Page 8 of Under Restless Skies

“Oh. I didn’t realize you were busy.”

He turns around and walks away.

I almost yell for him to come back, but my pride doesn’t let me. His retreating footsteps echo down the hallway, and I realize, too late, that I missed the opportunity to ask him why he ruined my chances at the Trial. Missed my chance to beg him to let me out of this cell.

Is anyone going to free me? Unprecedented fear twists my gut. Alone again, my thoughts become my greatest torment.

I’m still staring at the place where he disappeared into the dark when the door at the far end of the hallway opens again, and even before I hear any steps, I know it’s him. This time, I’ll make an effort to be nicer, even if he’s goading me. I have to find a way out of here.

He stops in front of the cell, his silhouette stark against the algae’s glow, and tosses two objects through the bars: a roll of bread and a waterskin. I catch the bread before it reaches the floor, then take the waterskin and drink, the water soothing my mouth, lips, throat. The bread is hard, but I eat it all, realizing I was hungrier than I thought. Only then do I notice his eyes on me, as if expecting something. I hold his stare in silence, wondering why he’s here.

Finally, he raises an eyebrow. “No thanks?”

“I shouldn’t be here in the first place.” At least I manage to keep my voice calm.

“Do you want to hear a story?” He sighs, then places a hand in front of him. “Wait, wait. I know you’re going to say no, but it’s not like you have an appointment in the next few hours, so you have time to hear me. It’s worth it.”

“First tell me why the test was rigged.” I didn’t mean to sound confrontational, but I’m not sure I managed it. “Please,” I add, trying to fix it.

He approaches the bars and runs a finger over one of them. “It’s what I’m doing, Mayara, but you’ll have to be patient and listen to my story. This is the first year I had duties at the Foros table, as you clearly noticed. Before me, an officer had that job for some five, six years. I’m not sure. Regardless. The story says that he got drunk once, at the Golden Ale. I mean, he probably got drunk more than once, but we’re focusing on this one time, or it wouldn’t be a story, right?”

I glare at him, annoyed that he’s going in circles and not telling me anything.

He tilts his head. “If you don’t like my story, I’ll stop. Do you want to hear it?”

My hands are balled, and yet I manage a smile. “I’m listening.”

He takes a long, deep breath, as if to waste as much time as possible and annoy me even more. “That night, the officer told his drinking companions that there was no luck involved in the Foros table, that he accepted the applicants who should get in, and rejected the ones who should not.”

A cold shudder racks my body. I recall that they always looked at my file at that table. Always checked a book. Can it really be? It’s the explanation that makes most sense. A knot forms in my chest.

The instructor blinks, and his expression hardens. “What the drunk officer said was obviously a treasonous lie. A day later, he disappeared. Who knows? Perhaps he decided to start a new life elsewhere. Hushed, hushed stories claim he was killed for treason. I wouldn’t vouch for that.”

I’m trying to swallow his words, their echo vibrating in my head. “The Trial’s a lie, then? But why?”

He clicks his tongue, his gaze sharp. “Mayara, you’re focusing on the wrong part of the story.”

“What part should—” My breath pauses as I consider the officer’s possible fate. “You’re threatening me?”

“I just told you a story. If you want to take it as an example, take it. Example of what not to do—except that you already did it. You yelled that a Trial examiner was cheating. What do you think happens now?”

“You’re saying… they could kill me? For treason?” It can’t be true.

“I’m not sure. It was very fast. I covered your mouth before you kept going.” Even in such darkness, I can see his long eyelashes framing his stunning eyes. Right now, they look oddly friendly. Sweet, even. Sincere, perhaps.

Death doesn’t scare me, but death like this, meaningless, without having a chance to live, abandoning my brother, that terrifies me. A cold dread spreads from my stomach through my whole body, but I shove it down.

“You’re bluffing. Trying to scare me.”

He steps away and leans on the wall. “I’m not bluffing.”

I grab the bars. “Why? Why did you do that? Why not let me join the academy?”

“Do I look like I make any decisions?” He points at himself and scoffs.

He could be lying. I recall the Trial, and remember sitting on the stands, getting ready for my turn, under his watchful gaze.

“You were staring at me. From the moment I got to the grounds.”