by Melanie Tays
“How is she?” he asks.
“Like I said, she was really worried when you left. The Enforcers had to make her come to meals, even.” His brow furrows at this revelation. “But I think she’s doing well now,” I assure him. “The last time I saw her, she was helping a new mom and her baby.”
He smiles. “She’s always helping someone,” he muses. “I’ve worried a lot about her. I wish I could see her or talk to her. I didn’t want to leave her, but it’s what my father wanted.”
That surprises me. “I thought your father died,” I say, hoping that isn’t insensitive. “I just remember you and your mom.”
“It was just us, ever since I was a baby. But we both knew that this was what he wanted.”
I’m not sure what to say to that.
He seems to sense the awkwardness and decides to shift the topic, again. “You seem to know a lot about me and my family,” he observes, his eyes betraying amusement.
“Yeah, well, I saw you around,” I say casually. “Like everyone, you know.”
He nods seriously. “Of course, like everyone.”
“But you don’t remember me at all?” I challenge.
He smiles. “Well, I have seen you around. You know—like everyone in the Smoke.”
I sigh. While the thought of that kiss is mortifying, it’s also insulting that it didn’t merit one single spare memory cell.
“Of course,” he adds, placing a hand on mine, “you don’t forget a face that beautiful.”
My breathing hitches and my heart does a little back flip. I savor the feel of his warm hand on mine, not daring to move for fear he’ll take it away. I suppose I can forgive him. He had more important things on his mind that day, like throwing his fate before the mercy of the Council.
I take a few more bites, savoring the flavor, and I can’t help noticing that he seems to appreciate the food just as much as I do. We eat in silence for a few minutes before I finally work up the courage to ask him a vital question. “Eason, can you help me with something?”
He nods. “Sure, what do you want?”
“What do I need to know to pass the Burning? You must know a bit about how to survive it.”
He smirks as though I’ve said something funny. “A bit.”
“So what do I need to know? What’s coming next?”
He considers for a moment. “Did you know that the Wall of Fire and the Burning were not part of the original design for The City?”
I shrug, not sure what this has to do with getting me through the Burning successfully, but I humor him anyway. “Yeah, sure. The Wall of Fire went up eighteen years ago. Anyone who wanted to live in the Flame had to earn their position by undergoing the Burning. Those who didn’t want to risk it had to live in the Smoke.”
He nods. “Did you know that not all of the Council members agreed with the Burning?”
“No, I didn’t know that,” I admit. “But it doesn’t seem to matter much now, does it?”
“It might matter more than you think.”
I wait for him to expound, to tell me how this is supposed to help me, but when he speaks, he has switched topics once again. “Did you know that the architect who designed the Safe Domes never actually made it to the shelter that they offered?”
Again, I don’t know why this matters, but it is interesting. It’s not something that we learned about in school in the Smoke, but maybe it’s common knowledge here in the Flame.
“No, I didn’t know that. What happened?”
“No one’s really sure. With each version of the barrier field, he made enhancements. Ours was one of the last—number ten out of twelve, to be exact. Some people think he was going to build another one. Some people think he contracted the Withers, and so he couldn’t be admitted into a Safe Dome.”
“So he’s dead?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Look, Eason, this is fascinating, but I don’t see how this helps either of us make it through this round of the Burning, unless you’re planning on joining the architect as a Roamer or a corpse,” I complain.
He smirks and rolls his eyes. “Fine, you want to know the secret to passing the Burning?”
I nod eagerly.
He leans forward and motions for me to do the same. “Meet me at breakfast tomorrow, and I’ll tell you.”
Chapter 10
When Petra comes to clean the room in the morning, she finds me sitting in front of the mirror, angrily attacking the knots in my hair with a brush.
“Stop that!” she commands. “You’re going to rip your hair out, or break the brush. How did you manage to make such a mess of things?”
She holds out her hand for the brush, and I relinquish it to her superior capability. The rhythmic stroking of my hair is soothing, and somehow she works out all the knots without pulling my hair.
“I guess I tossed a lot during the night. I had nightmares.” All night, the Burning, Terrance Enberg, and Whyle’s lifeless corpse took turns inflicting their own forms of torture on my unconscious mind.
“That’s understandable,” she consoles.
I close my eyes and relax as she begins to style my hair into something not just presentable, but stunning. I smile, anticipating seeing Eason again.
“What’s the hardest part of the Burning?” I ask. Any information I can get about what’s coming can only help me survive.
“For me, it was definitely the Bronze Trial. I was never the best at my studies, even though I tried hard enough. Things just don’t really seem to stick. But I managed to squeak through, apparently.”
She launches into a long story about a book that she had to read in her last year of school. “I swear I read that thing ten times over and I still couldn’t pass the test. I guess that’s the one good thing about being assigned as a maid—no tests.” She pauses, and her brow furrows as though she’s considering something unpleasant. “It really is a shame that you decided to come here right when you did. I’ve never seen a round of the Burning with so many eliminations. In my round, there were only six people who didn’t make it all the way through and receive an assignment. I guess I’m lucky. And of course, usually no one is sent to the Ash until after the Refinement—which is the ceremony where the results are revealed and those who pass receive an assignment. No matter how badly you do on any one trial, you usually get four chances to prove yourself.”
