3. The Thirteenth Count #3
From her place in line, Fern watched the testing begin. An ornate brass thurible had emerged from the pedestal, releasing thick red smoke that caught the light of the wardcandles. She strained to see what happened when each person stepped forward.
The first participant, a man probably in his forties, judging by the lines etched across his weathered face, approached Cassius Blackwell.
His shoulders shook with nerves, but Cassius just smiled and reached for his hand.
With the flick of the heir’s wrist, he procured a thin blade and sliced into the man’s palm.
“Now hold your palm over the thurible and let the blood drip down to the base,” Cassius said.
Dread and hope churned together in the crowd as the man slowly dripped blood from his closed fist into the thurible.
They all feared the Count yet still hungered for the elevation it promised.
Ten long seconds passed, and blight climbed up the man’s hand, stopping before reaching his wrist. The smoke remained red.
Cassius clapped the man on his back. “I’m sorry. No change.”
The man nodded, trying to hide his disappointment as he walked toward the viewing area, wrapping his palm with the thin linen strip Cassius had handed him.
After a while, Fern grew impatient. At least a hundred people had given their blood and now stood with the others, watching the rest of the participants while hundreds more waited their turn.
The woman who stood before Cassius now looked confident.
A smirk danced across her lips as if she knew what the outcome would be.
Perhaps she does.
She jutted her hand out. Cassius sliced. A single drop of blood fell from her palm into the thurible, and not a second later, the smoke turned brilliant blue.
The crowd erupted. Cheers, applause, and shocked gasps filled the square as the woman raised her fist in triumph.
“Everyone,” Cassius began with a million-crown grin, “I give you the newest Stemblood!” He leaned down and whispered in her ear. Her lips moved in response, and then he straightened, voice booming. “Thea!”
Thea practically glowed as she moved to join the viewers, and Cassius turned his attention back to the remaining participants.
As the line shortened, Fern’s nerves intensified. Only a dozen people stood between her and the thurible now, and she could feel her heart hammering against her ribs. It seemed larger up close, its red smoke curling ominously.
Her mother squeezed her hand one last time before going up herself. “Remember everything we’ve taught you,” she whispered. “And no matter what happens, we’re proud of you.”
She watched her mother make her way to the viewing area—no elevation for her. Her father pressed a kiss on her forehead before assuming his position in front of Cassius. A moment later, no change to the smoke, and her father moved from the dais.
Then, Cassius was looking directly at her, cobalt eyes, nearly identical to his father’s, met hers as he gestured her forward. “Your turn,” he said simply.
Fern swallowed thickly, carefully making her way across the dais. She looked into the silent crowd, spotting her parents. Her mother gave a slight nod. I’m ready.
“Don’t be scared,” Cassius said, commanding her attention. “This will be over before you know it.” He cradled her hand in his, the blade hovering just over her palm. “You’ll be fine.”
She nodded, trying to control her breathing.
“Ready?” He gave her a reassuring smile, and once she was good to go, he sliced into her skin.
It didn’t hurt as much as she was expecting—a slight sting, nothing more. And after seeing hundreds of other participants go before her, she knew exactly what to do.
It’s now or never, Fern.
With her fist held tight, she brought it over the thurible.
One drop, two drops, down into the thurible.
A bead of sweat rolled down her temple, her gaze never leaving the smoke even though she desperately wanted to find her parents.
After what felt like an eternity, the red smoke slowly rolled into white.
The crowd murmured—elevation was rare enough.
But then white smoke tinged with blue streamed from the thurible, writhing and curling high into the air.
Gasps turned into stunned silence before a rush of chatter burst from within the crowd.
“Why is it white? I’ve never seen white before!” someone shouted.
“That isn’t possible,” another voice snapped. “The smoke is only ever red or blue!”
“The thurible’s faulty!”
“Why would it be faulty?” someone else barked back. “It’s been used for generations!”
The murmurs sharpened into unease. The excitement that had followed Thea’s elevation curdled into something brittle and uncertain.
Fern’s skin prickled. This wasn’t a celebration. She scanned the crowd, finding her parents’ faces pale and stricken.
It was wrong.
Fern turned to Cassius, who looked just as shaken. Their eyes met across a wash of white-blue light; his breath hitched, and then he frowned—concern? She couldn’t tell.
High Blackwell pushed past Fern and Cassius, facing the crowd.
“SILENCE!” he bellowed, and the crowd shrank back, mute.
“In light of our most recent elevation, it appears we’ve forgotten ourselves.
” He motioned to the guards whose runic swords now gleamed at the ready.
“Laws exist for a reason. Should they be broken, I will not hesitate to exact swift and proper judgment.”
Cassius flinched, moving toward the crowd as if to intervene before stopping himself.
High Blackwell’s hand landed on Fern’s shoulder—heavy, possessive. She stiffened. “What’s your name, dear?”
“I—” Fern turned toward him, still reeling.
“Your name?”
“Fern Grovekeeper,” her father answered from behind her.
“Right then.” High Blackwell clasped his hands behind his back and stood as straight as a rod. “Ms. Grovekeeper… I suggest you return home quickly. We’ll be in touch.”