Chapter 41
“Holyvere Academy saved the best guild for last,” whispered Audra as she gazed out at the crowd.
Participants in the Arcane Guild trial stood on the main stage where those of the Echinacea Guild trial had been, though there were no opinantes waiting to be poisoned, and the stage had been cleared of shelves and supplies.
Each participant was provided with a charcoal pencil as they ascended the steps of the stage, though their incras would be performed in the air—the charcoal sticks were simply a conduit if they wished to use them.
Worried that they might be seen as a “crutch” to bring down their score, some initiates refused or cast them aside.
Audra preferring quill to charcoal, had brought her favorite with her. The weight of it in her pocket was a comfort.
“How are you so calm about this?” Wilder asked. “You went out in the first round of the Sabre trial.”
“Yeah, but I’m going to be the champion of this one.” Audra smiled, feigning exaggerated serenity she absolutely did not feel. “Life is about balance.”
Wilder guffawed. “That will be difficult, considering it will obviously be me who is the last one standing.”
“Sorry to disappoint, ladies, but I will be the victorious one,” Cersha chimed in.
“Underestimating me will be everyone’s downfall,” said Lottie, her voice fierce.
“As long as it’s not him,” said Audra with a growl.
The four women, their skirts and Wilder’s pants billowing in the frigid wind, turned as one to glare at Noel, who stood farther downstage.
If he won this trial, that would make him undefeated.
Audra refused to let that happen, not just because she needed to win—but because, on principle, letting that noble prat win all four trials was against everything she stood for.
“If he wins this trial, I can’t be held responsible for my actions. ”
“I vote we use him as target practice with those arrows Callum is so fond of,” Cersha said, a mischievous glint in her eyes, though Audra wasn’t sure if her suggestion was a complete or just partial jest.
Audra grinned as she tied back her braids and opened her mouth to agree when Scholar Khari strode to the front of the stage, black cloak fluttering behind him as a gust of wind howled through the amphitheater.
“Have I mentioned how jealous we in Echinacea are that Arcane gets two classes with him?” Cersha whispered, her gaze roaming over Khari appreciatively.
Wilder arched a brow. “What, are you lot not satisfied with Master Archemist Jolla?”
“She’s fine, but not as easy on the eyes—I think she might have been alive when their precious prophecy was first written.”
All four laughed.
“What do you think the first incra we have to cast will be?” Lottie mused, the question one they’d all pondered a hundred times that week.
“I hope it’s one to stop this wind, I’m tired of being cold,” said Cersha.
Scholar Khari raised his arms in the air. The initiates on stage and in the stands quieted at once.
Audra’s heart picked up pace. This was it.
“Firstly, I would like to extend my thanks to the panel of judges, members from our most loyal and important families, who have traveled from all over Zenaida to help with the judging process of today’s events.
” He pointed to a panel of ancient Veridian masters of their craft.
He took a moment to lead the initiates in a bout of scattered, lackluster applause before addressing them directly.
“You have trained for this, you are all competent, wonderful incramancers. Try your best, and you will do Holyvere Academy—and me—proud.”
Nods all around, and a few scattered “Yes, Scholar Khari.” His answering smile shone bright like the sun, and the initiates basked in its warmth. If any of the scholars’ pupils were going to be on their best behavior, it would be his; he was universally loved. “First round, everyone ready?”
None of them were truly ready.
Audra certainly wasn’t, but nobody would admit to being unprepared, and thus, the trial began.
The sleeves of Scholar Khari’s coat rippled as he raised his hand high and cast an incra.
There was a whoosh of the breeze, the smell of snow and algae from the lake in Green Barrow—no … kelp from the sea in Salt Hollow …
And then, cast in darkness, Audra found herself alone.
She whipped her head around, breathing hard. Wilder, Lottie, and Cersha were gone, along with the rest of the initiates. Even the clamoring crowd was gone, as though sucked away in a dream.
Where was the stage? Beneath her were black sands, similar to those of Renwick’s training field—but these granules were coarser, sharper.
She took a hesitant step, and the sand bit painfully into the soft centers of the soles of her feet.
Mist take her, she was barefoot—and wearing nothing but a sleeping shift, which did nothing to protect her from the harsh winds so strong they pulled her braids from her ribbon, whipped them around her face.
