Chapter 38
“Number eight was Pryce,” Keryth said, clearly unaware that I was sitting at the Refectory table behind her, shielded from view by a large potted fern. “That’s really all there is to it.”
“But he cheated,” Lennox insisted softly, punctuated by the sound of him sipping from his teacup.
“We all know who made that torch, and she would never have given it to him. Amber Fallbrook wouldn’t spit in the mouth of a man dying of thirst, especially if that meant she would die of thirst, and if that man were Pryce Wishart, she would pour his mouth full of sand instead. ”
I scowled into my own tea. I would not let a man die of thirst, if I could possibly help him. Though I did wish upon Pryce Wishart the biggest metaphorical mouthful of sand one could imagine.
“To rebut, I have two points,” Keryth said. “First, Amber saved Yoslyn during the Black Trial—”
“She had a reason for doing that,” Lennox insisted. “She needs Yos for something related to her research, or she wanted to show off the fact that her elixir, while slow to produce, was by far the most effective.”
A sick feeling churned in my stomach. Had I shown no kind sentiment to my classmates before I’d lost my memory?
“And second…” Keryth continued, her tone combative in a way it often was to defend her opinions in class. “There were no rules for the White Trial, so it is not possible for Pryce to have broken any.”
“But he went back into the water after he came out, and—”
“He didn’t go in,” Keryth snapped. “Wilder stole his breathing mask and shoved him in.”
“Which is not breaking any rules, according to your own logic,” Lennox concluded, somewhat smugly. “And my point is that Pryce was still in the water when Amber came out, making her the eighth victor.”
“The seventh,” Keryth said. “According to your logic, Wilder would have been eighth, since he reemerged after her. And I’m not sure even that is accurate, because Amber did not emerge from her own efforts. Not exclusively.”
“Neither did Pryce,” Lennox insisted. “He used Amber’s torch.”
“Well then, I suppose your point stands,” Keryth conceded, and I grinned into my porridge.
“Ultimately, Pryce was tenth out of the water, after Raelah, and whether or not we take into consideration that he stole Amber’s torch, both making use of her efforts and robbing her of them, as tenth, he should be eliminated from the competition. ”
“Indeed.” Lennox sounded very pleased with himself. “And yet, a week has passed with no announcement.”
A great frustration to the entire Mastery cohort.
“That’s not about the victors,” Keryth whispered, lowering her voice until I could hardly hear it above my own slow chewing.
“It’s about the breathable water. Cressa says the Bluehelm has put great pressure on the staff and faculty to figure out how that was accomplished and who did it.
They expected one of us to take credit, but obviously no one has. ”
“I truly thought Pryce would,” Lennox mumbled.
I snorted, then froze, afraid I’d been overheard until Keryth replied.
“There is no way Pryce Wishart is capable of—”
“Agreed.” Lennox huffed. “But he is capable of lying about it.”
“He may not be brilliant, but he isn’t a fool, either,” Keryth insisted. “Anyone who takes credit will be expected to prove the skill, and when he can’t, he’d be expelled for lying.”
“So…who do you think did it?” Lennox asked, and I found myself leaning backward, into the plant, so I could hear better.
“I have no idea,” Keryth admitted. “No one in our class has that kind of aptitude.”
“Not even Wilder?”
“Not even Amber, back before her fall from grace.”
I bristled at the label. I’d been struck with amnesia. How was that disgraceful?
“So then…?” Lennox left the unspoken question dangling.
“A professor, maybe? Or a researcher? It had to have been a staff member. My father says there have always been conscientious objectors to the trials. To letting students die to prove their worth.” She hesitated, and I could practically see her shrugging.
“Maybe someone decided to do something about it.”
I stood so suddenly I nearly knocked over my teacup.
Maybe she was right.
Maybe Wilder wasn’t the only Gregory brother who’d tried to help me.…
I was halfway across the quadrangle when I spotted Wilder heading directly for the Conservatory, absentmindedly weaving the handle of his blade through the fingers of his right hand, and my pulse spiked so hard that the world swam before my eyes for one swollen instant.
He was looking for me.
There was no other reason he’d go into the Conservatory, considering that he and Desmond were hardly on speaking terms.
