Scythe (Arc of a Scythe #1)(39)

The boy, who had been holding his breath, exhaled with loud relief.

“Well, Phyllobates aurotaenia, of course, better known as the poison dart frog,” he said. “The blue-ringed octopus, the marbled cone snail, the inland taipan snake, and . . . uh . . . the deathstalker scorpion.”

“Excellent,” Scythe Curie said. “Can you name any more?”

“Yes,” Noah told her, “but you said one question.”

“And what if I tell you I’ve changed my mind, and I want six instead of five?”

Noah took a deep breath, but didn’t hold it. “Then I would tell you in a most respectful way that you were not honoring your word, and a scythe is duty bound to honor their word.”

Scythe Curie smiled. “Acceptable answer! Very good!”

And then she moved on to Citra.

“Citra Terranova.”

She had realized the scythe knew everyone’s name, and yet it came as a shock to hear her say it.

“Yes, Honorable Scythe Curie.”

The woman leaned in close, peering deeply into Citra’s eyes. “What is the worst thing you have ever done?”

Citra was prepared for just about any question. Any question but that one.

“Excuse me?”

“It’s a simple question, dear. What is the worst thing you’ve ever done?”

Citra’s jaw clenched. Her mouth went dry. She knew the answer. She didn’t even have to think about it.

“Can I have a moment?”

“Take your time.”

Then some random scythe in the audience heckled. “She’s done so many terrible things, she’s having trouble selecting just one.”

Laughter everywhere. In that moment she hated them all.

Citra held eye contact with Scythe Curie. Those all-seeing gray eyes. She knew she couldn’t back away from the question.

“When I was eight,” she began, “I tripped a girl down the stairs. She broke her neck, and had to spend three days at a revival center. I never told her that it was me. That’s the worst thing I ever did.”

Scythe Curie nodded and offered a sympathetic grin, then said, “You’re lying, dear.” She turned to the crowd, shaking her head perhaps a little bit sadly. “Unacceptable answer.” Then she turned back to Citra. “Step down,” she said. “Scythe Faraday will choose your punishment.”

She didn’t argue, she didn’t insist that she was telling the truth. Because she wasn’t. She had no idea how Scythe Curie knew.

Citra went back to her place, unable to look at Scythe Faraday, and he said nothing to her.

Then Scythe Curie moved on to Rowan, who seemed so smug, Citra just wanted to hit him.

“Rowan Damisch,” Scythe Curie asked. “What do you fear? What do you fear above all else?”

Rowan did not hesitate in his response. He shrugged and said, “I don’t fear anything.”

Citra wasn’t sure she heard him right. Did he say he didn’t fear anything? Had he lost his mind?

“Perhaps you want to take some time before answering,” Scythe Curie prompted, but Rowan just shook his head.

“I don’t need any more time. That’s my answer. Not gonna change it.”

Absolute silence in the room. Citra found herself involuntarily shaking her head. And then she realized . . . he was doing this for her. So she wouldn’t have to suffer alone through whatever punishment was in store. So she wouldn’t feel she had fallen behind him. Although she still wanted to smack him, now it was for an entirely different reason.

“So,” said Scythe Curie, “today we have one perfect apprentice and one fearless one.” She sighed. “But I’m afraid that no one is entirely fearless, so your answer, as I’m sure you must know, is unacceptable.”

She waited, perhaps thinking Rowan might respond to that, but he did not. He just waited for her to say, “Step down. Scythe Faraday will choose your punishment.”

Rowan returned to his place next to Citra as nonchalant as could be.

“You’re an idiot!” she whispered to him.

He gave her the same shrug he gave Scythe Curie. “Guess so.”

“You think I don’t know why you did that?”

“Maybe I did it so that I’ll look better at the next conclave. Maybe if I gave too good an answer today, my next question would be harder.”

But Citra knew it was false, faulty logic. Rowan didn’t think that way. ?And then Scythe Faraday spoke up—his voice quiet and measured, but somehow carrying an intensity that was chilling.

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

“I’ll accept whatever punishment you see fit,” Rowan said.

“It’s not about the punishment,” he snapped.

By now Scythe Curie had questioned a few more apprentices. One was sent to sit, two others stayed.

“Maybe Scythe Curie will see what I did as noble,” Rowan suggested.

“Yes, and so will everyone else,” Faraday said. “Motives can easily be beaten into weapons.”

“Which proves,” Citra said to Rowan, “that you’re an idiot.” But he only grinned idiotically.

She thought she had the last word on the matter and that it was over until they returned home, where, no doubt Scythe Faraday would inflict some annoying but fair punishment that fit the crime. She was mistaken.