Chapter Nine
“Madness. Dark, spiraling madness. I can say no more.”
Cosmo and Myrine had decided Dante and I shouldn’t wait to begin our next Trial.
I’d argued that I needed more time to train, but Myrine had poignantly pointed out that I didn’t even know what I was training for.
She also reminded us we only had four years to complete the Trials, and the later levels would likely take far more preparation, so it was senseless to waste valuable weeks preparing for the second.
When I’d complained to Dante about just how unprepared I felt, he explained the true reason for his family pushing us: they saw no reason to dedicate any more time to our training than was strictly necessary.
They didn’t believe we’d make it.
But their utter lack of faith, their expectation of failure, had become our primary motivation.
Dante and I spoke little, and not about anything outside of the Trials, but we trained constantly.
When everyone else was asleep, we sparred in the yard.
When everyone else took a break, we lifted stones in the garden and tossed them back and forth to build muscle.
We ate as quickly as we could and excused ourselves to our studies.
I’d also memorized the path to Bria’s room in the estate and called upon her far more often than I should have.
But she never complained. I was only learning the basics of reading so far, but Bria had given me passages of the Journal to memorize, and I spent every moment in which I wasn’t actively training repeating the words in my mind, trying to discern some sort of meaning behind them besides the obvious.
Sanctuary was a gift from the Geist, a gift of mercy…
The Trials are a hardship that must be faced, a challenge to prove oneself worthy of the gods…
The miracle of our creation is not for our minds to comprehend, nor is it for us to discern…
I still didn’t believe in the gods. At least, nowhere near as fervently as Bria or Prima, but I could see the comfort they found in their religion, and I admired the people it’d led them to become.
Instead, I was starting to believe something else, though I would never say it aloud to Bria: from where I stood, it appeared as though the Geist of Prima’s time had abandoned us long ago.
I muttered another journal passage like an incantation as Dante and I descended the steps at the familiar eastern gate.
The tunnel for the second Trial wasn’t open yet, though a few pairs lingered nearby, heads bent in conversation about what was to come, practically bouncing on their toes with eagerness. I examined them as we passed.
Most of them seemed to be from the Upper Rings.
All the Lynx candidates dressed in their house color, as they always did.
Those from Avus were more difficult to pinpoint, but the way they held themselves, heads high, eyes forward in concentration, still told me they were from the First Ring.
The House Viper candidates all stood with arms crossed, quiet and brooding.
The chattiest of the group were the Second Ringers.
They seemed the most eager as well. There were a few Third Ringers I didn’t recognize but could identify by the shabby clothing and anxious excitement in their expressions.
There was even a Decker standing beside their Third Ring partner, eyes downcast and pants torn well above the ankle.
I turned toward Dante. Why were so many others taking the Second Trial today too?
Was there something about the timing I didn’t know about?
Was there more to this occasion than Cosmo or Myrine had mentioned when pushing us to compete today?
But Dante, it seemed, wasn’t in any mood to converse.
He left me the moment we descended onto the Deck.
My family gathered near the bottom of the stairs, huddled together and smiling.
“What are you guys doing here?” I asked, surprised. I hadn’t told them we would be attempting the second Trial today.
“We came to support you, of course!” my mother practically squealed. She rushed forward and gathered me in her arms. The familiar aroma of flour and dirt clinging to her brought an odd sense of calm, but I pushed that nostalgic ache aside as we separated.
Most families didn’t come to the Trials. They simply waited at home to hear how it all turned out. The looks I received from the other waiting candidates told me enough about what they thought of a grown woman still relying on the support of her family. Still, it was kind of them to come.
“Well, you and Dahl,” Warren added. He jerked his head toward a couple standing nearby. Cyrus gave me a bright smile as Dahlia separated from him and approached.
“Adrian,” she said curtly. It wasn’t anger in her tone, nor was it sorrow. It was something much worse. Apathy.
“Dahlia,” I replied. I tried to keep my tone light and cheery but looking into those familiar sapphire eyes made it painful. A weight settled onto my chest, making it hard to breathe. “I didn’t know you were competing today.”
She nodded.
“Number four,” she said, even though I knew. Everyone knew.
“How are you—”
“Good luck today, Adrian.” She turned away and strolled back over to Cyrus, whose smile diminished somewhat when he saw her despondent expression.
