Chapter Thirteen
LOR
ver the next week, I spend my mornings training with Gabriel forO hours as he works to build my strength, stamina, and dexterity. The healers have returned a few more times, reversing the damage done during my time in the Hollow. I’ll never be a master with a sword, but at least I
know how to cope without seriously hurting myself. He’s loosened up around me a little and glares at me only sometimes instead of all the time now, so I check that off as an improvement. I hear nothing from Atlas, despite what he said about wanting to see me again soon.
I try not to let it sting. He’s a king—he has an entire realm to rule, and he
has nine other Tributes to spend time with, too. I have to remind myself not to be dazzled by his charm and beauty, no matter how much I’m drawn to
him. I’m the Final Tribute. I am here as nothing more than a sacrifice, and despite what Atlas claims, he doesn’t want an alleged criminal as his queen.
That night, he’d let me think I was special, but I remind myself that I am nothing and it will always be that way.
My afternoons are spent with Madame Odell and the other Tributes while I’m schooled on the fine arts of etiquette and decorum. There are music lessons and dance lessons and art lessons. All of it is lost on me. The other Tributes have training in piano and the violin and play like angels. They
already know all the steps to the lilting waltzes of Aphelion. Their brushstrokes are perfect, conjuring painted golden roses that look real enough to pick and sniff. I fumble my way through as the others scrutinize me. Some are wary, some are cruel, and some pretend to ignore me completely.
I’ve been in Aphelion for nearly two weeks when Gabriel arrives to walk me to the dining room for lunch. I’m in another golden dress, the array never- ending. Around my neck hangs the golden locket I’ve claimed as my own.
No one will miss one trinket in this sea of decadence. I clutch it in my hand to ground myself as I prepare to face yet another uncomfortable meal. Gabriel eyes me as we walk, something clearly on the tip of his tongue.
“What?”
“You’re looking better. Healthier.”
I shrug. “Thanks. A lot of good it’s going to do me in the first challenge.”
“You hate it here.” It’s not a question. “You’d rather be in Nostraza?
Starving and beaten and locked away?”
Still clutching the locket, I look at him. “It’s hard to explain.” Of course, I
don’t miss the damp and the cold cruelty of Nostraza, but I miss Willow and Tristan with such ferocity it leaves me dizzy. Nostraza may have been
miserable, but there I was with two people who loved me. Who cared if I lived or died.
“They all hate me,” I say, referring to the other Tributes. Gabriel cocks his
head, raising an eyebrow.
“So what?”
“So—” I frown at him. “So I don’t want them to.”
Gabriel shakes his head. “If you’re going to be a queen, Lor, you have to get over worrying about what people think about you. Rulers have to make
hard decisions that don’t always make them popular.”
I huff out a laugh. “And behave like a bastard, like you?”
Gabriel stops, placing a hand on the door handle, and winks. “Something like that.” He pushes open the door and directs me inside.
When I enter the cozy dining room, the conversation comes to an abrupt halt. I suppress a sigh, trying to take Gabriel’s words to heart. Inside Nostraza, I held a certain kind of notoriety as the prison troublemaker. While the other inmates may not have all liked me, most of them respected me. In Nostraza, I understood the hierarchy. I knew how to manipulate the system to my advantage. After all the years I spent there, I was comfortable in my somewhat elevated role as one of its longest-standing prisoners. Here,
surrounded by the wealth of Aphelion, I’m a fumbling amateur trying to navigate a new set of rules that soar way over my head.
The other nine Tributes are already seated on either side of a table running down the center of the room, Madame Odell perched at the head like a snooty gargoyle. An empty seat waits at the far end, presumably for me. Everyone
stares as I sink into it and do my best to appear somewhat elegant. Next to me sits Halo, a woman with a head of curly black hair and deep brown skin. She gives me a tentative smile.
“Hi,” she says, nudging my shoulder with hers. I try not to flinch at the movement, still uncomfortable with casual contact from others and
desperately trying not to look weird because of it. None of the other Tributes have addressed me directly before without my initiating it.
“Hi,” I say, returning her smile with a careful one of my own. Across from me sits Marici, the icy blonde-haired woman I noticed in the salon the night I had dinner with Atlas.
She too smiles, her pale blue eyes like frozen lakes. “It’s nice to see you.”
She lowers her chin and curves her shoulders inward. “How was your dinner with the king? I’ve been dying to ask.”
Halo giggles, covering her mouth with her hands. “Marici, it’s not nice to pry,” she says, her smile revealing a set of perfect white teeth. In spite of everything, I find myself grinning back.
“He’s very…” I wave a hand at my face as if to indicate I’ve grown warm, and both Fae burst into appreciative laughter. Apricia sits at the far end of the table, glowering at us as if she wants to put a stop to any fun we might dare have in her presence.
