Page 113 of Salem’s Rise

“It won’t kill you.”

“How can you possibly know that?”

The faintest trace of Rowan’s familiar smile appears. Cocky. Confident.

“I just do.”

Lucien Blackhollow steps into the clearing then and all conversation dies without anyone needing to be told. Even the forest seems to quiet, the bare branches motionless against the winter sky as he crosses the frozen ground toward the circle of stakes.

He wears the same ceremonial black robe he wore on Veil Night, the heavy fabric sweeping behind him like a shadow. Silver embroidery catches the moonlight along the cuffs and collar. He surveys us one by one, his expression calm, controlled, as if deadly occult games in the middle of the night are a regular occurrence to him.

“Welcome to your fourth and final trial,” he says. “This is the trial of the South. And of fire.” He lets the words settle over us. “Please, come stand opposite your partner.”

For half a second, no one moves. Then Georgina steps forward and takes her place across from Rowan. Her posture is perfect, chin lifted, not a trace of fear visible on her face. Rowan gives her a supportive nod. Lena and Wren step toward one another next. That just leaves Silas and me.

Lucien’s narrowed eyes settle on me in warning, and only then do I walk toward the open space beside Silas, who watches me approach without expression. There is something tense in the way he holds himself, a restraint that tells me something has him worried.

“I won’t partner with you,” I say under my breath, stopping several feet away. “I already told you that.”

“I know.”

His gaze drops for the briefest moment, not to the ground but to the wooden stakes across from us.

“The Veil requires its members to work together—whether they like one another or not,” Lucien says, his voice cutting across the clearing. “Cooperation is not a courtesy within our society. It is a condition of survival.” His gaze travels over the pairs, lingering nowhere and everywhere at once. “Those who act outside the Veil to the detriment of another member are punished severely. We are ruthless to outsiders because we must be. We are not ruthless to one another.”

Lucien turns then, directing his attention toward the icy-eyed blonde woman standing alone at the edge of the group. She notices Lucien looking at her and takes one uncertain step backward.

“When you fail your partner, you fail yourself,” he says. “Without true partnership, we have nothing.”

The blonde woman’s breathing quickens, like a deer caught in the headlights.

“You have nothing.”

Lucien raises a hand, flicking it carelessly in the air. One second, the blonde woman is standing there beneath the moonlight. The next, I only see fire in her place.

Flames tear through her body in a violent orange column, engulfing her clothes, her hair, her face, all at once. Her screams come a fraction later, high and raw enough to cut through me as she flails blindly, clawing at herself as if she can tear the fire away with her bare hands.

Gasps of horror erupt around me, but no one moves to help her. We all instinctively know there is nothing we can do, that this poor woman is already beyond saving. Lena recoils, revulsion twisting her face. Wren covers her mouth. Rowan looks stricken. Even Georgina’s composure slips, though she hides it quickly. Only Silas remains unmoved, his expression cold and unreadable as he watches her burn. There is no shock in his face. No pity, either.

The screaming stops long before the fire does.

When Lucien finally lowers his hand, the flames vanish as abruptly as they appeared, leaving behind a charred, blackened pile of ashes in the snow. The smell reaches us moments later, thick and terrible, the sickening stench of burned hair and scorched flesh.

My stomach turns so violently I taste bile. I gape at Lucien, waiting for some sign that he, too, understands the monstrosity of what he has done.

There is none.

No acknowledgment that a person has just been brutally murdered ten feet from us. Lucien does not even look at what remains of her. It’s as if killing her meant nothing to him. I know her choices cost her partner his life. I know the Veil sees that as unforgivable. But I can’t understand how Lucien can burn someone alive and feel nothing.

And then, of course, there’s the question of how he did it.

Lucien simply raised his hand, and a person caught fire. No match. No spark. My eyes sweep the space where the woman had been standing, looking for some rational explanation—a hidden device, an accelerant, anything—and find only undisturbed snow. Still, there must be something there, something I can’t see. Fire doesn’t just… happen.

“The Veil requires balance,” Lucien continues. “There is a time when partnership is essential, but there is also a time when a partnership must end.” A faint wind moves through the clearing, stirring the hem of his robe. “Tonight’s trial is a solo endeavor. Each contestant will take a stake.”

One by one, we are positioned around the circle.

Silas and I are placed beside each other, close enough that I can hear his breathing but not close enough to touch. Rowan is on my other side, then Georgina, Lena, and Wren completing the ring. Lucien secures chains around our bodies, binding us to our stakes. Cold iron closes around my wrists with a metallic click.