Eager to get this over with and remove myself from this damn dais, I walk toward him once again, pushing my shoulders back and holding my chin high. When I reach him, I try to keep as much distance between our bodies as possible as I wait for him to somehow let me through.
‘You’re going to wish you never chose Malachite,’ he snarls, seconds before he raises one hand to send a searing burst of fire into the stone. I don’t even have time to flinch away as the heat of the flame licks my skin. He uses his other hand to push me forward with a hard shove.
A yelp is ripped from my throat. My arms rise defensively to cover my face as I anticipate diving headfirst into a stone wall and losing half my teeth. But instead, my body feels like it’s being pulled in several directions before I eventually fall.
The first thing I register is my kneecaps meeting a concrete floor. They land with a sickening thud, shooting sharp pain down my shins. I cry out, my hands only just reaching out in time to stop myself from face planting. The hand that Headmaster Zain sliced open throbs as I put pressure on it.
I bite my tongue against the curse threatening to spill from them. If it weren’t for the chorus of laughs that have me freezing on the spot, I would roll over and lift the thin fabric of my robes to check my knees aren’t already bruised or disfigured.
Instead, I lift my head to find a dozen faces sneering down at me. A handful of them I recognise as the students that were just accepted into Malachite; their grey robes are a stark contrast to the clothing the others have on, a myriad of dark green form-fitting shirts and black trousers.
Quickly – well, as quickly as my aching knees allow – I push myself to my feet.
‘You shouldn’t be in here, Nocthare,’ a deep-skinned girl dressed in green, warns me, light glinting off the silver bars pierced through her eyebrows. She straightens from the red armchair she was propped up against and walks past, not sparing me another glance.
‘She’s no Malachite,’ I hear someone sneer near the back of the room, where a wall of bookshelves stands proudly all the way up to the dark ceiling.
Another person steps forward, pushing his way to the front of the crowd. His nostrils flare as he stalks over, and he makes sure to get himself right up in my face. He’s huge. Tall and imposing, with shoulders so wide his dark green shirt looks like it’s struggling to stretch over them.
He’s terrifying, I realise. His eyes are so dark, I can barely make out the pupil in the centre of them. Somewhere to my left, a fireplace crackles and the sconces on the wall reflect flames into his eyes, which glare at me with murderous intent.
‘Who the fuck do you think you are?’ His giant hands fist the front of my robes, bringing us eye to eye.
My breath gets caught somewhere in my throat.
‘Do you know what your brother did? Do you know the friends he took fromus?’ he spits through gritted teeth, his voice vibrating with barely contained rage.
‘My brother – didn’t doanything,’ I bite back, pushing at his chest in an attempt to put some space between us. It’s fruitless.
That was also the wrong thing to say. Shouts rise around us, people begin to throw insults like the ones I heard back in the Grand Hall, but all I can focus on is the behemoth in front of me, tightening his fists. Using my own robes to cut off my air supply.
‘Fucking liar!’ he screams, shaking me like a ragdoll. My teeth clatter.
‘Get. Off. Me.’ I use my nails to dig into the flesh at his hands, hoping he’ll relent and let go, but it’s as if he doesn’t feel a thing because he only squeezes tighter.
My throat goes dry. My legs start to kick, uselessly; all memories of self-defence Lukas taught me time and time again are being washed away by panic.
I try to reach forward and grab onto his face, but all I manage to do is smear my blood over his shoulder and neck, unable to find purchase.
He’s just so much bigger than me.
‘I’ll kill you,’ he snarls.
I believe him.
He’ll kill me, right now, in front of them all. Because no one is stepping in to help. No one says a thing. My vision starts to blur at the corners of my eyes, my arms feel heavy – in fact, my entire body feels heavy and exhausted.
My arms fall limp at my sides. Everything goes black.
SIX
The first thing I notice when I wake up is how stiff my neck is. It feels as if it’s coiled tightly by rubber bands about to snap at any given moment. The groan I let out is raspy and dry. Stars, my throat feels completely raw.
I pry one eye open at a time, blinking blearily up at the low white ceiling, trying to get my bearings. I look to my left and see a dozen metal-framed beds, stationed side by side along the wall, each with grey linen tucked in tightly.
The air smells clean, sterile.
I cast my eyes down the length of my body to find myself in an identical bed with the grey sheet half strewn across me, as if I kicked it off in my sleep. My brain makes quick sense of my surroundings. I’m in the infirmary.
