Page 83 of Salem’s Rise

Silas steps beside me, one hand settling at the small of my back as his attention shifts to Van’s partner. “Perhaps you’re the one who needs to be careful,” he says, his expression going lethally still. “I’d watch your footing from here on out. It would be unfortunate if the next person who went over the edge was you.”

I know it shouldn’t matter and I can’t trust anything Silas says, but his threatening words make me feel strangely invincible.

As soon as the next gust passes, we move, slipping past Van and his partner to take the lead. From there, Silas and I move almost instinctively together, pausing and shifting in unison, trusting each other without discussion. By the time we reach the ruined tower, it feels like we’ve been doing this together for years.

I look up, my heartbeat quickening at the sight of what comes next. The tower—the final obstacle—looms above us. Its remains are little more than a column of stone fitted with iron pegs and the rotting frame of an exterior ladder. At the top, the eastern signal lantern hangs from a pulley system connected to a counterweight below.

“You hold the line. I’ll climb,” Silas says.

“I’m lighter.”

“So you keep saying. I’m starting to feel insecure,” he says, his mouth quirking.

“It’s okay. I trust you,” I say, already reaching for the first iron peg. “You won’t let me fall.”

Something shifts in his expression.

“No. I won’t.”

Minutes later, I haul myself onto the platform, hook the lantern into place, and strike the match. Silas pulls from below, sending the lantern rising above the ruined tower just as the first sunlight breaks over the trees. The entire ridge turns gold as bells sound from the trailhead, every bell along Witch’s Ladder ringing at once.

The trial is concluded after we all descend and gather at the base. Only ten contestants remain, but I’m relieved to see Wren and Lena among them.

“The winners are Silas Blackhollow and… Jacqueline Mercer,” Van’s uncle announces, his attention settling on me with obvious displeasure. “They reached the platform first and successfully raised the eastern lantern while demonstrating the hidden qualities of Air: clarity, perception, and adaptation. Leadership requires knowing when another person sees more clearly than you do.”

Silas looks at me. Our eyes meet, and warmth flutters through my stomach. There is none of his usual coldness in his face. No calculation I can identify. Only pride and camaraderie. I cannot deny that something has changed between us.

The thought should comfort me.

It terrifies me instead.

Though we may be partners now and he may appear to be helping me, I cannot forget what Silas is capable of. He is still a monster. If I lose sight of that, I might start believing he is safe.

Josh trusted him once too.

And Josh is gone.

December 1 (21 Days Until Dark Solstice)

Snow finally comes to Salem’s Fall on the first day of December. As I step outside my dorm, large, slow flakes drift through the dark, catching in the bare branches and whitening the shoulders of the stone gargoyles above Wintermere Hall. It’s the kind of snowfall people write holiday songs about.

The buildings of Salem’s Fall University glow beneath strands of white lights wrapped around columns and archways. Evergreen wreaths hang from nearly every door. Somewhere across the lawn, someone plays a Christmas carol on a guitar while a group of women sings along. A snowball narrowly misses a frat guy carrying a six-pack from the market. He promptly abandons the beer on a bench and tackles the culprit into a snowdrift.

I stand beneath the awning and watch them in envy. Normal people celebrating a normal winter. What must it be like to be them? How would it feel not to worry that each new day might be your last?

I can barely remember what normal feels like anymore. Thanksgiving came and went without me going home because I just couldn’t fake everything being okay and eat microwaveable turkey and stuffing with Mom while wondering what life-endangering trial was up next. I’d fed her some vague story about a big research project and an impossible professor that required me to remain on campus. She’d believed me because she wanted to, or perhaps because I’ve become distressingly good at lying.

I still don’t know when the next trial will come, but at least I know it won’t be tonight. This evening is the Winter Solstice Gala, a fundraiser for the Blackhollow Foundation and the fellowship program Lucien funds—the same one that brought Josh here. According to the website, the money raised tonight supports exceptional students and researchers from around the world, giving bright young minds the opportunity to continue their work at Salem’s Fall University. Naturally, there’s no mention that at least some of them are probably selected because the Veil believes they might be valuable.

Silas insisted I attend the gala with him.

Not as his date—a point he made sure to clarify multiple times—but because as The Rites playing field narrows, contestants have a tendency to eliminate one another outside the trials. Though this is forbidden under Veil law, that only means people do it discreetly rather than not at all. Silas claims being seen with him will discourage opportunists and make it clear I am under Blackhollow protection.

At least it gives me an excuse to wear a gorgeous dress.

I glance down at my emerald velvet gown, lifting the edge of my coat enough to see the rich color catching the early evening light. The neckline is elegant without being modest, the waist fitted, the skirt falling in a clean line to the floor. The color is nearly identical to my eyes.

I spent an irresponsible amount of money on it, but facing death on a weekly basis has altered my understanding of fiscal restraint. When there is a reasonable chance you may be murdered before the credit card bill arrives, extravagance begins to look less like irresponsibility.