by Melanie Tays
Fifteen names are ranked on the board from highest to lowest. There’s no indication of how we actually did on the test, only how we did in comparison to one another. I scan with a single focus and find my name on the ninth row—a safe and unassuming middle score. I wonder where I would have fallen if Terrance didn’t want something from me.
Menacing glares are flung my way from all directions. Even Jessamine looks angry. I guess there was no harm in being nice to me when it appeared I didn’t have a chance. Anyone who bothers to spare a glance for me now appears livid, all except Eason, who looks openly impressed. My face burns in embarrassment. I’m the only person who can ever know that I deserve neither the malice nor the admiration this score has earned me.
I scan the list for names I recognize, which is less than half of them. It doesn’t even make me uncomfortable that I can’t match most of the names to the faces around me. Why would I want to make friends or get close to any of them? And how will it help me to know whether, for example, Gaven is the tall guy with spiky black hair, the stalky boy with freckles, or the olive-skinned guy who’s always got his arm around a girl, but rarely the same one twice? Blazes, Gaven might even be a girl’s name for all I know, and I can’t see how that would matter either, so I don’t waste my time or energy worrying about names. If someone’s important, I’ll figure it out soon enough.
Jasper—the boy who was with Vander in the maze—comes in first. I guess what he lacks in spine and moral character he makes up for in brains. Jessamine is in fourth, Ty sixth, and Gaven—whoever that is—ranks tenth, just above Vander. With some selfish satisfaction I see that the pinched-nosed girl, whose name I have actually learned is Mieka, is ranked fourteenth.
And Eason is dead last.
I turn to him in horror, but he doesn’t look concerned.
“What happened?” I demand. “How is that possible?” There’s no indication of what ranking is required to pass. Does this mean that everyone passed? Surely Eason—the prior Burning contestant and former Burn Master—could not have failed.
My pleas for an explanation are drawing unwanted attention, and he takes my hand and leads me away from the throng, not stopping until we reach the empty hallway.
“Eason, tell me what just happened,” I cry. The thought of him in the Ash is too terrifying to consider. “Tell me that’s a mistake. It can’t be right.”
He places both hands on my cheeks, holding my face and forcing me to look at him, to focus. The blue current of his penetrating gaze calms me. “It’s okay, Emery,” he says in a soothing cadence, and he is so calm that I can’t help but believe him.
“But what does this mean?” I ask, mollified. “Did everyone pass?”
“There’s really no way to know for sure how the Council will consider your performance until the Refinement,” he says. “There’s no exact standard of pass or fail, even though we all talk about it that way.”
“But you did the worst of everyone?” I confirm, still confused.
“Yes,” he says, still unconcerned.
“And you’re okay with that?”
“Yes,” he replies, a hint of triumph in his tone that scares me.
Chapter 13
In the morning, dark circles betray the unslept state of my eyes. Terrance and the Council are right to suspect that Eason has a motive of his own for being here. I’m worried that whatever game he’s playing, whatever he thinks he might accomplish, is going to end with him in the Ash. That thought is as painful and terrifying as imagining myself there.
I face a terrible paradox. Somehow I must protect him. But how can I protect him when I don’t know what he’s doing? And I must not know, because the only way to ensure that I cannot betray him is if I have nothing to betray him with.
Dazed, I sit in front of the mirror waiting for Petra to come and make me look Flame-worthy, but when she comes in, she’s all business and gets right to making the bed with little more than a hasty, “Good morning,” mumbled in my direction. She doesn’t even ask for an explanation of the pillows and blankets piled in the corner of the room.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” I say. “I need a friendly face. I thought someone was going to poison me last night after they saw that I didn’t totally fail the Bronze Trial.”
“Your score was impressive,” she agrees—to which I cringe for having deceived her with the altered score, whose only real purpose is to allow me to continue to be Terrance’s pawn.
“Can you help me with my hair again? We can do something quicker today,” I assure her.
