Chapter Twenty-seven
pricia, Tesni, Halo, and I stand in a line facing Madame Odell, who’sA looking us over like an appraiser in a diamond shop. The way she wrinkles her nose at me suggests she’s uncovered a stone with too many flaws to count.
“Congratulations on being the final four,” Madame Odell says. “While I’m not surprised to see some of you here, I am utterly baffled by one of you.”
If a miracle happens and I become the queen of Aphelion, Madame Odell is going on the list with the Aurora King of the people I will punish.
I roll my eyes, resisting the urge to stick out my tongue. That would be childish and I am…well, not a lady, exactly, but I’m done with allowing her to make me feel small. I’ve outlasted six other Tributes and made it this far,
even if it wasn’t entirely on my own steam. I look at Apricia and don’t believe that I’m the only one Atlas is helping. He’d said he had his favorites.
Plural.
Regardless, I’ll never earn her respect—that much is clear—but she isn’t better than I am.
I notice Halo open her mouth, about to defend me, but I lay a hand on her arm. It isn’t worth it and won’t make a difference. Madame Odell will think what she wants. Halo gives me a reluctant nod. I sense she feels like she owes me for keeping her and Marici’s secret, but she doesn’t. I would never tell or do anything to cause them trouble.
“The next challenge will happen at the Sun Queen Trials ball in three days’
time,” Madame Odell says. “This is a tradition of every trial and a premier event in Aphelion. The rulers of every court attend to get a look at the potential future Sun Queen.” She smiles in Apricia’s direction as though it’s all been decided, and I huff out a derisive snort that she ignores.
But her words leave me reeling. All the rulers.
That means I’ll see the Aurora King again. After all these years. A knot tightens in my stomach.
Is he here to check on his hostage? Does he even know or care that I’m still alive? What was his intention in sending me here? Is this a part of some greater plan? It’s been so many years I was sure he'd forgotten about me after he tried his best to break me. It’s been so long since I’ve seen the face of the
Imperial Fae I vow to destroy someday.
I’m not sure if I’m ready.
“The ball is a masquerade,” Madame Odell continues. “You will join the other guests anonymously, not as Tributes, but as regular partygoers. Your task will be to mingle, charm, and seduce. Several attendees will be selected
to participate in the challenge, though they will not know they are part of the game until it’s over. They’ll each be wearing an object of great sentimental importance to them. A ring, or a brooch, for example. One hour after the start
of the ball, your warder will be told the specific object you are to retrieve.
Seek him out to find out who your mark will be.
“Your goal is to convince the owner of this item to turn it over to you. You may use whatever means necessary short of telling them who you are and what you’re there to do. Whoever retrieves their trinket last fails the task and will be eliminated. The other three will move to the fourth and final challenge.”
Madame Odell stops her slow pacing and turns, her hands clasped at her
stomach. “Are my instructions clear?”
We all nod. This trial seems somewhat simple compared to the others, but I’m sure there must be a catch. At least it doesn’t seem like death is a likely outcome this time, but that’s what I thought about the trivia test.
“Excellent,” Madame Odell says. “I look forward to seeing you make use of your wit and wiles.” As usual, she looks at me with an expression that suggests each of those traits have taken a wide turn and passed me by. She’s probably right. I don’t know how to charm anyone. Hopefully, I’ll get someone malleable as my target.
“You are dismissed,” she says then. “Good luck, Tributes.”
Callias bursts into my room, pushing his cart laden with combs and potions, and gives me a once-over. I’m drinking a glass of champagne and finishing the lunch Mag brought in for me earlier. It’s the day of the Sun Queen ball, and apparently it’s going to take hours to get ready.
“Oh, good!” Mag says, clapping her hands. “You’re finally here.”
Callias arches a sardonic eyebrow. “Yes, well, I had to fend off the maid of
that insufferable Apricia.” He curls his lip. “Zerra help the king if she wins.
And all of Aphelion, for that matter. Do you know she screamed at me for twenty minutes because the highlights she asked for weren’t lustrous enough?” He scoffs as he unpacks things from his cart, laying them on the dressing table. “As if I’m responsible for the lack of natural shine in her hair.
I’m not her regular stylist. I don’t know what swill she’s been using to wash
and condition, and I swear—”
“Callias,” Mag snaps. “Focus, please. We haven’t much time.”
I’m about to protest that we actually have hours, but Mag silences me with a look.
Callias lets out a harried breath and plants a hand on his hip. “Yes, fine.”
He scrutinizes me, tilts his head, and then smiles. “I see my pills have been working.” His shoulders do a smug little dance before he resumes unpacking his tools.
“They have been,” I reply. My hair has grown midway down my back now, and thanks to the shampoo Mag insists I use, it’s so soft and shiny it feels like silk. It’s probably not as lustrous as Apricia’s, with her thick sheet
of hair, but compared to the hacked locks I arrived with, it’s an astonishing improvement.
Callias walks over with a comb in his hand and circles me where I sit in the chair at my small dining table.
