Chapter 7: The Forged Seal

The second trial was held on the same sand, in the grey light of the afternoon.

Two stone pillars stood at the centre of the ring, and each one had a shallow dish carved in the top.

The rules were simple.

Each champion laid her Seal in her dish and spoke its rune.

If the Seal woke in her own hand and lit the pillar, she passed.

If it stayed dark, she failed.

I walked out onto the sand with nothing in my hands.

Bram had pressed a stick of chalk into my fist at the gate.

"For luck," he had whispered.

I held it so tightly it left a mark.

Posy was already at her pillar.

She stood with the Seal on its cord around her neck, and her face was the colour of the sand.

Mother stood at the edge of the ring.

Father sat on the Rooke bench, his arms folded.

On the Northgate bench Ivar sat very straight, with one hand pressed against his bandaged side.

"Champion of Rooke," the herald called. "Lay your Seal."

Posy lifted the cord over her head with both hands.

She set the silver disc in the dish.

She whispered the words.

The Seal flared bright silver and the pillar lit from the base to the top.

The benches roared.

Posy stared at her own hands in open shock.

I stared at the Seal.

It was bright, and it was beautiful, and it was wrong.

"Champion of Northgate," said the herald, and his voice shook a little.

"You have no Seal," he said. "Does the Fair excuse the trial?"

"No," I said.

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