Chapter 8
Chapter eight
The death toll continues to climb throughout the physical trials.
At this point, they no longer announce it over the intercoms. Rather, they just list names on delicate scrolls lined throughout the gloomy stone hallways.
Amber flames from the wall candelabras splash warm colors over the names of the dead.
The only warmth they’ll ever feel again.
This is what they’ve become. A hollow name on a meaningless piece of parchment.
These young men and women with big dreams and hopes of achievement are now just a bunch of useless letters.
Death and tribulations hold our hand each day, beckoning us.
Tempting us.
The trials have become increasingly harder with messier ways to die, and the fact that today is the last couldn’t be more welcome. I’m haunted by the things I’ve seen and endured. I feel like I’ve lived countless lives this week alone.
The dull ache in my knee is just starting to subside, but my shoulders still burn like hell from hanging on the rings in the first trial.
Both of my hands are bandaged from the flesh being torn repeatedly.
The treacherous climb up the rocks on trial two didn’t help matters.
A swift and brutal kick to the jaw from a falling prospect climbing up those same rocks also didn’t make things easier on me.
I wiggle my jaw back and forth.
It still hurts like a bitch.
It would be unfair to forget the gash across my abdomen that the Alkinean bear gave me during our forge through the Forsaken Forest during trial three.
That will be a nice souvenir after this is all said and done.
Alkinean bears are four to five times the size of a normal bear, and they are ferocious. Also, funny enough, very territorial.
They feasted that day.
The professors were kind enough to give us friendly advice before leaving us in the dense trees—don’t die.
That’s it.
That was the lifeline they tossed us.
Not all of us listened.
They also forgot to mention the forest dwellers that live and breathe to kill, or the fact that we would have to make it past them to get to the green base. The base was our ticket out of the forest. We found it and succeeded, or we tried until we didn’t.
Conveniently, it was the same color as every damn tree surrounding us.
This place is more than just an academy.
It’s a damn battlefield.
Had it not been for the dagger that Ambrose gave me, I would have been a morsel for the taking.
The only reason I wasn’t is sheer luck. I ducked and rolled after the first strike of its paw to my stomach and hid in an abandoned burrow.
By some weird stroke of fortune, the burrow was covered in Braxton berries, which I used my dagger to cut open and rub all over myself.
If it wasn’t for the sharp blade, I’d never have been able to penetrate the hard outer shell.
The smell is so repulsive that it even deters bears from eating you.
I hold my arm up to my nose.
I still stink.
Gravel crunches under my boots as I make my way outside to the courtyard where we’ve been instructed to meet. I’ve barely made it a few steps before a pair of hands falls over my eyes.
“Guess who?” a deep voice whispers softly in my ear.
A defeated sigh escapes before I can rein it back in, and disappointment curdles in my stomach. I thought it was Ambrose. I was hoping it was him.
I press my hands over the back of the ones covering my eyes and pull them away. “Don’t you have anything better to do, Finnley?”
He drops his hands to his sides as I turn to face him.
A roguish smile plays across his face, and he looks like he doesn’t, in fact, have anything better to do.
Other than pestering me. “You know better than that. Besides, you’re my partner today,” he states before rubbing the top of my head like an annoying brother might.
I push his hands off the top of my head, my braid now thoroughly messed up.
“What are you talking about?” I ask in a cautious tone, patting my hair down and trying to subdue it into submission.
Today is the last trial. I’ve heard the last is the worst, but I don’t know how they can top the previous ones.
“A leprechaun-looking professor just came by telling us to partner up,” he explains, jerking his chin in the direction of the battlement. “So are you ready, partner?” He emphasizes the ‘P’ in partner extra hard.
I look around the open courtyard. Prospects line the area, chatting among themselves, and it appears they are looking to pair up.
There are so few of us now—maybe forty-five or so from the original one hundred and three.
Quite a few have already teamed up, while others are testing the waters and approaching potential teammates.
A petite girl with elfin features makes eye contact with me, but I quickly glance away. It appears I already have my partner, and I don’t feel like having to turn anyone down. We’ve been through enough.