“In the four trials?”
“Exactly. I’ve never seen an elimination trial before.”
“But why is this round different? I don’t really understand what’s going on.”
“There are supposed to be two Burn Masters to help all the contestants and oversee all the trials. Keya can’t do everything on her own,” Petra explains.
“But what happened to the other Burn Master?”
Petra’s hands freeze in my hair, and I wonder what I’ve said wrong. Am I not supposed to ask about this? “I have to go,” she says, dropping the brush into my lap. My hair is lopsided, with the right half done up in beautiful curls and the left hanging limply like a drowned rat.
“What do you mean?” I ask in disbelief. “What about my hair? I can’t go around looking like this, and I can’t do anything with it on my own.”
She holds up her right wrist; her intercuff is now glowing yellow.
“What does that even mean?” I demand.
She picks up the basket she entered with and rushes for the door, despite the fact that she hasn’t done a single thing to clean the room since she entered. “Yellow is a warning. It means you’ve broken a rule. I’ve been in this room too long, neglecting my other work. I have to go.”
“Wait,” I beg.
She pauses, and the light of the band shifts to orange. Her body tenses for a moment, her brow contracts, and she groans.
“Did that hurt?”
She nods, gritting her teeth. “Yellow is just a warning. If you don’t obey the warning, pain starts with orange.”
Hastily, she exits the room.
/>
I scramble to my feet and follow her out into the hallway. A few people are walking by and give me strange sidelong glances, probably owing to my barefoot, bedraggled state. I ignore them and run to catch Petra before she enters the next room.
Her band has stopped glowing, but she doesn’t seem eager to upset it again.
“How many colors are there?”
“Yellow, orange, red, and then blue.”
“What happens when it turns blue?”
“It’ll knock you unconscious after a few seconds,” she says.
“The pain is that intense?” I ask in shock.
She nods once, her eyes hollow like ghosts, and I can’t help but think that she has experienced this before.
***
“Nice hair,” Eason comments, and I honestly can’t tell if he’s admiring or mocking me.
Back home, I would just leave my hair down in natural auburn waves that hung halfway down my back, or pull it into a bun to keep it safe from machinery, depending on where I was working. But Petra was right yesterday about needing to do something with my hair in order to fit in. Every girl has elaborate, beautiful, and sometimes eccentric hairstyles. After I lost my hairdresser this morning, I had to do the best I could on my own. I managed to twist it up on top of my head and pin it in place, which hides the fact that only half of my hair is curled.
“Thanks,” I mutter back. “You don’t look so bad yourself,” I add, and it’s true. He has adapted well to the Flame and their perfectly manicured styles in the years he’s spent here. “So what do I need to know?” I ask in a hushed tone, getting straight to the crux of the matter.
“The most important thing to remember is that none of this is about you—what you know, what you can do.” He leans in and keeps his voice low. “It’s all about the system. All the Council really cares about is preserving the system indefinitely.”
I don’t really understand how that’s supposed to help me with anything, but I try to remember it all the same. “But what do I need to do?” I press. “Can’t you give me something more specific?”
He spears a bite of an orange fruit and waves his fork at me, shaking his head. “Not now. Just eat your food.” Disappointment must be evident on my face, because he adds in a gentle tone, “It’s all going to be fine, Emery. Just trust me.”
I want to trust him, but I don’t know how with so much at stake. Ultimately I’m at his mercy here, so I agree to be patient. As I eat my food—which is distractingly amazing—I notice that all the other contestants sit in groups of four or five, and they all seem to be sitting as far from us as possible. Many of them sneak furtive glances our way.
“Do they really hate us so much just because we’re from the Smoke?”
Eason rolls his eyes. “It’s not you, trust me,” he says, twisting his mouth into an ironic half-smile that reminds me why I had an insane crush on him for so many years. Who would have thought that the first real conversation I would ever have with him would be on this side of the Wall of Fire?
“What makes you think they like me any better than you?” I counter.
“Well, how many riots have you caused this week?”
It takes me a second to realize what he’s talking about. “You mean the other night, when all those people were in a frenzy down in the streets, that all had something to do with you?”
He stands and reaches his hand out to me. “Let’s go for a walk.”
I let him help me up, and his grasp is warm and steady. He leads me from the room, and I feel like I can breathe better, free of all the oppressive gazes and malevolent stares. We scan our bands at the door and exit into the courtyard.
“Are we allowed to be out here?” I ask.
He taps his intercuff. “It wouldn’t open the door if we weren’t. It’s not like we can go anywhere.”
We follow a paved path that circles a green lawn, and I don’t know if I’ve ever seen anything so vibrant and alive.
