Chapter 51 #2
“All acolytes have been instructed that their initiates’ failings are also their own. She is prepared to meet the gods if she must.”
Audra felt faint. This couldn’t be happening.
She looked around, looking for a shred of reason.
Would one of the scholars speak up? The priestesses who were responsible for the acolytes?
Surely, they wouldn’t let one die on their watch?
But the Priestesses hid their feelings behind their gauze coverings and the scholars remained silent.
“Acolyte, drink the vial,” commanded the Archmagistra.
“Twyla, give me that vial, right now. Do not listen to her. I will not be able to save you; you will die if you drink that,” pleaded Audra.
The acolyte looked at the Archmagistra, her eyes wide, full of fear and confusion, before looking to the head priestess. The head priestess nodded to the acolyte as though telling her to trust the Archmagistra, to do as she was told.
“Twyla, do not drink that. Hand it to me now,” Audra ordered the girl, fear raw in her voice. She reached out toward her opinante, determined to wrestle the damned vial from her if need be, but Twyla was quick, and she moved too fast.
Audra stumbled and fell.
The grit of frozen earth bit into her knees, and her shallow breaths came in pained pants, misting the air—small, carefree clouds. Hot tears stung the backs of her eyes as she tore her gaze from a terrified-looking Twyla.
“This is outrageous; no one else’s punishments were a matter of life or death!” Audra cried out.
The corner of the Archmagistra’s lips curled in a smirk, an odd, fervent look in her eyes. “Yes, but you are special, Audra, aren’t you?”
Real, raw fear seeped into her bones.
She made to stand, to reach for the vial once more, when Scholar Khari broke away from the crowd, for a moment, one wild moment, hope flared within Audra.
Khari was going to raise his voice, put a stop to this madness—he was her scholar, he knew her, studied with her, he knew her limitations better than anyone.
And she’d seen it—he’d saved her father, he had a kind, curious heart.
He would not let Twyla die for no reason—but then, he scribbled an incra in the air, and suddenly, Audra’s timepiece expanded on her wrist, pulling it backward before wrapping like a serpent around her other wrist, cinching tight, so damned tight, wrenching her arms and shoulders back and her wrists bound together behind her back.
But then she remembered, he may have shown some care back at the inn, he might have taught with kindness and passion—but he had aided in the abduction of hundreds of humans from their home, he’d not prevented any initiates from dying in the trial he proctored, and he’d also stood aside while Margaryte had been shot through the skull with an arrow—her only crime being labeled as “weak.”
“No, no.” Audra struggled, but pain flared as the binding only tightened around her wrists. She felt the metal band slice into her flesh, felt the warm swell of her blood, the irritation as a trail trickled down her wrist to drip onto the frozen earth.
Audra stilled but raised her voice.
“Why are you all so quiet? Why are you all just standing there?” She shouted at the crowd, her voice carried on the wind, coiled with the ivy, before bouncing off the brick to echo throughout the courtyard.
Still, not one soul moved. Faces coalesced into a myriad stream of colors and textures, yet all with homogeneous features twisted with shock, fear, and terror.
Scholar Khari smiled. “You can do this, Audra; you simply have to be pushed to realize your true greatness.”
Audra began to cry as she wrestled once more with the timepiece, ignoring the searing pain, but as it had been since the first moment Twyla had placed it on her wrist, she was utterly incapable of removing it.
“Please, Khari, don’t do this,” Audra whimpered. “Help me, Khari.”
“Help you? Who do you think turned you in?” Syleste’s voice was laden with triumph.
It hadn’t been Noel blabbing about the visitors at the tavern then; it had been Khari.
Betrayal enveloped Audra like a tonic, and she stilled. This was inevitable; this had always been her destiny.
Each ragged breath she pulled in felt like an eternity.
“You’ll save me, right, Audra?” Twyla whispered.
Audra glanced up, meeting her opinante’s eyes. She shook her head. “I can’t, Twyla, I can’t.”
But there may be someone who could. Zhaire, maybe he could—
Twyla gave a slight nod, her eyes fluttering closed; the only proof that she’d been holding back tears was the crystalline frost that formed on the edges of her lashes.
Twyla gave Audra a wavery, kind smile. Then, the acolyte closed her eyes, whispering a prayer as she raised the vial up in front of her and yanked the cork from the bottle.
“Twyla, no, no, no,” Audra heaved through sobs, now, tears tracking down her face to freeze in rivulets.
But the girl did not heed her pleas, her begging. She finished her silent prayer and pressed the bottle to her lips, then tipped it back.
The moment she swallowed the last drop, Khari drew another incra in the air, and the timepiece stretched once more, and Audra pulled her wrists free. She lunged forward, grabbing Twyla who’d slumped to the frozen ground in a heap.
“Please, please, please,” she cried, looking around frantically while she tried to shake Twyla, whose veins in her throat were turning a horrific black color.
It took Audra too long to realize she was searching the crowd for Cersha—Cersha, who was a healer, Cersha, who would save Twyla—
But Cersha was dead.
Finally, she spied a clump of Echinacea students in the audience. “Please,” she begged. “You can heal her, please.”
Jenella stepped forward, her face twisted in agony. She began to raise a charcoal pencil in the air when a priestess clamped a taloned hand around her arm and placed a dagger to the woman’s throat.
Audra recognized her as the priestess who came to the inn all those weeks ago. “If anyone moves to help the acolyte, it will be your life that is forfeited; this is Audra’s task.”
“You’re all mad! This is a child you’re dooming to death, this is madness,” Audra sobbed, pulling Twyla to her and cradling her. She couldn’t do this; any way that she tried to heal her … it would be for naught.
But there was nothing for it.
She had to try.
All the healing incras she’d memorized but never mastered flashed through her mind.
She plucked a quill from her satchel, where it had dropped to the ground, and began to trace on Twyla’s hand.
The young girl was so cold already, so cold, but the moment Audra completed the incra, it flared blue and then black before, quicker than the potion, it began to leach the life from Twyla, starting at her hand now, snaking up her arm.
Gasps rang up, whispers.
She’d feared this would happen. She’d tried … tried to prevent it. She’d tried to weasel her way out of this, the pit in her stomach growing, knowing that this would be it—her secret would escape her grasp, no matter how tightly she clung to it.
“Please, no,” she keened, “I told you I—”