Page 143 of The Tribes of Magic
The tablet in Kato’s hands beeped.
“Is that…”
“Yes, Seven. The General’s soldiers just appeared in one of the five video feeds.” Kato glanced at the screen, then met my eyes. “They are at the boathouse. Rhett was right. Bronte is the spy.”
CHAPTER 6
A MAGICAL REVELATION
Conner and Kato went off to eavesdrop on the Watchers at the boathouse. And I hurried back to the Castle. I found Bronte alone in the main library. Everyone else was outside enjoying the sunny day.
She glanced up from the book she was reading. “Savannah? What’s wrong?”
I swung the library’s door closed, then turned to face her. “You’ve been spying on me, Bronte. You told the General I’d be at the boathouse, reading a very special book he very much wants to steal from me.”
“I did,” Bronte confessed.
Well, at least she wasn’t denying it.
“His soldiers will return to the Black Obelisk empty-handed,” I told her. “I didn’t visit the boathouse today.”
Her eyes went wide. “This was a test,” she gasped.
“A test of loyalty.” I struggled to keep my voice level. “And you failed.”
“I guess I did.” She laughed weakly. “I always knew you’re the smartest of all of us, Savannah.”
“Why, Bronte?” I asked her. “Why did you do this? Is this just about winning? You’re already the best. You already have everything.”
“You don’t understand. I don’t have everything. I have nothing.”
“You’re at the top of the Scoreboard. You’re the best at everything. You’re already winning!”
“No, I’m not. In fact, I’m the biggest loser of all.” A tear slid down her cheek. “I never got any magic at all.”
I didn’t understand.
“Sometimes, it takes a while to discover your magic?—”
“No.”
She looked pretty upset, but then so was I.
“You’re here at the Castle, training to be a Knight,” I said. “You were Chosen. You went through the Blending, just like the rest of us.”
“Don’t you get it, Savannah? They tied me to the Spirit Tree, but nothing happened. The spirits didn’t choose me. There was no Blending. I have no magic.”
Her words made no sense.
“But we all saw your magic mark!” I said.
“You mean this mark?” she sighed.
Bronte flipped over her wrist, then scratched her fingernail across the tree tattoo. It smudged.
“You can’t fake a magic mark.”
A touch of pride touched her sad mouth. “I’ve always been good with makeup.”
