Chapter Fifteen
e stand on the edge of a vast ocean cove, the water so blue it’s hardW to tell the difference between the surface and the sky, but for the thin line of green rolling hills separating them. A cool morning breeze blows off the water, pulling up gooseflesh across my skin.
After Atlas’s hint last night, I opted for my thin leather armor this morning, despite Mag’s admonishments. She thought a dress would be more appropriate for the first trial, not understanding why I’d need pants to stand around and answer a few questions. But I couldn’t tell her why I knew I had to wear something more protective. I was sure Atlas wasn’t supposed to be giving me hints. Besides, after a decade of wearing tunics and leggings every day, I feel more comfortable like this. While I adore the beautiful gowns, I
don’t feel worthy of them. They’re meant for some other version of a Tribute who looks nothing like me.
When we arrived at the shore this morning, I knew I’d made the right choice by listening to him. This promises to be far from a simple game of
trivia.
Our head trainer, Master Borthius, faces us, his hands linked behind his back, his dark brown hair blowing in the breeze. He’s also wearing leather armor, and now I’m even more sure I made the right decision. Griane stands next to me, shivering in her dazzling gown. Even though her pale skin is turning red from the cold, her golden blonde hair reflects in the rising sun like
the perfect Aphelion queen.
We’re just outside the city and have a small audience who arrived in the carriages behind ours. Gabriel told me at least one trial would take place in Aphelion’s heart, where the citizens could watch, but the rest would be more private affairs. Balling up the strings of my nervous energy, I decide to worry about that event later. There’s little chance I’ll make it that far, anyway.
All ten warders are present, along with Madame Odell and a few others I don’t recognize. And, of course, Atlas stands in front of them like a shining beacon where they wait on a nearby hilltop that hangs several feet above the water.
“Welcome to the first trial,” Master Borthius says, pacing with his hands
laced behind his back, kicking up sand where he walks. “Today we will test you on your knowledge of Aphelion and its history. I hope you’ve all been studying.”
The back of my neck prickles, and I find Apricia smirking in my direction.
She also skipped the dress today and is wearing a practical tunic and thick
leggings. I wonder if Atlas gave her the same clue. All eight of the other Tributes are wearing the shimmery gold fabrics favored by the king’s court.
Their faces fell when they were ushered onto the beach and realized their error.
Borthius waves his hand and conjures a giant apparatus from the air. We all gasp at the unexpected sight.
Made of wood, A-framed bracers prop up a long beam suspended over the calm water. Attached to the beam are ten thick ropes woven from rough hemp. They stretch over the water, their ends tied with a giant knot where they land at our feet. More thick knots have been placed at intervals along
their lengths. I catch Halo’s worried dark eyes across the beach. Everything about this spells trouble as clearly as if someone had written it in giant letters in the sky.
“Please take a hold of your rope,” Master Borthius says. “When I give the word, you’ll be transported over the water, where this rope will be the only thing keeping you from falling in.” A wicked grin spreads over his face.
“You’ll then be asked a series of questions about Aphelion. For every answer you get right, nothing happens. For every answer you get wrong, the rope will lower. If you answer incorrectly five times, the rope will release.” He stops his pacing and sweeps his gaze over us. “And I assure you that no one wants to find out what’s waiting in the water. Once you’ve answered five
questions correctly, you’ve passed the challenge and will continue to the next round.”
A million questions singe the tip of my tongue, but he doesn’t give me a chance to ask them. He snaps his fingers and suddenly we find ourselves clinging to our respective ropes over the sea. As we lurch into place, the
rough rope scrapes my hands and I clench tight as the fibers bite into my skin.
Grateful for my leather armor, I wrap my legs around the rope, bracing my
boots against the knot, thankful I’m not wearing those useless golden slippers Mag is always forcing on me.
The rope sways, and I cling even tighter when I hear a scream followed by a splash. A golden bird has already fallen off her perch. I scan the line, trying to figure out which Tribute fell when a dark head emerges from the water, her arms frantically slapping against the surface. “Help!” Elanor screams. “Help me!” A moment later, she sinks suddenly, her scream cut off.
A series of horrified squeaks come from both the Tributes and the
spectators, the sound carrying over the water. When I look down, I spy a series of murky shapes streaking beneath me. Dark and lithe, they slither like serpents borne of the sea.
The surface bubbles where Elanor went under and we all hold a collective breath. Nothing happens as the silence stretches so thin it nearly snaps.
Terrified, I cling to my rope with all of my strength, my limbs trembling.
Why aren’t they helping her?