“You too,” I mumbled.
The two of them shuffled away toward their own tunnel without looking back.
I blinked and pulled myself back into the moment. It was much easier to fake a smile now that Dahlia was gone, but the way my mother stared at me, as if afraid I might shatter at any moment, forced me to make a conscious effort.
“How did you know we were competing today?” I asked.
“I received a letter, hand delivered by a messenger,” my mother answered. “From a woman named Bria?”
I smiled and whispered, “Thank you for coming.”
I meant it.
“When you fail this one,” Warren started, a mocking gleam in his eyes, “you’ll be coming home, right?”
I huffed, semi-amused.
“If Dante’s mom lets me leave in one piece,” I joked back, and he grinned. Despite the gravity of the Trials, it felt good to banter with my brothers like nothing had changed. Even though everything had.
“Adrian.”
I turned to Dante. He was scowling at me, his lips set in a deep frown and a brow raised. Clearly, my allotted family reunion time had expired. He jerked his head to the side, to where the second gate was opening.
Soon, the tunnel would be exposed and there would be nothing stopping us from walking inside and beginning our next Trial.
“That’s my cue,” I gave my family what I hoped was a confident smile, but I wasn’t so certain that my lips weren’t quivering from nerves.
My mother leaned forward and kissed my forehead.
“You can do this, Adrian. We believe in you.”
“Well, most of us,” Warren teased, one last time.
I smacked his chest.
“Adrian,” Dante called again, losing his patience. He stood by the tunnel, toe tapping against the stone. He quirked a brow again, and I sighed.
I’m coming, you grumpy ass, I shot back.
His lips twitched into the barest hint of a smile before he turned on his heels and stalked toward the darkness.
My brothers both slapped my back, and I hurried over. Pairs were already making their way into the tunnel, and as I’d learned during our training, Dante couldn’t stand being anything but first.
The inside of the tunnel for the second Trial was the same as the first. We formed our separate lines, men in one, women in the other, and waited until something moved us forward with no physical effort on our part.
Only this time, we knew what we were shifting toward, and the line wasn’t nearly as long.
It was only a few minutes before I took the last step into that metal transport and shot off to my second Trial.
It deposited me into pitch blackness.
It might have been a room, but it could just as easily have been an open field. I saw no walls or ceiling, no furniture or obstacles. Nothing but an endless void.
Adrian? Dante’s low voice echoed in my head.
I’m here.
Where are we?
I’m not sure. Are you in here? I can’t see you.
“Adrian…”
I froze.
There was another voice. One I’d heard only moments ago. But it wasn’t possible, was it?
“Adrian,” my mother spoke again. I whirled around in the direction I thought the voice was coming from and took a step. “Come to me, Adrian. Come here.”
“Mom?”
“I’m just here, Adrian. Right here. Come.”
I took a step. Then another, moving blindly through the darkness.
“Right this way, darling. Trust me. Just trust me.”
It was her, it sounded like her but…something was wrong. Something was off. Why would my mother be inside the Trial? It didn’t make any sense. She was not only far beyond the age bracket to participate, she’d also never taken the Oath. I stopped moving.
“I’m here, Adrian. Come here.”
I lifted my foot to take another step but again hesitated. A fly, or perhaps a bee, buzzed in my ear, but I waved it away.
“Adrian,” my mother barked. “Come here this instant.”
I didn’t move.
“Now, Adrian,” she commanded.
I bat at the darkness beside my ear again—and frowned.
The voice sounded just like her, the way she called to me, the way she said my name, even the way she snapped when she was angry. But that buzzing, it was an almost imperceptible whine resting just under her tone…
Do you hear them? Dante’s query entered my mind, his tone laced with concern.
But not accompanied by a buzzing…
Adrian?
Yes. I nearly forgot to answer in my confusion. Yes, I can hear them. Well, I hear my mother. Do you hear more?
I hear my mother too, and my grandfather, and…Olympia?
“Adrian, why aren’t you listening?” a different voice spoke from the opposite corner of whatever strange place we stood in, clearly frustrated. I whirled. Maurice.
“Leave her alone, idiot.” Warren. I whirled again.
“Don’t call me an idiot.”
That banter, the brotherly argument, it was so real, so believable. And yet, underlying each of their voices was that faint ringing whine.