“Ahem,” Madame Odell says, silencing the general chatter around the room. Halo sends another smile my way, and the tight band that’s taken
residence around my heart loosens a fraction. Perhaps things can improve if I keep trying.
“I know you’ve all been busy with your training and lessons, but I thought it prudent for us to get to know one another better. Though most of you are already acquainted thanks to your place in society, not everyone here travels
in the same…circles.”
She levels a thin-lipped smile my way as nine more sets of eyes study me.
My hand clenches around the fork next to my plate. It’s hardly my fault I’ve
never been to any of their stupid parties.
“Why don’t we all introduce ourselves properly?” Apricia asks, tossing her
long black hair over her shoulder. “I’ll go first.”
Madame Odell eyes her, clearly not a fan of being interrupted, but gives Apricia a slow nod. “Very well. Proceed.”
Apricia wiggles in her chair, her smile smug. “I’m Apricia Heulfryn, first daughter of Cornelius Heulfryn, warden of the 24th district, leader of the Sun Stars and veteran and hero of the First and Second Sercen Wars. I am skilled
in the fine arts, interpretive dance, and have won the Golden Bell at the Aurelius Festival three years in a row.”
When she finishes, the room is so quiet I hear a mouse roll its eyes in the corner. Everyone in the room regards her with wariness, not sure what to make of her monologue. Madame Odell clears her throat, giving Apricia a bemused look.
“That’s very…nice, Apricia,” she says and gestures to the woman sitting next to her. It’s the pale red-haired Tribute I walked behind during the first meeting with the king. She introduces herself as Hesperia, keeping her introduction a little less grand than Apricia, though still full of self-righteous ass-patting. I’m glad I wasn’t born into their society—not if it makes me an
unbearable snob.
They proceed around the table, everyone listing some accomplishment or family tie that must be important and, I guess, is supposed to be impressive, but it mostly sounds like posturing. Maybe Gabriel is right, and I don’t need their approval.
Nevertheless, a cold sweat breaks out at the back of my neck as the introductions move around the table. Madame Odell appears to be saving me
for the end. I wrap a hand around my locket, feeling the edge of the hinge dig into my palm.
I’m not shy. I’ve spoken in front of hundreds of people in the mess hall in Nostraza, usually when I was out to stir up some trouble. But they were the lowest scum of the earth. Murderers and rapists and thieves. Many of them didn’t deserve even the indignity of Nostraza. Here in this beautiful room and this beautiful palace, faced with ten of the most elegant females I’ve ever seen, I feel like a worm curling over the toe of their delicate silk shoes.
Madame Odell drops her piercing gaze on me. “And you, my dear?” The way she says the last two words suggests I’m anything but.
I try to speak, but my throat is starched dry. I clear it and try again. “I’m Lor. I’m from…The Umbra,” I say, remembering no one can know the truth about Nostraza.
I think about Atlas and how I’m being used like a pair of dice on a gameboard. My life is worth nothing to these people. I think of the Aurora King, still wondering why he chose me for this. If I somehow manage to win this game, he’ll finally face me as the queen of his rival. After everything he’s done, why would he risk it? What does he have to gain?
My fingernails dig into my palms. I don’t care what agreement brought me
here. I’ll win this contest, and then I’ll storm Nostraza and tear it down brick by fucking brick with my bare hands. I’ll get Tristan and Willow out, and then Rion is next.
He probably still thinks I’m harmless, broken, and beaten, but I’ll prove to him otherwise.
“Lor?” Halo has laid a gentle hand on my arm, and I realize everyone in the room is staring at me. Again. “Are you okay?”
I blink, surfacing from the well of my thoughts and returning to this golden
room and this golden palace with its spread of luscious food, most of which I don’t even have a name for. Before me sits a bowl of soup, thick and yellow,
dotted with a dollop of cream and a sprig of green.
“I’m fine,” I say, pushing a piece of my hair out of my face. It keeps coming loose from the pins Mag uses to make it more presentable. It’s grown a bit longer thanks to Callias’s pills, brushing past my shoulders now.
Madame Odell tosses me a pinched look, and I wonder if she’s ever had a genuine smile for anyone in her life.
“As I was trying to tell you,” she says, folding her hands on the table, casting one more irritated look in my direction, “I brought you here today to prepare you for your first task. It will occur in two days’ time, and you’ll need to be ready.” Whispers erupt from the Tributes while we all exchange fearful glances. Madame Odell raises a hand, calling for silence yet again.
“Ladies, please. I’m not at liberty to disclose the details of the challenge, but I can tell you that you might want to brush up on your history lessons.”
