A moment later the door swings open, and the members of the Grand Council file into the chamber dressed in silken robes that match their thrones. Embroidered on each of their sleeves is a golden knot designating them a member of the council. I’m expecting them to take their respective seats, but instead they descend the small staircase and sit on the bench in the front row.

I turn toward Norah, looking for some clue of what we do next.

“Take your seats, apprentices,” she says softly.

“Here?” Jacey asks, indicating the bench directly behind the council.

“No,” Norah says with a shake of her head. “Up there.” She nods toward the dais, and my stomach plunges. We have to sit on their thrones while they evaluate if we can do their jobs as well as they can?

My mouth couldn’t be any drier than if I’d swallowed a handful of dirt.

“It feels like we’re the ones on trial,” Talon whispers behind me.

“We are,” I say softly.

As soon as I sit down, a jolt goes through me. Startled, I clutch the arms of the chair, and the room tilts sharply to one side. I squeeze my eyes closed. A series of images flashes behind my lids—a woman sitting on a stone ledge studying a pile of bones as the wind whips her black hair around her face; a man dropping a handful of carpal bones into a silver goblet filled with blood; a pair of twins—a boy and girl no older than six or seven—arguing about whether the mandible on the table between them belongs to a black bear or a grizzly.

My eyes snap open and nausea threatens at the back of my throat. Low in my stomach is the familiar pulling sensation that suggests I’m about to be swept away into a full-fledged vision.

I think of touching the walls in my room when I first arrived at Ivory Hall, of my nightmare coming to life even though I was wide-awake. This throne must be made from the bones of dead Charmers. Their combined history calls to me—I long to grip the arms of the chair and fall headfirst into their stories. It takes effort to keep my eyes open.

Sweat prickles on my brow. I can’t lose control in front of the Grand Council. I focus all my attention on staying in the present, fixing my gaze on a spot in the back of the room where bright rectangles of light fall on the floor. I yank my hands from the arms of the chair and rest them in my lap. Slowly, the sensation subsides, and I feel more anchored to the present. I pull in a deep breath and dry my hands on my cloak. When I look up, the entire Grand Council is watching me. The Bone Charmer—a bald man with a heavily lined brown face—studies me particularly intently.