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Willow blinked in the bright lights of the training gym, the atmosphere a stark contrast to the dark candlelit room where Joy had tested her.
“The rules are simple,” Fey continued. She walked across the padded floor and grabbed a folded chair and an hourglass from the equipment closet.
Willow watched, wary, as Fey stalked back toward her, setting up the chair and placing the hourglass down on the metal seat.
“You have one hour. One hour to draw blood. That’s it.”
Willow eyed the hourglass skeptically. “That’s it?” she asked.
Fey nodded. “No rules, no tapping out. You have one hour to make me bleed.” Fey smiled, then—a cruel twisted smile that saw Willow’s brown skin pale. “Or fail.”
Lilith and Joy climbed onto a pair of benches at the side of the room to watch.
Years ago, this had been Alice’s trial. She had been the one standing here, before Fey, giving her the rules. She had been the one to determine if Fey would live or die.
But Fey wouldn’t think about that, not now. Instead, she plucked the heavy wooden hourglass from the chair and turned it over to start the countdown.
“Begin.”
Chapter 6
“Again.”
Fey braced herself for the hit, arms raised to shield her face, feet planted in a defensive stance.
Willow was already dripping sweat, and it gave her skin an ethereal shimmer under the artificial lights of the training room. Fey knew she was pushing the younger Witch too hard, but this was the only way to be sure she could be one of them and make it as their fourth.
Lilith and Joy watched from the benches, their faces betraying nothing. Fey remembered that same masked indifference from her induction into the Queen’s Blades. She hadn’t appreciated back then just how hard it must have been for Joy to sit there, still as a statue, and watch.
“Again,” Fey hissed, and this time Willow complied, gnashing her teeth together and shifting her stance to deliver a solid punch aimed at Fey’s right cheek. Fey blocked it easily with her forearms, and Willow snarled in frustration.
“Again!”
Grain by grain, the sand slipped from the top of the hourglass until barely a few minutes remained. Willow was exhausted, shaking, and barely able to stand, but she kept it up, kept trying to get even one good hit in. Pride might be the only thing keeping her on her feet at this point, but if pride could keep you going when nothing else did, then it could be a powerful weapon in a fight.
Willow had heart. She could fight. And she could wield her power better than any of the other recruits Fey had sparred with before. But that wasn’t enough to be a Blade.
To be a Blade, you had to be merciless.
You had to be a killer.
Willow’s next punch didn’t even land, her fatigue getting the best of her and slowing her down. Fey saw the swing coming a mile away and only had to move a fraction of an inch to avoid it.
“Come on, you worthless little Witch, is that all you’ve got?”
Willow’s face twisted with rage, but Fey only laughed, a harsh mocking sound.
“Tick Tock, little Witch,” she taunted. “Time’s almost up.”
That did it. Fey saw the panic hit Willow as she twisted to check the hourglass. Sure enough, the last few bits of sand were filtering toward the bottom.
A minute left, maybe less.
Fey moved like a snake, striking out hard. She had spent the hour on her back feet, letting Willow tire herself out trying to land one good punch. But they were out of time. Her fist cracked against Willow’s jaw, and the Witch fell to the ground with a scream that was equal parts pain and rage.
“Tick Tock,” Fey repeated. “You better think fast if you want to live.”
Fury filled Willow’s face as she stared up at the Witch above her. The last grains of sand slid down the hourglass curve, racing toward the bottom.