“Get her,” Borthius finally says, flicking a lazy hand towards the water. It's then that two High Fae I hadn’t noticed earlier march across the beach and dive into the ocean, disappearing beneath the waves.
I hold my breath, counting the seconds and then the minutes as they fail to
resurface. What’s down there? Did it attack her? From the corner of my eye, I see another dark shape streak through the water, deep below the surface. My hands are already burning from the rope as I cling tighter. But no matter what happens, I won’t let go.
Finally, the surface of the water parts and the rescue Fae emerge with
Elanor’s limp body. Her eyes are closed and her pale skin is blue. I can’t tell if she’s breathing. A large gash runs across her forehead, blood covering the entire side of her face.
The Fae drag her on to the beach where another Fae wearing a white cloak with a golden cross on his chest waits. A Sun Palace healer. He leans over
Elanor, touching her gently.
“Name the thirty-seventh king of Aphelion,” Borthius barks, pulling my attention from the fallen Tribute.
“King Diell,” a crisp voice replies. I blink, unable to believe we’re just moving on with the trial when Elanor might be lying dead on the beach.
“Correct!” Borthius says with a nod to Tesni, a Tribute with deep brown
skin and shining silver hair that hangs almost to her waist. He then points to Ostara, who waits next in the line. “And his queen?”
She hesitates and her eyes flicker before her gaze drops to the water where she, too, must have seen those dark shapes waiting.
“Did I mention this is a timed exercise?” Borthius asks, his tone conversational. “When the bell rings, your turn is up and the rope will drop.”
Ostara looks up with wide-eyed fear. “Queen Akino,” she chokes out, then watches Borthius with bated breath.
“Correct!” He then points to the next Tribute in line, which, unfortunately, is me.
“What were their children’s names?” he asks. “As a hint, I’ll remind you
there were two.”
Trying to steady my shaking limbs, I inhale a deep breath as I scan through the reams of information I’ve crammed into my head over the past two days.
A litany of possibilities surface, all jumbling together into an alphabet sludge, but none of them seem right. I toss each one aside and drill into the depths of
my brain tissue for another. Colena. Sevannah. Relius. Litsa. Greta. Nope.
Nope. Nope.
“You have five more seconds,” Borthius says. I grip the rope, the rough
weave chafing my hands so they feel like they’ve been dipped in liquid fire.
A bead of sweat slides down the side of my face despite the chilled air.
“Hathor and Osbert,” I throw out, desperately grabbing on to the next two names that pop into my head, already knowing they aren’t right.
“Wrong!” Borthius cries, and before I can think, the rope drops several feet, my stomach flipping. A scream tears from my throat as I grow weightless for a split second. When I stop, it’s with such force my feet pop off the knot that I’ve been using as an anchor, and my hands slide several
inches down the rope, my skin tearing in white hot sheets of agony. I scream again as blood oozes between my fingers, pain lashing up my arms in fiery bursts.
Forcing myself to breathe, I curl my body and find the knot which is now skimming the surface of the water. With measured movements, I carefully reach for the higher knot, hoisting myself up. My hands shriek in protest, but I hold on tight, trying to shut out the pain.
When I’ve securely recovered my position, I feel the release of a mutual breath from everyone standing in the cove. At least now I know what to expect next time.
Borthius smirks, says nothing, and then points to Hesperia, the next girl in
the line. He fires another question at her I don’t hear as I try to calm my heartbeat and focus on my surroundings. Whatever she says must be correct because he moves on to the next Tribute. Question after question is lobbed over the water as I try to pay attention, hoping someone else’s answer might help me later. But I’ve barely slept and my head is swimming.
The next girl up is Solana, whose olive brown skin glistens with a sheen of sweat. “What are the names of the primary trade guilds?” Borthius asks. My
rope swings around and I watch as the answers cross her face in quick succession.
“Carpenters, Blacksmiths, Goldsmiths, Tailors, and Money Lenders,” she answers hastily. But then her eyes widen instantly as she realizes her error. At the same moment, Borthius shouts, “Wrong! You missed the Shipbuilders!”
Solana’s rope drops in a sharp descent, and I suck in a sympathetic breath, knowing how jarring the experience is. Wearing those pretty slippers, her feet slide from the knot and her head snaps back as she bounces off the rope and
plummets into the water. The only sound is the splash and the echo of her scream as we all crumple into deathly silence.
Again, Borthius waits, staring at the water. He waits and waits. Too long. I want to shout at him to send someone to help her. He checks the golden pocket watch in his hand and then finally looks over at the rescue Fae, jerking his chin towards the water. “See if you can fish her out.” Once again, the rescuers trudge into the sea, though they don’t seem to be going very fast.
