“Are you unwell?” he asks.

I press my lips together and shake my head. “I’m fine.”

His gaze doesn’t move from me. Seconds tick by.

My hands go cold. I interlace my fingers and press my palms together, but I don’t look away. I have the distinct feeling that I’m being tested, and to break eye contact would be to fail. From the corner of my eye, I see the other members of our team shifting uncomfortably in their seats.

Finally the Charmer gives a small nod of concession. He turns to the other members of the council.

“Shall we begin?”

The Mixer—a woman who looks far too young for such a prestigious role on the council—stands and produces a large wooden box. She places it in front of Jacey on the narrow table that runs from one end of the dais to the other.

“Begin whenever you’re ready.”

Jacey looks like she might be sick. She hesitates a moment, probably hoping for more instruction. But it doesn’t appear that any additional information is forthcoming. Her fingers tremble as she lifts the lid and takes out a set of bones, a mortar and pestle, a half dozen tubes of different liquids in a variety of colors, and a clear flask.

“Are these the ingredients for truth serum?” Jacey asks.

“We’re only here to observe,” the Mixer replies. “No questions, please.”

Jacey swallows and pulls her shoulders back. She places the bones into the mortar, and then, with practiced hands, begins to crush them with the pestle. The tools look like they’re made of marble, but they must be infused with bone fragments to be able to pulverize the contents so efficiently. Soon the small bowl is filled with white powder.

Jacey unstops a vial of pale green liquid and dribbles a stream into the mortar. Then she uses the pestle to stir the mixture into a thick paste. She continues adding ingredients—a drop of yellow liquid, ten drops of orange—until finally she seems satisfied. She deposits the paste into the flask and fills it with crystal-blue water, stirring it vigorously until the paste dissolves. When she looks up, her eyes widen, as if she’s forgotten she was being watched.

“It’s ready.” Jacey’s voice is even, but her knees shake beneath the table.

“Call in the witnesses,” the Mixer says.