“What should we do tonight?” he muses. I don’t think he’s actually
speaking to me, so I don’t answer as I pour myself another glass of champagne. The bottle is now empty, and I hold it up as a signal to Mag.
“Can you get me another?”
She nods, heading off to do my bidding. I’m so nervous about tonight, and I need a little liquid courage. The thought of seeing the Aurora King is
dredging up my carefully tucked away memories like waterlogged bodies surfacing through sludge.
Still circling me, Callias stops to pause and then circles in the other direction. He makes several noises, hmms and hahs, and I’m starting to feel like a horse at an auction.
“Are you quite finished?” I ask. “Am I so hopeless it takes an hour to
figure out what to do with me?” He stops and winks, not at all fazed by my outburst. He takes the glass in my hand and I protest, but he waves me off.
“Come, come. You can get drunk over here.”
He sets the glass on the dressing table and directs me to sit. “Fine,” I say, sliding onto the seat. He considers me from a few more angles and then finally starts on my hair, brushing it as he meets my gaze in the mirror.
“Having fun?” he asks casually, and I snort.
“If you call getting injured and nearly dying more than once fun, then sure.” Callias smiles to himself as he combs through my tresses and then picks up a heated blue roller. He blows on it for a moment and then wraps it with a lock of my hair, letting it rest against my scalp.
“Rumour has it the king is quite taken with you,” Callias says, his expression sly. “I did say you’d make things interesting, didn’t I? Can you imagine? The Final Tribute being one of the favored? I hear they’re losing their minds in The Umbra. You’re quite the little inspiration, Lor.”
I don’t respond as he continues working, wrapping more locks of hair
around rollers of various sizes. The Umbra. It feels strange to be “from” a place I’ve never seen. Do they realize no one there knows who I am? Or is The Umbra so destitute they can’t even recognize one of their own? I’m not
one of theirs, though, I remind myself. I’m from Nostraza and when I lose, I’m going back there.
“You’re awfully quiet,” Callias says. “Drink some more. That’ll pep up your step.” He picks up my glass and refills it from the bottle Mag just retrieved.
I smirk as I accept it and drain it with a large swallow.
“Have you kissed him?” Callias asks, and I see Mag stiffen where she’s been going about her business, making the bed and tidying up. “I won’t tell.”
I meet his gaze in the mirror and see only curiosity without judgment.
“Yes,” I find myself admitting. “I have.”
Callias makes a noise like he expected that. “Well, I, for one, would be thrilled to see the Final Tribute win. It’s disgraceful how they drag up some poor Umbra rat, all thin and scraggly and pathetic, put her in a silk dress, and expect her to compete against the most accomplished young females across Aphelion.”
My forehead furrows, and then he seems to remember himself. “Oh, not you, sweetheart. I didn’t mean you. You’ve done very well, haven’t you?
You are proof anyone can change their lot in life, just like they say.” He beams and continues applying curlers to my head.
When all my hair is wrapped up, he refills my glass again and I drink some more, hoping if I keep going, this snarl of tense ribbons in my stomach will loosen. I’ve faced monsters and heights and Apricia’s hair flip, but the Aurora King is my personal rock bottom. No one has made me suffer like he has.
I go to refill my glass again when Callias puts a hand on my wrist. “Maybe you should slow down a touch? You’re not going to make it through the night if you keep going at that rate.”
“I’m fine,” I say, shaking him off before I continue pouring. He shrugs his shoulders and starts to remove the curlers one by one, revealing a waterfall of
shiny spirals.
“Do the rumours suggest the king has taken a liking to anyone else?” I ask, trying to sound casual, but sure I’m failing. Callias raises an eyebrow and bites his lip.
“They say he has also been seen in the company of a certain dark-haired viper.”
“Whose golden highlights lack luster?” I take a sip of my wine, the bubbles dancing on my tongue.
“Hmm.” Callias’s response is noncommittal.
“It’s fine,” I say. “I don’t care. He’s supposed to spend time with the others.”
Callias pins the top half of my hair to the back of my head while I watch
his every move in the mirror. He nods.
“Of course you don’t.”
I narrow my eyes at his patronizing tone. “Do you think he’s the kind of Fae who will call for the handmaidens when the queen is chosen?”
Callias barks out a derisive laugh. “Oh, all Fae are that kind, sweetheart.
We aren’t good at keeping anything in our pants. Clearly, you haven’t spent
enough time around us.”
“All?” I ask, frowning.
“Not all,” he says. “There are some who are faithful. The ones lucky enough to find their true mate and all that.” He waves a hand as if to show he
doesn’t buy it. “But that’s so rare, it’s practically a legend, and regardless, Fae are fickle creatures in general.”
I don’t want to care. I tell myself I feel only a passing fondness for the
king. He’s been kind and generous and made me feel good about myself in a way no one ever has. But I have to keep sight of my mission. Of what I’m
really here to do. Tristan and Willow. Their names ring through my head like a chorus of beating drums. I have to win and I have to get them out. Halo and Marici are counting on me, too. Atlas can fuck whomever he wants. It makes no difference to me. That’s not what I’m here for.
