are we supposed to stay focused when I’m worried to death about the Trials, and my friends are worried about me?
I just wish I knew what the next challenge will be. We’re not told anything about it in advance, and neither are the professors, to ensure nobody can tamper with anything or cheat. If I knew, I could at least narrow down my field of study and preparation.
No such luck though.
When the day arrives, I’m so nervous I can’t even eat breakfast. Asher coaxes me into having some orange juice and an energy bar, but I can’t stomach any more than that. The guys aren’t happy about it, and I hate that I’m worrying them—but I’m such a mess that if I try to eat anything else, I swear I’m just going to puke it all right back up again.
The seven other competitors and I are led out into the cool morning air and brought to the quad. Small risers have been set up around the perimeter of the large space, but I don’t see any structures like there were last time. The quad looks like it always does, the large space crisscrossed with paths and dotted with trees.
I glance around at my fellow contestants, wondering if any of them are as fucking nervous as I am, and it occurs to me belatedly that I don’t even remember all of their names. I’ve been so focused on myself and my struggles with this whole thing, I couldn’t tell you anything about them other than what school they represent.
Actually, I feel kind of bad about that. They arrived a few days ago in preparation for the upcoming challenge, but I’ve barely seen them. Surely as contestants, we should be allowed to mingle and commiserate a bit instead of being kept so separate, right? Isn’t this whole thing supposed to be about promoting inter-school relationships and camaraderie? Maybe the other students who are just here to watch are getting that, but I’m sure not.
Then again, maybe all the other contestants are having sleepovers where they braid each other’s hair and paint each other’s nails and just haven’t invited the girl with Unpredictable magic. Who knows.
“Today,” Dean Hardwick tells us, his voice magically amplified for the crowd’s benefit, “you will be using your magic to assist in a treasure hunt of sorts—the retrieval of an object specifically attuned to you. Linked to your magic.”
Eight assistants walk up, each holding something small. One comes to stand in front of me, and I glimpse a thin silver ring in her palm. She has light red hair, a smattering of freckles, and warm eyes. At least she’s looking at me kindly, not glaring or cringing in fear; I’ve been studiously ignoring the looks some of the visitors from other schools have thrown my way, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t noticed them.
“Once your rings are attuned to you, they will be hidden somewhere inside the quad. You will have one hour to find them using your magic,” the dean continues, gesturing to a large screen set up behind the nearby risers. There’s a countdown timer on it bearing the numbers 60:00. “You can use any means necessary, but you cannot use a finding spell—the rings are enchanted to resist such a spell—and you cannot use a spell that will compel the assistants who hide the rings to tell you where yours is.”
I roll my shoulders, trying to stay loose and relaxed. No big loss, seeing as how I don’t know either of those spells anyway.
“Other than that, you can use any means necessary.” Hardwick claps his hands together, and the assistants all step forward.
The redheaded girl places one hand over my heart, clasping her other hand around the ring.
A warm glow leaks out from between her fingers, and an echoing warmth blooms in my chest.
“It’s attuned to you now,” she tells me as the glow fades. She pulls her hand away from me and uncurls her fist, whispering something to the ring.
The silver band vanishes.
“Good luck!” she says brightly.
“Contestants!” Hardwick announces. “Your time starts now!”
Ah, crap.
I close my eyes, gathering my focus. The ring is linked to my magic, right? That means even if I can’t do a finding spell, my magic should guide me to it—it should be drawn toward the thing it’s connected to.
Concentrating hard, I search internally, feeling around for something like a string tugging at me, or a warmth guiding me like that old “hot and cold” game…
Nothing.
I open my eyes to