They plunge through the surface and we wait. A few seconds pass.
Everyone on the clifftop is leaning forward, peering over the edge like wheat stalks in a windstorm. Atlas runs a hand down his face and then along the back of his neck. He looks worried.
He scans the rest of us as if reassuring himself we’re all there. The rescuers are gone only a few more seconds when the head of the first one emerges, and I blow out a relieved breath. But when the second one comes to the surface, I realize they’re both empty-handed. Solana isn’t with them.
My mouth expands into a silent scream as the two Fae look to Borthius and
give him a noncommittal shrug. Bile climbs up the back of my throat, stinging my tongue. Just like that, she’s gone. My eyes catch Halo’s again
while we both turn in slow circles like death’s cold hand is spinning us for his pleasure.
Not breaking his stride, Borthius launches back into the challenge, firing question after question down the line. I don’t know how long I cling to the rope as he cycles through us. Apricia is predictably the first to answer all five of her questions correctly and is relieved from the test, but not before she bestows us with a smug smile and another toss of her fucking hair. She's then followed closely by her friend Griane, the two embracing before they turn
their calculating gazes on the rest of us.
Halo is the next to complete the challenge, and I say a prayer to Zerra when she’s delivered safely back to shore. As I continue to languish over the water, I get a few questions right, but mostly, I get them wrong. I didn’t have enough time to study. How was I supposed to cram years of learning into two days?
Every time I drop, my hands tear, blood slicking the rope as I cling to it with every shred of my waning strength. My arms are tired and weak and my legs feel like rubber. My feet ache from clamping on to the knot. My vision blurs from exhaustion. I’m not sure what’s worse—this agony or those hellish days in the Hollow when I nearly drowned in the rain and was almost
ripped apart by a monster into a thousand pieces.
I can’t help the tears that stream down my face as my eyes water from the pain. They aren’t a sign of my defeat, and I take consolation in that. They’re only a physical reaction.
The rope spins me around, and I catch Gabriel’s gaze. He’s standing at the
very edge of the cliff, watching me with intensity. He tips his head—a small nod that seems to say you can do this. I stitch up that tiny shred of belief and tuck it into my heart. I can do this.
Finally, the only two people left are me and Marici. The skirt of her golden dress is in shreds, and I wince at the reddened welts blooming on the insides
of her thighs. They stand in stark, bloody contrast to her snow-white skin.
That must be agony. Her icy blonde hair has escaped its braid, the snowy strands blowing in the wind.
It’s my turn again, and Borthius clears his throat. “What is the Sun King’s favorite color?”
I blink. It seems like such a stupidly simple question with an obvious
answer. Gold. Of course, the Sun King favors gold. Right? But which book did I read that in? Again, I flip through the inventory of knowledge I’ve gathered during the past two days. I know this. The answer is so close I imagine I can reach out and jiggle it free from wherever it’s been locked away in my mind.
Then I think of the secret slim volume he passed to me. The one he claimed shared his truth. I close my eyes, trying to dredge up the memory.
There had been an entire chapter on his likes and dislikes. He prefers strawberries to plums, the violin to the harp, and tea to coffee. But what the fuck is his favorite color?
I cast my gaze up to the hill where both Gabriel and Atlas watch me
intently. Gabriel takes a small step forward and crouches on his heels, as if trying to get just that much closer. You can do this, Lor. I read the words in his expression again.
My hands slip and I cry out in agony, pain tearing through every limb and pore. The rope is crimson with my blood, slicking the surface. Two dark
shapes circle in the water beneath me, monsters waiting for their prey. Can I survive another drop? Can I hold on? Fuck, is this my last question? I’ve lost count and panic scrapes sharp talons down my spine.
“Red,” I whisper, dredging up the word from the bottom of an endless pit.
“Atlas’s favorite color is red.” But my throat is raw and I barely make a
sound. Borthius is watching me, and I know my time is running out. I try again, willing the answer from my lungs, gathering the letters, one by one, so
I can shout them out across the water.
Then several things happen at once.
A bell rings.
“Red!” bellows from my throat, followed by an audible gasp from
everyone gathered on the shore.
Borthius fixes his eyes on me. “Correct,” he says, but before I can take a breath of relief, he raises a hand. “But you were too slow.”
He lifts his arm in a gesture of finality, and I brace myself, waiting for the inevitable jolt. But it doesn’t come, because I’ve miscounted. I glance up, watching the twisted end of the rope break free from the beam.
Then I’m in free fall. My stomach does a somersault, and I plunge into the icy water with an ear-splitting scream.
