Doron unhooks the first cage from its pole and pulls out a green serpent as thick as his finger and long as his forearm, with a violet square marking the top of its head. I tell myself I shouldn’t be fearful. I’ve tended snakes for years and injected myself with larger and larger doses of venom to prepare for this day. But that doesn’t quiet the knowledge that the purple-crowned serpent can fell a horse within a half hour. Any one of these creatures in front of me will kill a normal person in several heartbeats, and now I must survive three bites at once.

The test of the deadly venoms is more than just a test of my body. It is a test of dedication and discipline, an embodiment of the principle that one who safeguards the lives of others must first be able to heal herself. The venom injections I took to develop immunity were painful and sometimes made me sick, but if I wanted to become a full healer, I had to push through. I had to follow directions precisely so that I would neither kill myself with too much venom, nor cheat myself with too little. And I had to keep it up year after year alongside the rest of my studies.

The serpent slithers docilely up Doron’s arm. At the head judge’s low whistle, the snake anchors its tail on his wrist and raises its violet head, ready to strike. With his other hand, Doron draws my arm toward him. It’s all I can do not to pull away.

Doron’s whistle changes pitch. Pain flares in my arm as the snake embeds its teeth into my skin. For a long moment, I stare dumbly at the fangs locked onto my flesh, and then Doron grabs the creature’s head and carefully pries it off. Invisible flames spread down the length of my arm. Though I’ve worked hard to develop resistance against the venom, there is no way to protect against the pain.

Doron coolly examines the wound, peering into the punctures to make sure the venom has entered my bloodstream. I resent his clinical gaze, though I’m in too much pain to move. Finally, Doron nods in satisfaction and returns the snake to its cage. The first apprentice sneaks a worried look at my face before he leaves. He’s Zad’s apprentice—one year older than my seventeen, but he won’t take the trials until the usual age of twenty. In the few times we’ve met, we’ve had a friendly rivalry, but today I sense his wholehearted wish that I succeed.