Mastery-year classes had been suspended for the past week, ostensibly to give students ample time to recover from the White Trial, but the truth, I suspected, was more in line with Keryth and Lennox’s supposition: Our professors were trying to understand what had happened in the arena and which students should move forward.
That was no doubt also why we had not been given the expected draught of memory drain; one could not claim credit for what one could not remember.
Instead, we’d been sternly instructed not to reveal details about the White Trial and to spend missed class time working on our personal research and studying for exams. I’d spent much of that time in the Seminary library, sharing a table with Wilder and Yoslyn, all three of us avoiding several pressing topics, while I seemed capable of privately contemplating little else.
Which is to say that Wilder and I had not discussed our second kiss, just like we’d never fully discussed the first. Just like we’d never truly discussed the nature of our relationship before I’d lost my memory.
And the last thing I wanted was for him to rush up to the laboratory looking for me and come face-to-face with his brother instead.
So, as he stepped into the Conservatory atrium, I raced across the lawn, mumbling apologies to students I brushed abruptly past, then I stormed up the front steps, rushed across the Alchemary creed in its triangle on the floor, and headed up the steps.
I was prevented from running up the first flight of stairs by two researchers who were on their way down, embroiled in a debate about the ethical uses of a temperament-enhancing elixir, so by the time I got to Desmond’s office suite, the door was already swinging shut.
I pulled it open, but Wilder had already crossed the outer office and entered Desmond’s private laboratory space. The door stood ajar, and I could see Wilder’s elbow and the satchel he carried under one arm.
I should have said something. But his words stopped me cold.
“You know, you still owe me for the last dose.”
Surprised, I lurched to the right, out of sight from the door, as the familiar soft creak of leather told me he was opening his satchel. Vials clattered together, then clinked distinctively as they were set on a hard surface.
“I apologize. I was running short on several things last time. Amber goes through quite a bit of my inventory. But it’s all there.”
I heard more clinking, along with the rustle of fabric and another soft creak of leather, and I understood, suddenly, that Desmond was paying Wilder in supplies for whatever elixir he’d provided. Whatever it was that he snuck into his office to take, at least once a week.
“How long do you anticipate needing my services?” Wilder’s voice was thick with arrogant amusement.
“Only as long as it takes me to replicate your formula for myself.” Desmond didn’t sound the least bit shamed by his admission.
“Naturally,” Wilder said. “And have you had any luck?”
Desmond exhaled heavily. “Panacea is not my area of expertise, and I will admit that your mind and mine do not tread the same scientific pathways. But I am confident in my own abilities. I will eventually unlock the functionality of your elixir, even if I wind up using a slightly different recipe.”
“Best of luck.” The door creaked open an inch, and with a jolt of panic, I scooted even farther away, glancing around for some place to hide in the empty foyer. But Wilder didn’t emerge. “Was it you?”
“Was what me?” Desmond asked.
“The water. In the arena. Did you make it breathable? And as a brief follow-up query, how did you do that?”
“It wasn’t me,” Desmond said, and I found myself easing closer to the door again, drawn by something in the almost unnaturally tranquil tone of his answer.
I’d come to recognize that tone and to understand what it meant: He was telling the truth, yet leaving something else—something relevant—unsaid.
“There’s no one else who has the skill for such a thing who also had a reason to demonstrate that skill, in that manner, at that time.”
Desmond huffed. “So, you believe you’ve sorted it all out.”
“You were trying to protect her.” Wilder sounded tense and insistent, each word tightly wound and ready to explode. “That’s why you didn’t jump in. You didn’t go save her because you knew she wouldn’t drown in that water.”
“I didn’t go save her because she didn’t need saving.”
“I thought she was going to die—”
“But she didn’t die. She made it to the center of that maze on her own, and she deserved the chance to emerge without anyone else interfering. You jumped in and created the appearance that she couldn’t do it on her own.”
My heart thumped so hard my sternum felt bruised.
“Everyone knows she can do it, Des,” Wilder insisted. “That’s never been in question. She’s at an unfair disadvantage because of her memory, but she’s the best alchemist in our cohort, and it would be unfair for her to flunk out just because she’s temporarily lost some of her previous skill set.”