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I shake my head and scowl-grin at the imaginary image. It’s strangely motivating—exactly what I need to face something intended to thwart my progress.

Footsteps in the corridor have us swinging our heads towards the door. A double line of redcloaks files in. “The complex-medius vitalian examination will begin soon. Follow us.”

I catch Florentius’s eye as we hesitate, uncertain.

Blank faced, the redcloak leader repeats himself. “Follow.”

With each step away from the apothecary, my confidence and determination is churning into nausea.

I have enough herbs in my system to complete a transplantation spell. No matter what unfair conditions they set up, I can prove myself.

We meet a sternly anxious Chiron outside the royal luminarium. He only has eyes for his son.

“Examinees will enter one at a time. Florentius Chiron will remain outside until summoned. Caelus Amuletos, enter first.”

I glance at Florentius; he nods his stoic belief in me, and with that vote I hold my head up and follow Chiron inside.

The inner doors groan shut behind me with a puff of icy air against my back, and redcloaks shift to the side, like curtains opening to reveal a stage. I freeze at the sight. Chiron, as well.

On the throne under the glowing violet oak sits the high duke. His eyes are trained on an aklo writhing on the shiny floor, gasping for mercy. Dozens of nails stick out of the aklo’s body, piercing the most painful acupoints. The duke sends another two flying as we watch.

My stomach lurches wildly and falls through my feet as the nails go through both eyes. The aklo drops, lifeless, into the puddled blood around him.

Redcloaks move in and drag his body away, past us—

I recognise the aklo’s belt, studded with silver, and then his face—once haughty and flirtatious, now... almost unrecognisable. Those eyes that had appreciated the black knight’s form—blinded by nails. Bile climbs up my throat. It takes effort and clenched fists to swallow it down.

The high duke whispers in an aklo’s ear, gesturing to someone on the other side of the violet oak, then beckons us closer until our toes touch the smeared blood. He looks at us, atme, as a pair of redcloaks moves forward to polish the floor. “This is what happens to those I can’t trust.”

The glint in the high duke’s eyes has my stomach tightening again.

“To pass this examination, you must complete a transplantation spell. I have, therefore, designed such a test. Chiron will assess the technical aspects of your performance and determine the final grade. Should you pass, you can continue to work in the royal apothecary as a complex-medius mage. Should you fail...” He lets it hang a few beats, stroking his beard.

I glance at the floor that once again reflects the sparkling oak—as if nothing has happened.

The high duke chuckles. “Don’t worry. I don’t intend to kill you.” He gives a signal, and the aklo reappears from around the violet oak. Behind him—I suck in my breath. Megaera.

My senses are on alert as she rounds to the high duke and turns her gaze on me. There’s no surprise in her eyes, just a deep, dark void.

The pulsing, numb-like pain that comes off her in waves is my fault.

“My akla has helped me design this task. I was after something... special, you see. With her extensive knowledge of your background, she provided me with the solution.”

The blood drains from my face. I feel it, along with my chest, drop out of my feet.

I look at her lifeless expression.

The high duke signals again, and a redcloak drags in—

“Akilah!” I scramble towards her, heart pounding as I scan her bruised body. She looks at me, eyes glimmering before she shakes her head in warning.

“Stand back.” The high duke throws a nail, and she cries out; I move faster until—

“It’ll be her other shoulder next.”

I halt, my vision swimming with red,with the pounding need to help.

Magic escapes me, uncontrolled, earthy. I clench my fists and force it back inside. My fracturing composure is bringing a smile to the high duke’s face, a sickening light to his eyes. “What do you want?”