She’s already gathered up yesterday’s laundry and the recycle bin.
I wonder if she’s mad at me, too, but she looks genuinely regretful when she says, “Not today, Emery. Sorry. I just really have to focus on my work.” And with that, she’s gone just moments after she arrived.
I wonder if it’s just the intercuff she fears, or if she’s gotten into any more trouble for how much time she spent helping me over the last few days. I really hope not.
I stare at the mirror and try to figure out what to do. I’ve never cared so much about how I look, and I know it’s not Keya or the Council that I care about impressing. I manage a decent enough braid and decide that will have to do for today. Then, on a whim, I pull out the tube of lipstick and do my best to apply it the same way Petra did. The first attempt leaves me looking like I’ve sustained some sort of gruesome injury in the general area of my mouth. Annoyed, I wipe it off on the inside of my sleeve and make one more attempt. This time, I’m very careful and deliberate to keep the color only on my lips. The result would make Petra proud—or at least, I don’t think she would grimace. I briefly consider trying out some of the other colors for my eyes and cheeks, but decide against it.
When I exit my room, I’m pleasantly surprised to find Eason waiting for me, casually leaning against the wall. He takes my hand, and we make our way to the dining hall. It’s odd that I’ve only been here a few days and already I feel my life settling into a pattern that almost feels comfortable—meals with Eason, carefully crafted conversation, walks around the grounds. If it weren’t for the constant trials and threat of the Ash that hangs over my head and keeps reasserting itself, I might feel almost happy here.
At breakfast, I sit with Eason in what has become our regular spot, but I do my best to keep him talking about inconsequential things that veer well clear of any dangerous subjects.
“What did you say this is called again?” I ask, spearing a slice of purple fruit and devouring it with delight.
“A plum.”
“Where do they grow all the food?” I wonder. “I don’t think it’s in the Smoke.”
“Come on, I’ll show you,” he offers, standing.
I get to my feet and follow him. As we walk, he takes my hand. I can’t help but notice Keya’s gaze following Eason from afar, and I get the distinct impression that her disappointment in his recent course of action is not merely professional.
“Eason,” I begin as we exit into the courtyard, “were you and Keya ever…something?” I ask sheepishly, not sure how to phrase my question, and not sure that I want the answer.
“Would that matter?” he asks playfully.
A knot forms in my gut, and I hate that it does matter to me. The thought of Keya and Eason standing together on the upper-level and presiding over the Burning, stealing kisses in the corridors, and laughing over dinner together is nauseating.
He leads me to a small glass building around the far side of the yard, an area that I haven’t been to before.
“She’s very pretty,” I observe, trying to sound detached.
“Very,” he says, nodding in agreement.
“So, how long were you two together?”
“Two years,” he says casually.
Involuntarily I turn to him, eyes wide. “Two years!” I exclaim, hating the agitation that seeps into my voice despite my attempts at nonchalance.
“Yes, we worked together as Burn Masters ever since I passed the Burning two ye
ars ago,” he says innocently, but he’s suppressing a smirk.
I groan at his not-so-funny joke and give his shoulder a playful nudge, but a part of me wants to smack that smug smile off his face. He’s torturing me just for fun.
“I can tell she likes you,” I say. “I see the way she watches you.”
We pause outside the door to whatever this place is that he’s brought me.
“Maybe,” he admits. “Keya is great, but there’s never been anything romantic between the two of us. But I will tell you, Keya is one of the good guys. Don’t forget that, in case it’s ever important.”
I have no idea what I’m supposed to do with that information, but as long as there has never and will never be anything between the two of them, I’m happy.
He opens the glass door to the small building. I start to walk past him, but he puts his arm across the door frame, forcing me to stop right in front of him.
“You know, you’re cute when you’re jealous,” he says, clearly enjoying this.
I scowl at that and push past him through the doorway. “I’m not jealous,” I insist, but his laugh informs me that I’m not as convincing as I hoped.