I polish off another glass of champagne with an intentional flourish, tipping up my chin and following it with a hard swallow.
“That’s right,” Callias coos, patting my shoulder. “Drink away your feelings. That’ll make everything better.”
“Shut up,” I say, and he laughs. “I’m drinking away my nerves, not my
feelings.”
“Well, either way…you’re done.”
Callias has rendered me into a masterpiece fit for the portrait over any fireplace. My hair shines like it’s been kissed by the sun. A gentle sweep of curls is piled on top of my head, tendrils framing my face. He leans down so his cheek is next to mine and places his hands on my shoulders. “Dare I say, you rather look like a queen?”
As I smile, a soft belch escapes, and I cover my mouth. Callias curls his lip
in disgust and stands. “You can take the girl out of The Umbra, but you can’t take the…” he mutters to himself as he packs up his things. Still covering my mouth, I giggle at the look on his face.
He cracks a smile and shakes his head. “Try not to get yourself killed.
Hmm?” He taps the end of my nose gently in a strangely paternal gesture.
“Time for the dress!” Mag declares, gesturing me over and shoving me behind a changing screen. She strips off my robe and then holds open the gown for me to step into. It’s gold, of course, and covered in thousands of
twinkling crystals. The fitted bodice goes over one shoulder, covering the brand from Nostraza and leaving the other bare. The skirt billows to the floor
in gentle folds, the material so light and airy I feel like I’m wearing a cloud.
Mag sits me back down and proceeds to dust my eyelids and cheeks with gold. She also takes out a fine brush and a pot of gold paint and draws a long floral vine down the length of my bare arm. The shimmery lines stand out beautifully against my light brown skin.
When she’s done, I gasp at my reflection. It seems impossible I could look
like this when just six weeks ago I was wearing my worn grey tunic, lying at the bottom of a dirt hole, so wasted away my bones were nearly tearing through my paper-thin skin.
I do feel like a queen, even if I’m still a far cry from one.
The backs of my eyes burn with a tangle of unrequited emotions I don’t have the freedom to examine right now, and I push them away. Now is definitely not the time to reflect on the future that might have been had things gone differently before I was ever born.
Mag finishes off my ensemble with a delicate golden mask, covered in silk and edged in gold beading, with a pale yellow feather attached to the corner.
She places it over my eyes and ties the ribbon at the back of my head.
“Is she ready?” Gabriel calls from the other side of the screen, and I suppress a groan. I’ve been trying to keep my distance ever since I overheard his conversation with Atlas, but since he still makes me train every day, it hasn’t been easy. I mostly just keep my mouth shut around him, not in the mood for his insults as he works me until I’m a quivering mess every day.
Since he clearly wants me gone, I don’t know why he even bothers.
“She is,” Mag says in a singsong voice, dragging me out from behind the screen. For an uncomfortable moment, Gabriel and I stare at each other. I
brace myself, waiting for the inevitable dig. The reminder that they can truss me up in all the pretty dresses they want, but it will never erase who I am.
For his part, he looks glorious in a fitted golden jacket that falls just past his hips, the cut showing off his broad shoulders and muscled arms. Brown breeches skim the curves of his strong thighs where they meet the cuffs of tall brown boots, polished to a high gleam. His dark blond hair is swept back and left loose, hanging down his shoulders where it curls against the sun tattoo on his neck. He wears his sword, as usual, hanging from his hip, but there is
something casual and luxurious about this version of Gabriel.
He scans me from head to toe, his shoulders tightening and his snowy wings flexing. Then he grunts an evasive sound that almost might be mistaken for approval.
“Come on.” He spins on his heel and heads for the door, stopping at the exit and waiting for me to follow, his gaze doing another assessment as I pass. We walk side by side down the halls, which are quiet for a change. I suppose everyone is at the ball tonight.
“Where’s your mask?” I ask, scurrying to keep up with his long strides. He offers me a condescending look. “Isn’t this a masquerade?” I make my voice shrill because I know it annoys him. The deep breath and flare of his nostrils,
along with the glare I receive, tells me I’ve succeeded. I smother my smile of triumph.
“The rulers of the other courts are here,” he says, his voice low.
“Yes, Madame Odell told us…including the Aurora King.” My tongue trips over those words.
“No, Rion sent his regrets. The prince is coming in his place.”
The prince. Not the king. A knot loosens in my stomach, though it still sits tangled with a stream of conflicting thoughts.
“Does the prince know about me?”
Gabriel cuts me a sidelong glance full of venom. “No. You are a citizen of
Aphelion. Keep it that way. Do you understand?”
I nod as we turn down a hall where a wide set of doors reveals the twirl and laughter of the ball already in full swing.
“Ready, Final Tribute?”
I smooth down the front of my dress and throw back my shoulders, preparing to conquer another challenge on the ladder to my destiny. “Don’t
call me that.”
Gabriel gives me one more penetrating look and then steps aside, gesturing me in. “I’ll see you in an hour, Lor. Try to stay out of trouble.”