It’s then she finally cracks into a slow, delicious grin, her vicious gaze finding me. Though the corners of her mouth are turned up in the imitation of a smile, there is nothing warm or welcoming about it. “You’ve all had the finest tutors gold can buy in Aphelion, and I hope you’ve all paid attention.”
Even if I were from The Umbra, I wouldn’t have had tutors or lessons.
Half the people from The Umbra probably can’t even read. Not only that, I’ve spent my life behind thick stone walls, ignorant of the ways of Ouranos.
I know the continent comprises six realms, including Aphelion, bordered on the east by The Woodlands and the west by Alluvion. In the north, The
Aurora is bordered by Tor and Celestria. There was once a seventh realm in the center of the continent, but it has been gone for a very long time. These are simple questions even a child with a map could answer.
I pick up my wineglass and take a large gulp, hoping it will steady my fluttering pulse. The only consolation is that a trivia contest doesn’t sound
especially dangerous, so I cling to that speck of hope. When I invariably lose, the worst that can happen is I’ll be sent back to Nostraza. I’ll be no worse off than I was, and at least I can see Willow and Tristan.
But then we’ll all be trapped there and our one chance at freedom will be gone forever. I’ll never get an opportunity like this again. I have to win this somehow. For them.
The Tributes converse amongst themselves while the next course is served, and I turn over the options in my head. Maybe Gabriel will help me, though he was clear that warders could only assist with weapons training.
I’m sure no one in this room is going to be eager to offer their guidance.
I’m the competition—even if I’m not much of one. There must be a library somewhere. If nothing, I learned how to be resourceful in Nostraza. I need to use that to my advantage.
A servant sets a plate before me. Bone china is edged in a glossy rim of gold and topped with what appears to be a tiny chicken. I poke at it with my fork, assessing it from every side.
“Game pheasant,” Halo says, leaning over with a whisper. “Very tasty.”
Sure she’s mocking me, I look up at her with my forehead furrowed, but there is only kindness in her expression. “And those are fiddleheads,” she says, pointing to the strange curled vegetables nestled next to the bird. “Toxic if cooked improperly, but delicious when eaten with salt and sauteed with butter.”
“Toxic?” I ask, poking the deadly greens with my fork. Halo covers her mouth, holding in her laughter.
“They’d only give you a tummy ache. Don’t worry. The king’s chefs know
what they’re doing.”
“Oh,” I say. “Okay. Thank you.”
Halo nods and, as if to put me at ease, spears a fiddlehead and pops it into her mouth, chewing with a flourish. I grin and follow her lead. It crunches between my teeth with just the right amount of give, the flavor earthy and fresh.
I’m so used to bland and more bland, I’d forgotten this is what food could taste like. Once again, the tears I’ve spent my life clutching threaten to fall.
I’ve never pitied my position in life, instead choosing to accept the lot I’d been given. It was a price that had to be paid until I found a way to my freedom. But for the first time ever, I despair at how the hand I was dealt had been played with a stacked deck.
While I was wasting away, getting beaten, worked to death and worse, these soft and beautiful Fae were living in silks, drinking wine, and sleeping on pillows made of feathers. It’s difficult not to harbor some bitterness about that.
Madame Odell raises her hand, asking for silence yet again.
“I also brought you here to discuss a rather delicate subject.” She dabs her napkin at the corners of her mouth as the servers sweep into the room to
retrieve our plates.
Despite my nerves about the challenge and supposedly toxic food, I managed to eat half of my pheasant and most of my vegetables. Thanks to a steady diet of decadent cooking, I’m filling out, my dresses no longer hanging off me like a sheet draped over a skeleton. I’ve never looked or felt
physically better in my life. A few sore muscles from Gabriel’s training, but that’s a minor inconvenience.
“Throughout the Sun Queen Trials, it’s imperative you are on your best
behavior,” Madame Odell continues. “You are here not just representing the court, but seeking the king’s hand in a bonding. I don’t have to tell you that
to portray yourself as anything but the most chaste of future queens would be to your detriment.”
Some of the girls turn red as they cover their mouths in embarrassment.
“I bring this up because during every Sun Queen Trial, there is at least one Tribute who finds herself in a compromising position with someone. Be it their warder…” A chorus of gasps whips around the table and I resist the
urge to roll my eyes. “…a member of the king’s staff, or even the king
himself.”
That stops us all dead.
“The king?” Ostara asks. She has chestnut hair woven into a braid that wraps around the crown of her head and dark grey eyes that complement the olive tone of her skin. “Could that happen?” The tone in her voice suggests the thought doesn’t scandalize her, but rather that she is very, very hopeful about it. As I think about Atlas and the feel of his fingers on my cheek, the way he smelled, the way his chiseled body felt against mine, I can’t really blame her.
