Daughter of Moth (The Moth Saga, Book 4) (9 page)

Madori lifted the wishbone,
holding one side. The iron was rough and cold in her palm. Lari
grabbed the other side, then suddenly yanked the wishbone toward her,
tugging Madori forward in her seat, forcing her to lean across the
table. Madori found herself only inches away from Lari; the two's
noses nearly touched.

"You're going home soon,
half-breed," Lari said, all the sweetness gone from her voice.
There was nothing but malice in her eyes now.

Madori sneered, clutching the
wishbone. "Tell me, my lady, when you inform your father you've
failed the trials, will you cry?"

"Next time I see my
father," Lari said, "I'll tell him how I made a little
mongrel child burst into tears. I think he'll enjoy that story."

Professor Yovan was still
speaking from the podium. "Four hundred of you are holding onto
two hundred wishbones. You may not rise from your seat. You may not
kick, punch, bite, or do anything but sit neatly, holding the iron.
Whoever drops his or her wishbone first shall return home. Whoever
remains holding the wishbone . . . will become a student at Teel
University."

Madori blinked. Was that it?
That was all she had to do? Hold onto the wishbone? She tilted her
head. That seemed too easy. Were there no puzzles here, no questions,
no challenges at all?

"Get ready to scream,
little one." Lari smiled wickedly. She leaned forward in her
seat, her fist tight around her side of the wishbone. "I'll
enjoy hearing it."

"I bet you'll scream when
you fail," Madori said. "I bet—"

She bit down on her words,
frowning. The wishbone was tingling in her hand—a strange, tickling
heat like a thousand tiny jabs.

Lari gave a mocking pout.
"What's wrong, mongrel? Does your widdle hand huwt?"

Her hand
did
hurt. The tingling intensified, becoming a prickly heat. Madori ached
to drop the wishbone but only gritted her teeth and tightened her
grip. When she looked around the chamber, she saw other applicants
wince, curse, and one girl even yelped.

"My hand feels fine,"
Madori said, returning her eyes to Lari. "You look a little
pale, though."

Madori was lying; her hand did
not feel fine, not at all. It was as far from fine as wine from
poison. The pain intensified, almost intolerable, and Madori took
deep, ragged breaths. She tightened her grip. The iron began to
crackle, and little sparks like lightning raced across it.

At the table beside Madori, a
boy yelped and dropped his half of the wishbone. His opponent whooped
in triumph, the wishbone glowing in his hand. He raised the metal
instrument like a trophy. At another table, a girl burst into the
tears and dropped her wishbone; her opponent laughed, her admittance
to Teel won.

Madori returned her eyes to Lari
and glared. Lari stared back, a single bead of sweat upon her brow,
the only sign of any pain she might be feeling. Madori's hand was
trembling now around the wishbone. The pain blazed, racing up her arm
to her shoulder. Her very teeth buzzed and shook in her jaw. Years
ago, Madori had read a book about the charred victim of a lightning
strike; she imagined that this felt similar. Her hair crackled, her
hackles rose, and goosebumps appeared upon her arm. Her very clothes
seemed to burn.

All across the hall, applicants
were crying out and releasing their grips. One by one, failed
applicants trudged dejectedly out of the room while victors stepped
toward Professor Yovan, rubbing their sore hands.

"You look like a dying
rat," Lari said, sneering now. More sweat beaded on her brow.
"Will you squeal before the end?"

Madori's entire arm shook as she
clutched the wishbone. She whispered through a clenched jaw, the pain
nearly blinding her. "I won't let go. I—"

The pain burst out, doubling in
intensity. She gasped and nearly dropped the wishbone. She saw the
same look of surprise on Lari's face; the girl's eyes widened,
showing white all around the irises, and she emitted a little cry.
Across the hall, dozens of applicants screamed or whimpered, dropping
wishbones.

Madori gritted her teeth, tears
in her eyes, and held on. Lari sneered like a wild animal, clinging
to her end.

"I won't let go,"
Madori hissed, barely able to speak, barely able to remain conscious.
"I'll hold on even if my hand falls off. I—"

The pain flared again, growing
even stronger, so strong Madori thought her skull could crack and her
jaw could spill her teeth. Lari screamed but clung on. Lightning
crackled along the wishbone and raced up Madori's arm, raising smoke.
Sweat and tears mingled in her eyes. Through the veil, she saw the
last few applicants drop their wishbones.

