Page 96 of Salem’s Rise

Is he fucking kidding me?

But then I remember who I’m dealing with—the king of cruel, heartless bastards. Of course, to him, the most amazing night of my entire life hadn’t meant anything. Partners before. Nothing else.

He watches me carefully, and I force a smile that feels more like baring my teeth.

“Don’t worry, Blackhollow. We’re cool,” I say. “It was just sex. I’d never make the mistake of confusing it with… whatever emotions normal people have.”

The muscles in his neck tense.

“I never said you did. You’ve made your position perfectly clear.”

I fold my arms tighter against the cold. “I’m glad we understand each other.”

Something shutters behind his eyes.

“We do.”

There it is. The confirmation I’d been expecting all week.

I swallow around the sudden ache in my throat and say the only thing I can think of to make the hurt go away. For him to know he hasn’t gotten to me.

“I’d never be able to have real feelings for someone like you anyway,” I add, making my voice as cold as I can, as cold as his is.

Silas goes completely still.

“No,” he says. “I wouldn’t imagine you would.”

Our eyes break apart at the same moment, and the distance between us suddenly feels much wider than the few feet separating us.

The conversation dies around us as a lone figure emerges through the drifting snow, his long black coat snapping in the wind. He makes his way to the end of the pier and turns to face us. My breath catches.

It’s Professor Nightwing.

My professor from Foundations of New England Institutions. The man who lectures three times a week at nine in the morning about Salem’s Fall’s history.

He surveys the gathered competitors with the same controlled demeanor he brings to the classroom, as though this deadly trial is no different from one of his lectures. “Good evening,” he says, his voice carrying over the harbor. “Welcome to your Third Trial. I assume most of you have already recognized the inspiration for tonight’s competition.”

He gestures to the far end of the pier, revealing five structures built over the harbor. At first, they resemble construction scaffolds abandoned halfway through repair: thick timber platforms braced with iron, heavy chains dangling from crossbeams, iron winches bolted into the planks. Then I see the chairs.

Each one hangs several feet above the water.

They are crude, high-backed things reinforced with iron bands, fitted with restraints at the wrists, ankles, and chest. Beside each chair, a thin cord disappears into the harbor, its other end attached to a brass bell mounted above the corresponding winch.

My stomach turns.

“Hundreds of years ago, those accused of witchcraft were often subjected to trial by water,” Professor Nightwing continues. “The logic was elegant in its ruthlessness. If the accused floated, they were a witch and were killed. If they sank, they were innocent—and were killed.” He lets out a dry laugh. “Tonight’s trial preserves the central essence of that test, with a twist.”

A nervous murmur moves through the contestants as he explains the rules. Everyone will pick a partner. There will be two rounds. In the first, one member of each pair will be submerged underwater in the chair while the other acts as a witness and controls the mechanism to bring them back up. The submerged partner controls the warning bell. When they have reached their limit underwater, they may use the bell to ask to be brought to the surface. Then the roles are reversed.

Every second beneath the surface earns one point. The trial stops when only one contestant remains underwater. They’ll be brought back up, and the final times recorded. The pair with the highest combined score will win. If both partners survive, an additional survival bonus will be applied. Entering the water for any reason, unless you are seated in a chair, forfeits the round.

“So the person on land decides whether the extra points are worth the risk of keeping their partner down longer?” Lena asks.

“Precisely,” he says.

Wren’s voice trembles. “And if they wait too long?”

Professor Nightwing doesn’t so much as blink. “Then their partner drowns.”