We debate on and off for the rest of the day—during our time at the training rooms, where we keep to ourselves, at lunch and dinner, and until night falls and we’re forced to retreat into our respective rooms.
For the first night since we arrived, I have a pillow under my head. An evening when I can just relax.
Or…so I thought.
Right after sunset, the inquisitors come through and take our keys. That test is done, apparently. All I can think of now is that my door is unlocked andanyonecould come right in. My mind likes to torture me with messed-up imaginings of inquisitors from the first night coming in and dragging me back up to the rooftop. I’m sure that’s what they want—that this is just another form of psychological torture designed for the Tribunal to draw out the curse. I wonder if it’s the first taste the other supplicants are really getting of what’s in store for them.
As a result, sleep is restless the first night in my room. Even though it’s just Saipha and me up on the fourth floor, IswearI hear footsteps pacing the hall. Whispered voices just beyond my recognition—so clear that they jolt me fully awake, but faint enough that when I open my eyes wide…I’m not sure if they’re a dream after all. I’m constantly sniffing for the faintest scent of rotting earth that heralds green dragon acid, ears straining for the pop and click of whatever machinations they might be saving to torture us with next.
Eventually, deeper sleep takes me by force, and I make it through the night. But I’m under no delusions that the inquisitors are done with us.
The next morning, I wake up as tired as when I went to bed. But there’s no luxury of late mornings in the Tribunal. The copper box in the hall springs to life, loud even in my room as an inquisitor declares: “All supplicants are to report to the central atrium immediately.”
We all hustle into our uniforms and line up downstairs as instructed. One at a time, the inquisitors pull us aside. Alone.
By the time I’m called, my heart is racing. The supplicants who were already taken have returned a little shaken but not harmed.
Two inquisitors flank me on either side and lead me down a long, narrow hallway at the end of the main hall and into a poorly lit room with a single chair in the center. A tall inquisitor stands to one side with a parchment in hand, and everything else is cast in shadows so dark that they could hide a whole other person.
The questions are few but straightforward.
“Have you experienced any signs of the curse?”
“Have you seen anyone exhibit signs of the curse?”
“Do you swear upon life and Creed to immediately report any who might be cursed?”
No. No. Yes.
I swallow the lump in my throat as the inquisitor holds my gaze, eyes narrowed. But then he turns and motions toward the door. “You may leave.”
As I stand up, I can feel eyes on me from a far corner of the room. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I don’t dare look over my shoulder, but I’m certain it’s the prelate. I just know it.
The heavy metal door echoes as it shuts behind me, and I’m released.
My hands shake as I walk back down the hall. The questioning was too brief, too clean. This wasn’t the test we thought it was. How could it be? I can see the same fear gnawing at the others in the main hall, still waiting their turns. Unease thickens the air, eyes sliding sideways, measuring, mistrusting.
No one is showing any signs of being cursed. I can’t decide if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.
Usually, I’d think it’s good. But knowingsomeoneis cursed and still suspecting that someone is me is agonizing. If itisme, I almost wish the curse would get on with it already. Something I’d never admit aloud.
I pass by Lucan, still waiting to be called, as I head to breakfast. He doesn’t say anything, but his presence is heavy with expectation. His stare questions loudly:Allies?
Heart pounding, I continue walking. I already know what I’m going to say when he finally asks outright again. No matter how many ways Saipha and I sliced it, there’s only one real option that makes sense.
The thought follows me as I step into the refectory, the air thick with the scent of root vegetables and mushrooms. Trays clatter, voices rise and fall, people drift in and out. I meet Saipha’s eyes—she’s already grabbed a table—nod, and grab a tray with a baked potato and skewer of fat mushrooms before settling down next to her.
“How’d it go?” Saipha asks.
“Fine. Honestly, I was expecting more.” The way I say it makes me sound like I’d been hoping for a challenge. When, really, I couldn’t be more grateful that it wasn’t.
“Same.” Saipha probablywasreally hoping for more of a challenge. I study her as I chew on a mushroom. She’s twirling a strand of her short red hair around her index finger and fighting a grin.
I know exactly what that look means. “What is it?”
She glances around, and her voice drops. “As I was leaving the questioning, I overheard one of the inquisitors ask another if everything was ready for the first test tomorrow. I think it’s the first of the big ones the vicar told us about.”
“Tomorrow?Tomorrow’s only day five. It’s too early.” I try to hide my words with eating, keeping very aware of everyone who walks close.