We walk in silence for several minutes, passing Enforcers every few yards. A few other contestants start to wander around the grounds as well. He leads me to a wooden bench in one corner, as far from the path and Enforcers as possible.
“So what was the riot all about?” I ask when we’re alone and seated.
“When I joined the Burning, the news spread pretty fast. Some people started to panic.”
“Why? Is it that unheard of for anyone to try for a new assignment?”
“Not really. It happens maybe once a year or so. Usually it’s a maid or a courier who has studied and prepared and believes they can get a better assignment if they try again,” he explains—which actually explains nothing about the people’s panicked reactions.
“I still don’t understand. Why did people care about you rejoining, then?”
“It’s not so much me as my previous assignment that scared them.”
“So what were you?”
“Haven’t you guessed yet?”
And then it clicks…
“The second Burn Master.” It seems so impossible that a boy from the Smoke would be assigned to such an important role that I never even considered it.
He inclines his head, confirming my speculation. “I didn’t anticipate the Iron Trial becoming an elimination trial. That was an unfortunate side effect. I guess people did have reason to be worried.”
My hand flies up to my mouth. “Oh, no! It’s your fault that all of those other contestants had to go to the Ash,” I whisper, horrified.
“I doubt it. Maybe the exact way it worked out was my fault, but remember what I said about the Council. They wouldn’t let go of anyone that they believed The City needs. The same number of people were going to be cut no matter what I did, I’m sure of that much. And with the way that maze kept shifting, they had a lot of control over who made it through and who didn’t. I think they just presented it that way to make me look like the villain here.”
“Would they manipulate it that way?”
He shrugs. “Why wouldn’t they? They can’t leave something that important up to chance.”
If that’s true, that explains one reason why the Burning is so notoriously impossible for people from the Smoke. But then, why did they let me through at the expense of one of my Flame-born opponents?
“Why give up your position, Eason? If the Burning is as controlled by the Council as you say, then it seems like way too big of a risk.”
“It’s what my father wanted,” he states flatly.
“Your father?” I huff in exasperation. “How in the world could you know that if he’s been gone since you were a baby?”
“It is. Trust me,” he says with complete confidence.
“Eason, that doesn’t make any sense. You were safe. You shouldn’t have come back.”
He appraises me for a long moment, seeming to consider what to say next. He opens his mouth to speak, and it occurs to me that I’ve inadvertently allowed the conversation to drift to exactly the topic that Terrance seeks to understand: what Eason’s purpose is in coming back to the Burning. If it were something he was inclined to tell the Council himself, they wouldn’t need me to spy for them. And the only way I can ensure that I won’t betray him is if I have no information to betray him with.
Before he can utter another word, I leap to my feet and start walking away.
“Emery, wait. What’s wrong?” Eason calls after me, racing to my side.
I don’t stop walking. “It’s just that my shoes are bothering me.” It’s completely true, but utterly beside the point. My altered shoes dig into the soles of my feet in awkward places, and I give in to the urge to limp, which makes my excuse to leave extremely convincing.
“You should get new ones.”
“With what credits?” I ask, suddenly annoyed. I start back for the door to the building with Eason trailing behind.
Jessamine is sitting alone on a bench. She smiles and waves as I approach. Then Vander runs right by her, and neither of them acknowledges the other at all
. I wonder if something happened since yesterday to come between the happy couple. I wish Vander would ignore me as well, but as he runs past us, he takes the opportunity to kick dirt in my face. I cough and spit in his direction, but he’s already out of reach.
So much for apologies.
Eason and I don’t speak until we reach the door to my room.
“I’ll see you later,” I say, anxious to hide behind the heavy wooden door. This is all so complicated. I just want to be alone. And I do, in fact, want to take off these blazing shoes.
He looks alarmed, probably sensing that he’s upset me but understandably confused as to how. He reaches for my hand. “Emery, I really am glad that you’re here.”
“Why, Eason? What does it matter to you if I’m here?” I demand, trying to figure him out. I need him, but I can’t imagine why he could possibly need me. As much as it pains me to admit it, even to myself, he would be a lot better off if he had just passed me by in the maze, like everyone else.
He drops my hand and looks away. “It’s just that I’ve been waiting for…”
“For me?” I ask, incredulous.
“Not exactly. But I’m glad it is you.”
We stare at each other for a moment, both trying to read something in the other’s eyes and both coming up blank.
Finally, he backs away, and I shut the door, taking refuge in the solitude of my empty room. I peel off my shoes and sink into the softness of the bed. But my reprieve lasts only a few minutes before my intercuff flashes, and white letters appear on the surface.
Report to the trial room for your Bronze Trial.
I slap my forehead and moan because I didn’t get any more information from Eason about what to expect next, and now it’s too late. And I’m annoyed that he didn’t just tell me when we had a chance at breakfast. After all, he hasn’t just been through the Burning before—he basically was the Burning. If he’s so glad to have me here, then why isn’t he working harder to make sure I can stay?