“That may be so,” says the purple witch, clearly not in the least rattled by the vehement responses to his challenge, “but I still say there is a risk. The nominee is young. Who can say how her character will develop, or what lurking flaws may later reveal themselves? Her brother does not simply sip poppy milk to ease a malady, he frequents a nefarious opium den, a place where people go to lose their wits. His mind will become permanently enfeebled if he continues in this way. His sister is no doubt dutiful and devoted—he is a duke now, after all. Who knows in what ways his weakness might compromise the family and leave her vulnerable? And vulnerable people do desperate things to protect themselves. They are open to blackmail, to name but one possibility. How safe would the coven be with such a dangerous flaw so close to the seat of power? Does the nominee deny his habit?”

All eyes turn back to me. I keep my voice as level as I am able. How can this be happening?

“It is true, my brother is troubled, and yes, he does smoke opium on occasion.”

“On occasion!” my challenger scoffs. “You understate the case somewhat, I believe. Could it be that you do not consider such behavior reprehensible? Perhaps you are tempted, already, to try it yourself.”

There are shouts and gasps from the company, but this time not all of them seem to be dismissing the challenger’s words. Doubt has crept into the room and is worming its way into the minds of many present. I will lose their support. They must not see me try to run from his accusations. I turn squarely to face the stranger who would rob me of my inheritance.

“I will respond to the challenge,” I declare, and the room falls into uproar. Some witches shake their fists at the challenger, others shake their heads and swear oaths beneath their breath. Arguments break out for and against. One witch makes a lunge for the accuser and has to be restrained and ejected from the chamber. I understood their reaction to what I have said. By agreeing to respond to the challenge I have given the purple witch the right to observe my response, a Proof of Worth, it is called, a task I must complete to demonstrate to all my suitability for the post.

The Master of the Chalice bangs his staff on the stone floor repeatedly until at last the turmoil subsides. All present are familiar with the theory of a challenge and of worth being proved, but I doubt many have thought what it would be like to witness such a challenge undertaken. Formality decrees that the Master of the Chalice set out the obligations.

“There is only one way the nominee might show Proof of Worth. It is written thus: ‘Whosoever is challenged, let her summon a demon.”’