Page 20 of Trial of the Cursed Egg

There’s a rustle of paper as the student teacher moves down the aisles, distributing test booklets, pencils, and a small scrap piece of paper to each of us. My senses sharpen as the test lands in front of me, the crispness of the sealed booklet practically begging to be torn open.

“Turn in your scrap paper with your test booklet. Pencils go into the basket on the table when you’re done,” Anipe says, her gaze flicking up to the clock. She nods once, a silent command that has everyone straightening in their seats.

“Break the seal and begin.”

I flip the booklet open, the satisfying crack of the seal breaking, punctuating the silence. The first problem stares back at me, a complicated algebraic equation that would have sent most of my classmates spiraling. But for me, the numbers are a welcome distraction. I let out a slow breath and pick up my pencil, letting the familiarity of the calculations ground me. The soft scratch of graphite against paper becomes my world, the tension of the classroom fading away as I immerse myself in solving the problems one by one.

The simplicity of this test bores me to death. I plow through it, barely sparing a glance at the problems that most students would find challenging. My pencil scratches across the page, filling in answers in a rhythm that almost lulls me to sleep. When I finish in record time, I rise from my seat, ignoring the curious and envious looks from the others still hunched over their desks.

Anipe watches me approach, her gaze sharp but approving. She dips her head slightly as I drop my scrap paper, booklet, and pencils on the front table. “You know the drill,” she murmurs, motioning for me to take a seat on the bench against the wall. The wait is always the worst part—thirty minutes of doing nothing but pretending not to notice the whispers and stares directed my way. I lean back, my foot tapping in a restless beat against the cold tile floor.

The minutes tick by. Finally, Anipe’s voice cuts through the room. “Time. Pencils down. Hand in the booklets and wait for your scores.”

A collective groan echoes through the classroom, but no one dares to argue. Anipe’s student teacher moves quickly, gathering up the booklets and carrying them to the front with stiff, jerky movements. I catch a glimpse of the beads of sweat dotting his forehead. He must be new if he’s still nervous around her.

The moment the last booklet is collected, I slip back into my seat beside Cora. Her shoulders sag with tension, and I reach out, resting a hand on her forearm.

“How did you do?” I ask softly, knowing the answer before she even speaks.

“Not good,” she mutters, barely meeting my gaze. “Mom and Dad didn’t bother pushing the core material on me. They were focused on political and royal studies.” She shrugs, a faint smirk twisting her lips. “Think your dad wants another daughter?”

I laugh with her, the sound more genuine than I expect. “Mom refuses to give him a son after what he put me through.”

Her laugh mingles with mine, and for a brief moment, the tension in the room fades. But then my eyes drift to the clock, and I can’t help the flicker of nerves tightening my gut. Ten minutes left in the class when Anipe’s assistant, looking far too eager, starts passing out sealed envelopes.

“Your grades, along with any... surprises, are in the envelopes,” she announces with a dramatic flourish. “May the odds be in your favor.” Her words are punctuated by the shrill ring of the bell signaling the end of class.

I gather my things quickly, slipping the envelope into my hand with a sense of dread coiling tight in my chest. Cora bumps my shoulder, offering a faint smile before she’s swept up in the surge of students pouring out of the room.

“Off to art for a bit,” I call over my shoulder, trying to sound nonchalant, but my voice comes out strained.

I’m barely a few steps down the hall when Balor falls into stridebeside me. I don’t see his hand move—he’s that fast—but suddenly, my envelope is dangling from his long, calloused fingers.

“Hey, give that back!” I lunge for it, but he just chuckles, raising it high over his head.

Balor’s easily a full foot taller than me, his six and a half feet towering over my smaller frame. I jump, fingers grazing the edge of the envelope, but he jerks it away at the last second. My pulse spikes, a mix of irritation and something else buzzing under my skin.

“What’s the big deal?” He grins down at me, the smug expression that always gets under my skin. “Afraid I’ll see something embarrassing?”

“No,” I snap, leaping again and grabbing the corner of the envelope. He shifts back, his broad shoulders blocking out the fluorescent lights above us.

He chuckles, deep and rich, the sound echoing in the nearly empty corridor. “Now that’s the Mina I know.” With a casual flick of his wrist, he drops the envelope into my outstretched hand. “Relax, I’m just messing with you.”

I narrow my eyes at him but can’t hold back a grin. “You’re infuriating.”

“Likewise.” He winks, his gaze lingering on the envelope clutched in my hand. “Come on, let’s see what your surprise is. I bet you blew everyone else out of the water.”

I hesitate, fingers hovering over the flap. Whatever’s inside could change everything... or nothing at all. My heart hammers against my ribs as I slowly tear it open, anticipation, and anxiety twining together like a noose tightening around my throat.

We stop just outside the gardens where the art class is being conducted. I clutch the envelope in my hands, the paper edges biting into my fingers. My heart thrums an erratic beat as I stare at the wax seal. It’s like staring down a viper, daring me to peel back its skin and see what venomous surprise it holds. I take a shaky breath and then—like a coward—I shove it into Balor’s hands.

“You look,” I say, my voice tight.

He blinks at me, then at the envelope, his brow furrowing in confusion. “You want me to look? Did you fail the test?” His expression shifts from puzzled to almost pained, as if he’s bracing for some terrible news.

I shake my head. “Anipe said some of us were getting tickets to try for one of the eggs today. Well, the top five were.” My hands are trembling, so I slide them up over my face, hiding from the inevitable truth of whatever is written on that cursed card. “You look,” I repeat, my voice softer, pleading.

The envelope crinkles as he carefully breaks the seal. The sound feels too loud, like the crack of a whip in the otherwise tranquil air. I hear the papers slide free, then a sharp intake of breath. My heart drops, a leaden weight that sinks into my stomach.

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