Only Madori and Lari were now
still competing.

"Give up, mongrel!"
Lari shouted, tears streaming down her cheeks, her face a rabid mask.

The wishbone emitted a whistle
like steam from a kettle. Welts rose along Madori's arm.

"You can do it, Lari!"
Madori shouted. "Hold on longer! I love seeing you suffer."

The other youths all gathered
around them, forming a ring around their table. They were pounding
fists into palms, cheering, chanting.

"Lari, Lari!" most
cried out.

"Let the mongrel burn!"
somebody shouted.

"Hold on, Lari!"
another youth cried. "Hold on and watch her burn!"

Madori was weeping, trembling,
screaming, but she held on. The iron wishbone burned red, trembling
in her grip. The pain was a crashing sea.

A single voice cried out from
the crowd—Tam's voice.

"Madori! Madori!"

A few other voices joined his,
and now some in the crowd were chanting for her. Madori could now see
only smudges, but she thought she saw the Elorians cheering for her.

Her hand slipped.

She nearly dropped the wishbone.

It was too much. Too much pain.
Too much agony. It was lightning, it was fire, but it was also the
pain of her mixed blood, of her childhood, of endless taunts, endless
doubt. It the pain of a girl torn between day and night, and she
wept.

I
have to let go.

Before her, Lari was snarling,
teeth bared, face red.

She
won't let go. I have to. I have to.

She ground her teeth.

No.

She screamed and tightened her
grip.

No.
I will hold on. No matter how much it hurts. Because I know pain. I
was born into pain. What is more agony? Pain has always been my
companion.

Lari was shaking, her hair
standing on her head.

"Enough!" Professor
Yovan shouted. "Girls, enough! Let go!"

But Madori would not. Lari would
not. They clung on and the wishbone burst into fire . . . then
shattered in their grip.

Madori fell back, her chair
flipping over. She slammed down onto her back. She clutched half the
wishbone in her smoking, seared hand. It still crackled in her palm,
driving fire through her. She would not release it.

She blinked.

Did
I win?

She raised her head.

She saw Lari still holding her
own half of the wishbone. The girl struggled to her feet, then came
leaping down onto Madori.

"Feel this pain drive into
your heart," Lari hissed, shoving her half of the wishbone
against Madori's chest.

Pain exploded like thunder.

Madori screamed.

The agony drove through her
chest, coiling around her ribs, wrapping her heart in fire, and she
kicked and thrashed and—

The pain vanished.

I'm
dead.
She trembled.
I
died. The pain is gone and I float now in the afterlife.

"Madori!" The voice
seemed to echo from miles away, from a different world. "Madori,
can you hear me?"

She opened her eyes. Through a
veil of mist, she saw a wrinkled, bearded face gaze down upon her.

Is
this Idar, god of the sun?

She pushed herself onto her
elbows.

"Madori!" A wrinkled
hand touched her cheek. "Child, can you speak?"

It was Professor Yovan, she
realized. When Madori sat up, her legs shaking, she saw the greybeard
holding Lari back with one hand. Both wishbone halves lay on the
floor, the heat and lightning gone.

"What happened?"
Madori whispered. "Did I drop it?"

Professor Yovan wiped tears from
his eyes. "In the name of sanity! I've never seen anything like
this. I had to cast a spell. I had to stop the magic. You two would
have died, my children. Oh dear . . ."

Madori rose to her feet,
trembling. Sweat soaked her clothes, and her hand was blackened and
swollen. When she looked around her, she saw the other applicants
gazing in shocked silence. Tam stood among them, eyes wide and mouth
wide open.

When Madori looked over to Lari,
she found something new in the girl's eyes—not scorn, not pain, but
unadulterated hatred, a rage as pure as the pain of the iron
wishbone. Welts ran up Lari's arm, and her hair stood in a tangled
mess, but she never removed her glare from Madori.

Professor Yovan, shaking his
head in wonder, raised the broken wishbone halves and placed them
back onto the table. He wiped his brow.

"For the first time in Teel
University history," he said, his voice shaking, "we have a
Trial of Will tie. Both Lari Serin and Madori Greenmoat shall attend
Teel!"