Gazing around the place he has brought me to, I freeze, transfixed, all thoughts of Keya forgotten. The room is small and the walls are made of glass, allowing the warm skylight to filter inside. Rows and rows of plants grow in stacked planter boxes bearing fruits and vegetables in every conceivable color. Vines twist and weave their way up lattices. Along the far wall, trees no taller than my shoulders are laden with fruit.
“What is this place?” I stammer in awe.
“The greenhouse,” he says, looking around at the foliage and multicolored fruits with reverence. “This one is just for the Burning Center and the Justice Building. There are twelve of them in the Flame.”
“Are we allowed to be in here?” I ask, suddenly worried. I’m not going to destroy my chances to pass the Burning and save Whyle just so I can appease my curiosity.
“Sure,” he says with a shrug. “It would be locked if we weren’t. And don’t forget these.” He holds up his wrist to display his intercuff. “It’s pretty clear here when you’ve broken a rule. Food isn’t rationed so strictly in the Flame. That’s one of the main perks.”
I relax and inhale deeply. The air is sweet, and there is a tangible feeling of something so vibrant and energizing here, as though the plants exhale the very essence of life itself. “I’ve never seen anything like this before.”
There’s so much food, and yet it doesn’t seem like nearly enough in this one room as small as my bedroom back home.
“There are just twelve of these greenhouses?” I ask. “How fast does the food grow? It doesn’t seem like that would be enough food for everyone in the Flame.”
“It’s not just the Flame,” Eason explains. “Even the meal rations for the Smoke are based on the components of live-grown food. There are some recycled components, but not the bulk of it.”
“How is there enough for everyone, then?”
He lets the question hang in the air, offering no explanations or suggestions. After a few moments, he plucks a long, thin, red fruit from one of the plants and offers it to me. “Want to try something new?”
“Definitely,” I say, reaching for it eagerly.
He pulls it away with a mischievous smile. “I warn you, this is not like anything you’ve tried.”
Now I’m incredibly curious. Everything I have tried so far has been incredible—and all of it is like nothing I tried before the Burning.
He relinquishes it into my outstretched hand. The surface is smooth, almost like plastic. I pull it up to my lips and open wide, anticipating what new taste I’m about to experience.
He holds up his hand. “Just a little bite.”
I take just a nibble, and its flavor is slightly bitter, but still good in its own way. Eason’s watching me, expectant. I’m about to take a second taste when something changes.
“How did they turn fire into a food?” I demand, my burning tongue hanging out as I fan it, but the cool air does nothing to quench the pain.
Eason laughs. “It’s called a pepper, and it just feels like its burning. It won’t harm you, I promise. I did warn you that it’s not like anything you’ve tried before.”
“How do I make it stop?” I complain. I would expect this kind of treatment from Mieka or even Vander, but not Eason.
“Here, bite this.” He plucks a yellow fruit from one of the tiny trees, removes a section of the outer peel, and hands it to me.
Eagerly, I sink my teeth in and tear off a big chunk of the juicy fruit. But instead of the delicious sweetness I’ve come to expect of such things, sour erupts in my mouth, so intense that it involuntarily contracts all the muscles of my face.
“What are you doing to me?” I cry.
“That’s a lemon. Very sour, but what do you notice about the burning sensation?”
I swallow, and as the sour clears, the pain recedes as well. “It’s better,” I admit in astonishment.
“Emery,” he says, suddenly intense, “sometimes we think the worst thing imaginable is the lemon, and we’ll do anything we can to avoid the sour. But sour won’t hurt us, and it can wipe out the fire.”
He’s trying to tell me something important. I don’t know what it is, and I just want him to stop. This greenhouse must be monitored. Terrance is probably watching us right now, analyzing every word we’re saying.