For one disoriented moment, she thought she’d fallen asleep, that she was in the temple, but no … she was not asleep. This was not a dream.
This was the trial, and it was nothing like they’d expected.
She felt around and, bless, her charcoal stick was still in her pocket—which was unusual, because since when did shifts have pockets?
She crossed her arms over her breasts, trying to stay warm. Useless; her flesh erupted with goose bumps. She took another hesitant step forward, her teeth beginning to chatter.
Another tentative step; gods, this sand was painful.
She longed for the calluses she’d had as a wild child, running barefoot anytime the ground was bare of snow.
When was the last time she’d even stepped foot outside without wool socks and boots? She was paying for it now.
The sand shifted beneath her, and she splayed out her arms for balance as she picked her way forward—there was no telling which direction she wandered; all around her was darkness.
There was no moon in the sky to light her way, no lamps.
The darkness resembled fog—despite having no source of light, she could see her immediate vicinity, but anything more than ten feet away was lost to this shroud.
She began to worry as loneliness seeped into her like a poison, threatening to drown her. The longer Audra walked, the more she couldn’t suppress the worries that something had gone wrong—that she wasn’t truly in the trial, but instead she’d been transported to some other dimension—the wrong place.
That right now, everyone else was still on the Rosen Holyvere Amphitheater stage, performing incras at Khari’s command, and only she’d disappeared—been snatched, stolen.
Forgotten gods, was this the Veiled Realm?
Had Zhaire done this?
The silence pressed in on her, the swish of blood rushing in her ears a cacophony of sound.
Her breaths came faster, faster, her feet stinging more with every painful step.
Just when she was about to crouch down, maybe lie on her back and rest for a moment, she heard a sound other than her heartbeat, jagged breathing, and pained gasps; she knew that sound, it was as familiar to her—and right now, more comforting—than her own heartbeat.
The sound of the sea.
It came from the right.
She turned, her footsteps picking up pace, despite the painful sand, rocks, and shells.
She walked, unable to tell for how long; minutes, an hour? But finally, she crested a dune and a veil of darkness lifted—she saw the source of the sound.
The sea extended before her, as far as she could see.
This was unlike the beach she was familiar with, small coves along the coast, separated by mountainous cliffs, pocketed with deep caverns and caves. Here, the sand spread wide, mostly flat with lazy dunes. Waves broke against the black sand, glimmering in moonlight, though there was no moon.
She hurried down a dune, slipping and sliding, as the slope was steep, the pebbled sand shifting more than the fine gray sand she was used to at home in Salt Hollow.
Despite her careful efforts, she slipped, falling forward and tumbling down the dune.
She cried out as a sharp, broken sliver of shell sliced into her forearm.
Finally, she landed at the bottom in a heap. She stood on quaking legs and, with a hiss, slowly extracted the shell from her arm. Blood poured onto her white shift, blooming stains appeared, black in the gloaming.
She clamped a hand over the wound and made her way toward the shore.
She gasped as a hint of the sea kissed her feet, the salt stinging a cut. She jumped backward away from the waves, as pins and needles raced up her feet into her ankles.
The water was otherworldly cold. Colder than any body of water should be.
What was the goal here? She had to keep reminding herself that this was a test, a trial. She was supposed to do something—she just didn’t know what. She looked around again: just endless sand and endless ocean. Frustration swelled inside her. Fuck these Veridian fae, fuck this trial.
She slowed her breathing, forcing her rage down—that wouldn’t help her; it would only hinder her ability to triumph.
She took another step backward as the next wave crashed farther up the beach, as though determined to reach her. There was no way she could swim in that water.
Was she supposed to follow the shoreline and find someone? Or an item?
But which way to go? Left or right—neither direction had any landmarks or anything to differentiate it. And behind her, backward, up the steep dune … That way led nowhere, she was sure of it. How long had she walked in the nothingness before she’d heard the sound of the sea?
Something glittered—golden in the ocean. There a moment, gone the next.
She took a hesitant step forward, straining her eyes. Panic swelled as she lost the spot she’d seen it in; shit, where was it?
Yes, there it was again! A glimmer of light, glowing golden, like sunlight trapped beneath the surface.
So, she was supposed to swim in nothing but a shift.