Page 82 of Games of Death and Desire

I wet my lips. “I don’t think Kosmel will grant my request just because I ask nicely.”

“That’s why you’ll do more than ask. You’ll show how committed you are to the task with an offering.”

A figure shrouded completely in black steps out of the trees to approach me. I can’t tell whether they’re male or female, young or old. Even their face has been covered by a swath of black fabric that hangs from the edge of their hood, though it must be thin enough to allow them to see through.

The scourge sorcerer lifts their hand, and a knife glints in the filtered moonlight. My magic wakes up at the sight, squirming in my chest.

Julita shivers.I don’t know… I think this might be deep enough right here, Ivy. You could make a run for the college buildings—you’re fast.

And then what? The scourge sorcerers will want me dead for what I already know.

“What would you have me give?” I ask, managing to keep my voice steady.

The figure in black motions with the knife, but the voice that speaks comes from elsewhere, farther off in the forest. “You will give up your full forefinger from your left hand, with a plea to bolster your gift for tonight. We will not numb it and seal it immediately as the shirking clerics do. The blood and the pain show the depth of your sacrifice. The All-Giver wants us tofeel.”

My breath catches in my throat. Not at the thought of the pain—I’ve experienced worse just this afternoon.

But if I give up my entire forefinger on my dominant hand… I’m not sure how long it’ll take me to learn how to handle a knife without it. Whether I’ll ever be able to effectively fight or steal again.

So many of the skills I counted on for survival in my old life—so many that have helped me survive even at the college—

Do they even realize how much they’re truly asking from me?

Ivy, no, you shouldn’t have to go this far,Julita is saying, at the same time as the voice from the woods demands, “Are you willing?”

I swallow a broken laugh. My power twitches in my chest, begging to thrash the sorcerers for even asking to harm me, but I clamp down on it tight.

Kosmel indicated I should go deeper—I should throw myself straight in. I did commit to this course, even if not for the reasons the scourge sorcerers think.

How much of a life will I have left if I refuse?

I extend my hand. “Absolutely. Thank you for the opportunity.”

Every word scrapes up my throat like a jagged stone, but I must have answered quickly and convincingly enough. I can almost hear the speaker’s smile. “You’re most welcome.”

It all happens so quickly I barely have time to second-guess my decision. The figure with the knife grasps my wrist, presses my other fingers and thumb close to my palm, and jams my hand against the nearest tree trunk.

Before I’ve so much as sucked in a breath, they swing the knife.

Gods help me, the blade is sharp. It chops straight through flesh and bone with a burst of pain.

As I clench my jaw against a whimper, blood streaks down the bark and across my hand. I keep just enough wherewithal to remember the plea I’m supposed to make.

My voice tumbles ragged over my lips. “Kosmel, All-Giver, whoever hears me: Give me the power tonight to forge so much more than I could before.”

I swing toward the guards on the wall, stretching out my bleeding hand.

I just want to get the trial over with. My head is whirling with pain and horror and a twinge of regret; I want to scream at someone for dragging me into this place.

I don’t have a normal gift anyway. I’ll try, and it won’t work, and the scourge sorcerers will make of it what they will. Or maybe Kosmel will step in and conjure up an illusion on my behalf.

But that’s not what happens at all.

My riven power surges inside me alongside the stream of blood pattering onto the forest floor. My head spins—and all at once I can’t contain the churning energy inside me.

I can’t plug all the holes. I can’t smother every shred of the magic jangling through my nerves.

A punch of the errant magic slips my hold. It flings through the air toward the guards, latching on to the intention I claimed to have, the image the conspirators put in my head.

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