I want to tell Eason to stop, to warn him that the Chief Enforcer is watching him, but doing so would seal my own fate and ensure Whyle’s death. So instead, I take a careful step to my left and knock over a bucket filled with small, green pellets. “Oh, I’m sorry. I guess I’m a little clumsy in new shoes.” I bend down and start cleaning up the mess.
Eason works alongside me. Close to the ground, hidden behind walls of plants, he looks like he’s about to say something else, so I crawl away from him under the guise of looking for stray pellets.
Finally, the bucket is refilled. We stand and brush soil from our knees.
“I need to go and change before Keya sees me like this,” I say.
He nods, looking a little deflated. “That’s probably a good idea,” he agrees. “The Silver Trial will start before long. I’ll see you there.”
As I retreat to my room, I wonder if I’ll ever have a conversation with Eason that doesn’t end with me making excuses and awkwardly running away.
Chapter 14
The third ring, representing the Silver Trial, is now ablaze above our heads. Once the final ring is lit and the Gold Trial complete, it will be time for the Refinement—the ceremony in which judgment is passed and our fate irrevocably decided.
This trial is different than the last two. We’ve all been brought into the trial room, which has been transformed again. Half of the room has been partitioned off with a thick curtain, behind which I can’t even imagine what awaits me or what could require these flimsy gowns that we’ve all been forced to wear. The guys especially look ridiculous, but the gowns aren’t flattering on anyone. I steal a glance at Eason across the room and amend my assessment—he looks good in anything, apparently.
The contestants are being called back behind the curtain three at a time, and the rest of us sit in chairs that have been set up in rows. We’ve been assigned seats, and Eason and I are separated by eight other contestants. I wish I had asked him what to expect, but I’d been too distracted with fire fruit and trying to save Eason from his own need to tell me things he shouldn’t.
I find it odd that there’s an extra chair, but then I realize that there are only fourteen of us present—one contestant is missing. Even though I don’t really know most of them, it doesn’t take me too long to ascertain the absence of the only contestant with ember-red hair and know that it is Ty who has failed to show up. He was a little unstable from the very first morning here. I wonder if he’s starting to crack under the pressure and decided to skip this trial. I can’t imagine
that would be allowed. Certainly, it would seal his fate in the Ash. Or maybe he made other arrangements for this trial somehow. Everyone here has some kind of connection that I lack.
Even though we haven’t been instructed to remain quiet, a heavy feeling settles over the group, and no one says much as we wait.
Jessamine is part of the first group called back. She’s joined by Gaven—who it turns out is a boy, the one with freckles—and a girl named Winter. I recognize her as one of Mieka’s friends, which is an automatic strike against her in my book.
When I realize that the seating arrangement is also our testing groups, I groan. I’m seated next to a mousy girl named Ashlyn, who I have no problem with, and Vander, who I just can’t seem to escape no matter how hard I try.
“This is the easiest one,” Vander says, leaning over so he can keep his voice low.
“Huh?”
“You look worried, but the Silver Trial is the easiest one. I mean, not necessarily the easiest to pass, but you don’t really have to do much.”
I have no idea what he’s talking about, but then our names are called and I figure that I’m about to find out.
The previous three contestants don’t return to the group, so I hope that when my turn for whatever this is comes to an end, I’ll be allowed to go back to my room. We make our way behind the curtain and find Doctor Hollen waiting for us.
“Take a seat,” he instructs, gesturing to the three metal exam tables behind him.
Ashlyn claims the closest one, Vander the next, and I climb on the farthest one. My gown does little to protect me from the cold, which slithers its tentacles up my spine and around my limbs.
Vander’s words make sense now. This trial is not a test of our ability, but a test of our health and vitality. I feel vulnerable and exposed. It’s bad enough that Vander is here, but I also can’t ignore the appraising gazes of the people looking down from the upper level, and I wonder with trepidation just exactly how thorough this exam is going to be.
The doctor is efficient as he draws blood from each of us in turn, collecting it in tiny, clear tubes.