“It has happened,” Madame Odell says, pursing her lips together. “And it
never ends well for the Tribute. So you’d do well to remember that if you want to warm the king’s bed for the long term, you’ll forgo doing so now, no matter how charming and handsome he is. He’s just a male and can’t be held responsible for his actions. It’s up to you to ensure your relationship remains appropriate.”
Again, her gaze flicks to me as if I’m a dark stain, blotting out the purity of a blanket of snow. If they were hoping for a virgin queen in me, that ship is sitting at the bottom of the ocean.
“Well, you don’t need to worry about me,” Apricia says, once again tossing her black hair over her shoulder. Someone should really get her some
pins if it’s so very bothersome all the time. “I am still a maiden and plan to remain so until the day I'm bonded to my beloved.”
The way she says it suggests she’s very confident that her beloved is, in fact, the Sun King. Unable to help it, I let out a snort and then try to bury it in the rim of my glass. It fools no one, and ten pairs of eyes swing to me.
“And you?” Apricia asks with the arch of one of her dark eyebrows. “I
suppose a gutter rat from The Umbra has been used more times than a dishrag. Spread your legs for a bit of coin, maybe?” She snickers and Griane, the honey-blonde woman sitting across from her, snickers back. I guess Apricia found an ally and fellow contender for the role of head bitch.
“Apricia,” Marici scolds. “That is so unbearably rude. Surely your tutors taught you better manners than that.” Something warms inside my chest at her words. That she’d actually defend me, given she probably feels the same about my presence here.
If I thought Apricia could be shamed, I thought wrong, because she sniffs and lifts her pointed chin even higher. “We all know she’s here as a sacrifice.
As a ‘message.’ Don’t pretend she’s one of us.” At that, she looks at me and
wrinkles her nose, sniffing again.
“That’s enough,” Madame Odell finally interjects, but I can tell she’s relishing my humiliation. When she looks over at me again, I shrink into my seat, wishing I could melt into the floor. I hate it here. I hate this. How can I be longing for the enclosed walls of Nostraza right now? Gabriel might not
understand it, but in its own strange way, it was home.
“I want to hear the answer,” Madame Odell says, and I blink.
“Answer to what?”
“Whether you’ve been used”—she makes a circular motion with her hand —“like a dishrag, as Miss Heulfryn so eloquently put it. It’s part of my job to
report back to the king on what happens when he’s absent and inform him of the Tributes’ less desirable qualities.”
The room goes so silent I swear I can hear the blink of Halo’s long lashes as she stares at me, open-mouthed. I catch her glance, finding sympathy in her expression. Whatever she must see on my face snaps her back to the moment. “Madame Odell, that hardly seems fair to single out Lor.”
“I’m not interested in your thoughts,” Madame Odell says. “Need I remind you failing a trial isn’t the only way you can be eliminated from the competition? Mind yourself.”
Halo’s mouth snaps shut, and I send her a look that I hope conveys my gratitude that she tried to stick up for me. Everyone else is watching expectantly. I could just lie. I should lie. This is no one’s business, and no one can prove anything.
“I’m waiting,” Madame Odell says, leaning forward, her elbows on the table and her hands folded under her chin. I open my mouth, but no sound comes out.
I’m not pure. I have been used and broken. But how do I tell them that
most of it wasn’t my choice? That I was at the mercy of depraved prison guards who saw me as nothing but a tool to be taken for their pleasure? That I had no recourse and no way to defend myself? That I’ve spent every day trying to shut out those memories and forget what happened? That I sought comfort in men like Aero to dull the shame of it never being my choice? With
Aero, it was my choice. It was mine to take when and how I wanted it.
There was so little to cling to in Nostraza. So little comfort to be found within those damp stone walls.
A few snickers circle around the room as I twist my napkin in my hands, my cheeks burning and my eyes filling with tears. I can’t hold them in
anymore. Halo reaches over and wraps a comforting hand around my wrist.
This isn’t her fault, but I appreciate the sentiment.
It’s with horror that I feel a warm droplet splash against the back of my hand. I can’t let them see me cry here any more than I could in Nostraza.
These Fae are no different from the guards. They’re also searching for my weaknesses. A way to poke holes into the tissue-thin armor I wear.
How dare they treat me this way? They brought me here against my will as a fucking joke. An example to be made. And they think they’re all so superior. I take a deep breath. It shudders with the intensity of my fury. My tears dry up and I stuff them back down. Down, down, down where they belong. Where they have always belonged and where I will keep them forever.
I look up, pinning Madame Odell with my most withering glare. She raises an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth lifting into a sneer. Instead of answering, I stand, shoving my chair back with such force it echoes with a loud screech that causes everyone to wince. Without another word, I slap my napkin on the table, turn, and storm from the room.
