffing it in his pocket.
‘That note you left. I didn’t, I don’t—’ He takes a steadying breath. ‘I wanted to say, good luck.’
‘And to you as well,’ I say softly. His gaze locks with mine and for a handful of heartbeats, everything drops away.
He leans down, brushing a kiss across my lips, and my heart stutters as I reach out, gripping his arms. I rest my forehead against his and close my eyes, hoping the gods are watching over us today. That we’ll both survive.
Then he turns, walks swiftly up the steps and disappears.
I swallow, my heart like the beat of a butterfly’s wing, thrumming inside my chest. I settle into that part of myself that carried me through every assignment, every close scrape.
Yes. There is more after this; it can’t be the end.
This may be impossible, but in any impossible thing there is always a way through.
I take my turn, walking up the steps of Alabaster House and pull in a brisk, steely breath before plunging into the darkness beyond.
The door closes with a click behind me, and I find myself utterly alone.
I expected the hallway of Alabaster, the gentle tick of a grandfather clock, the scent of polish and books …
but instead, a stench fills my nose, making me gag.
I clap a hand to my mouth as my eyes adjust to the space I’m standing in.
Not the genteel, hushed hallway of Alabaster.
No. I bolt for the door, clawing at the handle as all around, this space comes into focus.
And the smell … copper and animal, laced with desperation.
Warm blood.
I’m back in the house in the city, the one on the wrong side of the river.
The house where Dolly was murdered. I whimper, backing away from the door, my mind fracturing with panic.
I know I should breathe. I know I should focus, keep calm.
I place a hand on my chest, feeling every thrash of my heart, and close my eyes, listening to the thick silence, calming the aching churn in my stomach.
The nausea, hot and stifling, begins to subside and I blow out through my nose, reminding myself this is an Ordeal.
Only a test. I need to keep my shit together.
Somewhere, there will be a subtle shimmer of magic, the gleam that will tell me this is all simply an illusion—
‘Just an illusion, that’s all this is,’ I murmur. ‘Nothing more than magic and memory given form. Alchemy of the mind.’
I take a single step away from the door, flexing my fingers before bunching them into fists at my sides. The parlour door on my left stands slightly ajar, just like the night that … the night—
I take another step, shutting down the thought before it takes root. There are no shimmers that I can discern, but it has to be because I’m too panicked. Not able to focus as well as I have before. I narrow my eyes, training my gaze on the walls, the floor, the staircase—
A scream pierces the air.
I leap back, plastering myself to the door, knowing it’s coming, the cold one. It’s here again—
But there’s only silence. The thick, oozing kind … and I know what I must do. I lift my gaze to the staircase, the dark maw of the second floor looming over it. I have to face what’s in the room I didn’t go in the first time I was here.
Maybe this time, I can save them from their fate.
The smell of warm blood, human blood only intensifies as I climb the staircase.
I gag again, forcing myself to keep going and find the three doors from my memories on the first floor, all closed.
Not a sound comes from any of them, not a breath or a whimper.
The stake is already in my hand, and my heart is thudding in my ears. I throw open the first door—
To reveal that hideous rocking chair, swaying back and forth.
This time, I stalk into the room and give it a solid kick, sending it sprawling on its side.
The satisfaction leaves a curl of flame in my stomach, a small moment of victory in this cold, cold place.
The room has damp, whitewashed walls, rough floorboards and a window that looks out over nothing.
I cross to it, intrigued, and find only endless, billowing smoke … and a faint, iridescent shimmer.
‘I knew it …’ I breathe, my mouth lifting at the corners.
I’m not in that sad little house that Dolly died in.
I haven’t walked from an alchemist-made portal, back into the same house on that same lonely street amidst the brothels and broken homes.
This is all my personal Ordeal, a reflection of my innermost terrors.
I’m facing the fear that will strip me down, cut right to the bones of my soul and test me beyond all else.
‘You’re not real,’ I say, louder this time, and slam my palm into the glass.
I narrow my eyes, forcing every sliver of those glints in my own blood, the magic I am able to wield into my outstretched hand, and brace myself.
The illusion shatters.
All around me, the walls shiver and rearrange themselves, the scent of warm blood turning to wood polish and citrus.
I’m standing in a room overlooking the back of Alabaster House, a courtyard speckled with rose bushes under a layer of frost set out below.
A far cry from the stinking, cramped desperation just across the river. A world away.
The room looks to be some kind of upstairs sitting room. I prowl through the room, noting the absence of any personal touches, anything to give this room a flush of life and love. It feels staged, poised on the edge of its true purpose, whatever that may be.
Another scream rattles the very walls. There’s a strangled cry, then a thud …
as though something heavy, something made of flesh and bone, has thumped to the floor.
I cross to the door, pulse leaping in my fingertips, still gripped around the stake, and I yank the door back, finding a corridor suffused with winter light from a huge window with a window seat set into it, the staircase peeling off to the ground floor.
But there are still two closed doors. I brace my arm against the second door, gritting my teeth as I push …
but find it empty. A room similar to the one I was just in, except this one is shrouded in white sheets.
There’s a scuffling and I look up sharply, knowing where it came from. The final room. Before my courage leaves me, I stalk for the door, turn the handle and throw it back against the wall.
And there, holding a heavy metallic candlestick spattered with blood in her hand—
Is Tessa.