“I’d like to think that the cursed supplicant died last night.” Her tone becomes wistful, almost dreamy. “And the rest of our time here can actually be enjoyed.”
A snap of Etherlight tickles the back of my neck. I sit straighter and fight a shiver.
“All supplicants are to report to the central atrium for the next test,” an inquisitor announces through the copper box.
For a breath, none of us move. We all stare at one another and then at nothing. They aren’t even going to wait a full day between the rooftop horror and the next test. Not even going to give any of us a proper meal first. Which must mean they think the cursed is still among us.
“Thanks again for getting us food.” Saipha stands, breaking my momentary panic.
“Isola did the hard work. I merely helped,” Lucan says, mentioning nothing of how I almost got us caught.
“We all played our part,” I say firmly. “We’re all surviving together.”
“Or not at all,” Saipha murmurs under her breath as she steps out the door.
Lucan and I share a look, but neither of us respond. Her being so defeatist is even jarring to him. Not even the honeycomb could get her back to her usual self. Hopefully after this test she’ll feel a bit more at ease.
We make our way down the stairs, trudging alongside the other supplicants. Their gaunt cheeks and dragging of feet fill me with a pang of regret for not telling them about the larder last night or running to do it first thing this morning. But there’s been such little time. An unnatural chill fills the air, fueled by their listless expressions. Lucan slides into step beside me, his warmth helping ward away the uneasy cold. He doesn’t even look my way as he does it, though, like he just knew.
It’s only about a minute after the last of us gather in the central atrium that the vicar appears. He moves through the inquisitors and supplicants, ascending to his balcony.
I wonder if he sees us as the husks we are now. If he does, nothing in his expression suggests as much. A slight smile quirks his lips, nearly impossible to see from where we stand. The glint in his eyes is almost sinister. He looks so satisfied to the casual observer. As though delighted by our pain.
I’m no casual observer.
A shiver rakes down my spine.He’s upset. I know it as well as I would if he were my father.
“Supplicants, you have done well to make it this far in your Tribunal. It bodes well for each of you to have reached this point, as we are now more than halfway through, and you are that much closer to being full citizens of Vinguard.” He gripsthe railing, leaning forward. “Every moment of this Tribunal is a test—a test to ensure that a dragon cursed does not draw breath within the walls of Vinguard. To know you may live without the fear of one day transforming and mindlessly killing all those you love. In fact, you will become the last bastion against the scourge and the dragons. Even those of you who will not enter Mercy will be part of the brigade—the family, the fortification, the people in arms that is Vinguard.
“And I know the journey to get there is hard. But remember,there is Valor in sacrifice. What you are enduring here is a noble pain.”
The manner in which the vicar speaks is almost like food for hungry stomachs. The supplicants stand a little taller, their eyes a little brighter, even though they still lack sustenance.
I have a different reaction. I feel the Ether surging violently through me at the vicar’s words. But I remain completely still.
They will do things to you in there…horrible things that should never be forgiven, and they’ll tell you it’s normal. Don’t let them win. Mum’s words come back to me yet again.
They starved us, then offered honeyed words in place of food. They have made us fearful, while presenting themselves as the only form of protection. They have shown us horror but have wrapped it in noble ideals so we don’t dare question why we were forced to endure it to begin with.
My hands are relaxed at my sides and heartbeat steady as I stare up at the vicar. I am just like one of the Tribunal’s dichotomies: looking the part of a dutiful supplicant, but filled with a quiet, brutal rage.
“Even though you might not often see me, I assure you, I am here with you, for all of you. I fight your fight, and I feel your pain.” The vicar sweeps his hand across the crowd.
“He has never known the pain of hunger,” Lucan mutters under his breath with an absolute gut-wrenching amount ofloathing.
“We are one, in Vinguard,” the vicar continues. “We are united by our fight and by our connection with the Font. And today, as your second test of the Tribunal, that is precisely where you will go.”
42
“What?” I breathe.
“We’re going to the Font?” Someone else steals the question from my lips.
“That’s… We can’t…” Lucan barely manages to say the words through his slack jaw.
“Aren’t only those who are gilded permitted access?” Saipha looks at both of us, even though she’s just as familiar with Vinguard’s laws as we are.
“That’s just to the springs before it. To the Font itself is usually restricted to just the vicar, high curates, and a few others the vicar handpicks.” Lucan squints his eyes, as if trying to see what the vicar is planning.