A few Veils and Noctryns stand off to the side, watching like vultures waiting for a meal.
I notice Makon and Corrine, another of his kind, standing together. Her long, dark hair is piled high on top of her head, and the usual bored expression graces her features. She was the one who opened the gate for us the first night we arrived. She seems as unimpressed with us now as she was then.
Glad to see we’re staying consistent in her eyes.
Makon leans over and whispers something in her ear, and her eyes rise and fall on me. They’re both watching me with an uncomfortable intensity.
My nostrils flare, and I openly stare back at them.
I feel like Makon is always watching. Observing. Almost as if documenting everything for someone else.
Creep.
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” I answer, pulling my gaze away from the dark duo.
I give my full attention to Finnley, my eyes roaming over his pristine uniform and lack of wounds. There isn’t one scratch on him. At least not from what I can see.
“Like what you see?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.
“How do you not have any battle wounds or stains?” I demand in a high-pitched voice, my hands turning him in circles to look for hidden marks.
He’s as polished as he was on the day I met him.
Every curl perfectly in place with not one wrinkle on his issued outfit.
You can hardly tell that the rest of the prospects’ uniforms were once cream-colored, mine included. His is spotless.
“I have plenty,” he corrects, wincing in my grip. “Just not any in places you can see. Unless you want to. Do you want to see, Nori?” he asks, his words filled with amusement and something darker.
I snort.
The hopeful look falls from his face, but I know it’s all a ploy. He has about as much interest in me as I do in him. Somehow, along the way, we fell into a sibling rivalry kind of friendship, and I actually kind of love it.
I drop my hands, releasing him from my inspection, and take a step back.
His upper body leans back, arms extended behind him, stretching. “I don’t know what they have lined up for us today, but if I had to die with anyone by my side, I’m happy it’s you.”
“Aw, Finnley, are you going and getting sentimental on me?” I bat my eyelashes in his direction.
“You know me, just a big ole sap.” He laughs, then rubs a hand down the front of his shirt, smoothing out invisible wrinkles.
But I don’t miss the serious undertone in his voice, his fake laugh not entirely covering it.
Regardless of his joking exterior, right now, he really does mean he’s happy to die at my side if it comes to that.
It might be the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.
I won’t let it come to that, though. We’ve come too far to fail when we’re so freakin close. “We aren’t going to die, Finnley. One day, yes, but that day is not today,” I counter in a confident tone.
Our conversation is cut short when a professor who does indeed look like a little leprechaun walks along the battlement. His beady eyes sweep down over us, and I don’t know how it’s possible, but his small, upturned nose rises even higher in the air.
Another young professor rushes out with a small stool and helps him step up on it.
“Allow me to introduce myself,” the leprechaun-looking one says.
“I am one of the professors here at Kintoira Academy, Professor Lyric, and I will be judge, jury, and arbiter today,” he declares in a pompous tone.
“Any other day, you can find me teaching alchemy to both Veils and Noctryns alike.”
He stands silently as if he’s waiting for applause that never comes.
We all just continue to stare at him, curious and nervous to get to the most important part.
The part where he tells us what we’re facing today.
He fidgets with his sleeve then adjusts the neckline of his professor’s robe, before huffing and finally continuing.
“You have been instructed to pair up. I assume you can all follow simple directions and have done so,” he says while simultaneously wrinkling his nose.
Finnley and I make eye contact before both rolling our eyes.
How bad do I need alchemy classes? If it isn’t mandatory, I’m out.
There must be an even number of prospects left because no one raises their hands or admits they don’t have a partner. If there is someone, I don’t blame them for remaining quiet. I would rather do whatever it is alone than be the object under his scrutiny.
A shuffling sound draws my attention to the right, where Mallory is squeezing between people and making her way toward us.
Her hand is gripped around the wrist of a fellow lieutenant, whose being dragged behind her.
Mayline offers me a weak smile and a shrug as if she had no say in the matter of being pulled our way.
“Glad to see you’re still here,” I admit in a hushed tone.
“Glad to be here,” Mayline responds.
I give Mallory a quick hug before she moves to stand next to Finnley, and our attention is back on Professor Lyric.