The crowd erupted into cheers.

Madori swayed, nearly
collapsing, but managed to grin.

"I passed," she
whispered and rubbed tears from her eyes. "I'm a student of
Teel."

Professor Yovan, still pale and
trembling, opened the doors to the hall. It was like opening a
floodgate. Hundreds of concerned parents spilled into the room,
calling out for their children. Mothers embraced proud young
students. Fathers patted sons on their shoulders. A few flunked
applicants still lingered in the hall; their parents scolded,
embraced, or awkwardly tried to comfort their embarrassed offspring.

When she saw her father, Madori
gave him a shaky smile. Torin's eyes widened and his face paled. He
rushed toward her.

"I passed," she
whispered. "I passed, Papa. I'm a student of Teel."

Torin grabbed her wrist and
examined her burnt hand. Ignoring her words, he spun toward Professor
Yovan.

"What is the meaning of
this?" the gardener said, voice harsh. "What kind of
institution are you running here? I sent my daughter to trials; you
return her to me with a burnt hand?"

Madori winced, feeling her
cheeks flush. Several other students were snickering.

"Father, please!" she
whispered. "You're embarrassing me."

Torin seemed not to hear her. He
grabbed the professor's shoulders, demanding answers. Old Yovan
mumbled something about how he'd never seen anything like this, and
how their wishbone must have been faulty, and how he would send
Madori straight to the infirmary and deliver a honey roasted ham to
Torin's tavern of choice.

A tall figure moved through the
crowd. A smooth, genteel voice interrupted the conversation.

"Ah, and so the humble
gardener, the man who slew so many of his own countrymen, cannot bear
to see a scratch mar the flesh of his little mongrel."

Madori growled, hackles rising.
She looked up to see the man from the road.

"Lord Tirus Serin,"
she muttered.

He turned toward her, raising
both chin and eyebrows, and stared down his nose at her. He had
replaced his armor with a rich, cotton doublet and a jeweled belt. A
samite cloak framed him, the fabric shimmering with golden thread and
gemstones. A Radian amulet hung around his neck, a golden sun
eclipsing a silver moon. His golden hair shone almost as bright,
scented of rose oil.

"We meet again, little
one," the lord said, and something new filled his eyes,
something not only scornful but hungry, lustful. "I hear you've
been accepted into Teel." He reached out, grabbed her wounded
hand, and squeezed so powerfully she winced. "Allow me to
congratulate you. I'm sure my daughter will give you the proper
attention."

Madori tugged her hand free,
glaring at the man. "I'm sure we'll be inseparable."

Lari walked up toward them,
slung her arm around her father, and gave Madori a smile full of
sweetness, innocence, and the promise of vengeance. "I'm sure we
will be, dear cousin . . . I'm sure we will be."

 
 
CHAPTER EIGHT:
TRIAL OF MISFITS

Torin sat in The Dancing Wolf
tavern, staring at his daughter over his gift of a roast ham.

He forced himself to swallow the
bite he had just taken. Professor Yovan's gift—as if any gift could
undo the welts on Madori's hand—tasted like ash.

My
daughter is wounded,
Torin thought.
Radians
rise across the sunlight. My king wants me to leave my home and fight
them. And I'm supposed to feel good about a honeyed ham.

If Madori shared any of his
concerns, she was displaying none of them. The young woman—by Idar,
she had been only a baby last time Torin had checked—was digging
into the meat, trying to speak while chewing lustfully.

"And would you believe
Tam's here?" she said, stuffing another bite into her mouth.
"The boy somehow passed his trials but—" She paused to
swallow. "—but if you ask me, he had to cheat or something,
because he's a bigger woolhead than you. Oh, and—" She gulped
down cider and wiped her mouth. "—and I saw magic! Real magic.
Lots of it. Magical bridges and doors and glowing seats. I'm going
learn to make our chair at home glow." She grinned and bit off a
chunk of ham so large a wolf would choke on it. She spoke as she
chewed. "Would you like a glowing chair for home? I wonder if
it'll work on animals too. Or even people. I could make our rabbits
glow."

Torin said nothing, only sighed.

I
have to break my daughter's heart,
he realized.
I have to
place her in danger or shatter her soul.