Chapter Nine
LOR
he next morning I’m awoken by the cheerful trill of Mag, who bears aT tray full of food suspended between her hands. After Gabriel returned me to my room last night, I’d changed into a silken nightgown and promptly fallen into a deep sleep, exhausted from literally everything.
“Let’s see if this goes down a little better,” Mag says, placing the tray on a table near the long bank of windows on the far wall. Over her arm is a familiar piece of grey clothing. She holds it up between two fingers, like it might poison her if she lets it touch too much of her skin. “I had them clean this for you. Though I still can’t imagine why you want it back.”
I scramble from the bed and snatch it, stuffing it under my pillow for safekeeping. Mag eyes the bed and then me, clearly mystified by my entire
existence.
She gestures me over and sets down a bowl of porridge and a few thick
slices of bread. I eat slowly, allowing my stomach to adjust to the food.
“You’re so thin,” she tuts. “We need to fill you out a little. A few weeks of proper rest and nourishment, and we’ll have you looking much healthier.”
Sure, but there’s probably not much point, since I’ll be dead after the first challenge. I don’t bother to correct her, but I take a nibble of the sweet, creamy porridge and decide I might as well enjoy these comforts as I await
my future demise.
“The captain said to get in a proper breakfast before he comes to collect you,” Mag says. “You’ll need your strength.”
“Who?” I ask.
“The captain. Your warder for the Trials.”
I frown. I don’t know much about military rankings, but a captain sounds
important.
“Gabriel’s a captain?”
“Of the king’s personal guard, yes.”
I take another bite of cereal and put my spoon on the table. “Doesn’t the king’s captain have better things to do than babysit me?”
Mag raises an eyebrow as she hangs up my dress from last night and moves about the room, tidying the space. “It’s his duty. All the warders are a part of the king’s principal guard. Ten warders and ten Tributes. It’s how it’s always been done. However, the captain is usually assigned to the favored contender. I admit, I was a bit surprised to see him assigned to you.”
She waves an idle hand, obviously trying not to say what she’s thinking.
That there’s no way I’m the lead contestant. “But the king must have his
reasons,” she continues. “They go way back, those two, despite the circumstances of their relationship.”
I contemplate that cryptic statement as I butter a slice of bread and pop a small piece into my mouth before moaning in appreciation. It’s still warm— soft and yeasty—the butter melting and rich.
The pity in Mag’s expression makes me sit up straight, humiliation coloring my cheeks.
“You poor thing,” she whispers, looking away and shaking her head, but I
catch the shine in her eyes. I don’t want this woman’s pity. All it does is serve as a reminder of how pathetic my life has been. I feel guilty enjoying this food and this room and sleeping in that luxurious bed when Willow and Tristan are still rotting away inside Nostraza. I hope. I’m still worried something happened to them during the riot. No matter what Gabriel said, I know what I heard.
“What does the captain want with me this morning?”
Mag folds a blanket and drapes it over the armchair next to the bed. “He’ll be escorting you to your first lesson with the other Tributes.”
I wrinkle my nose. The other Tributes. I’ll have to spend who knows how much time with them, listening to their snickers. They were all so smooth and
beautiful and none of them were so wasted away you could see their ribs.
None of them have hideous scars on their faces. They were plump in all the right places and slender where they’re supposed to be, with unblemished complexions and creamy skin. They’re a garden of flawless roses in a golden palace by the sea, and I’m the weed growing between them, clamoring for a
sliver of sunlight.
I don’t belong here for so many reasons.
Mag sends me another pitying look before she reaches over and pats my
hand with a sort of motherly affection. I resist the urge to flinch away from her touch, my hands fisting against my nightgown. She’s not here to hurt me,
I remind myself.
“Don’t let them get to you. They’re from all the finest families in Aphelion and have spent their lives preparing for this. You can’t expect to keep up with them, my dear.”
My brows draw together. Did she just mean that to be encouraging?
“You’ll do your best,” she continues, squeezing my shoulder now, and this
time I shrink from the contact, twisting out of her grip. “No one would blame you if you’re the first one out.”
After issuing a muttered curse under my breath, I rise to look out the window. My room doesn’t overlook the sea, but rather the city. The entirety of Aphelion spreads before me. Golden domes and spires and walls all glow softly in the morning light as the sun rises. It’s disorienting to witness the shift of day to night after the perpetual eventide of The Aurora. Why would anyone live there when they could have sunshine and brightness like this every day? The lights of the aurora were beautiful, but they were like a single drop of ointment used to tend a gaping wound, and I’m not sure they can compare with the shimmering landscape spreading below me now.
I study the streets and buildings, the city arranged in orderly lines. A shadowed corner at the far edge catches my eye, and I assume this must be the notorious Umbra from which I was supposedly taken. What kind of place must it be and why, with all the wealth apparent in this place, does it even need to exist? Surely the king could stand to have one less gilded mirror to
ensure everyone in his kingdom had enough to live in comfort?
I replay Mag’s earlier words, and something crumples in my chest. She’s not even pretending she might believe in me. But why should she? She’s
absolutely right. What chance do I have against a group of Fae who’ve waited their entire lives for this?
But then again, these are a bunch of pampered princesses, and I’ve spent the last twelve years in the most unforgiving prison in Ouranos. Surely that must give me some kind of edge.
“Come now,” Mag calls from the other end of the room. “You need to be ready when the captain arrives.” She helps me into a suit of supple leather armor, all in a chestnut hue, the fitted leggings allowing for freedom of
movement. I’m wearing a thin white shirt covered with a leather bodice that cinches up the front with laces. Mag attaches a pair of black vambraces to my forearms, and I pull on a pair of brown leather boots that rise past my knees.
It’s a far cry from yesterday’s golden dress.
“What is all this for?”
“Your first weapons training,” Mag says as she ties off the bodice and then spins me around for an inspection. She touches the shorn edges of my hair and then the scar on my cheek as if I’m a grain of sand that failed to materialize into a pearl. I bat her hand away.
“Stop that.”
A moment later, there’s a knock at the door and Mag opens it to find
Gabriel, also wearing leather armor the same color as mine. It’s less formal than what he wore to the Tribute Ceremony and, if it’s possible, makes him even more handsome. He looks me up and down with disdain and the pointed suggestion that he considers my presence to be an obligation.
“My lady.”
“Gabriel, please call me Lor. I beg you.”
His mouth flattens into a line. “If that’s what you’d prefer.”
“It is.”
He bows again. “Then we should be going. Lor.”
I nod and brush past him through the antechamber of my room and out into
the hallway. I follow Gabriel as we, once again, make our way through the winding, resplendent halls of the Sun Palace.
“How big is this place?” I ask as we pass room after room.
“Big,” Gabriel says.
“Oh, very helpful.”
He glares down at me, not breaking his stride. His legs are so long, I’m
practically running to keep up.
We pass a pair of mortal serving girls about my age, wearing the same golden livery as Mag. They stop when they see us, dropping into deferential curtsies before rising. They both smile at Gabriel with hearts in their eyes, and he grins and winks.
“Ladies,” he says, catching the hand of the closer woman. She’s lovely, with golden blonde hair, a trim waist, and ample breasts that spill above the neckline of her uniform.
Gabriel presses his mouth to the back of her hand. “You look luscious today, Annabelle.” The woman gasps, her hand fluttering to her throat as she drops the pile of towels she’s holding. I let out an audible snort that everyone
ignores. Gabriel then turns his generous bow to the second woman, saying, “You as well, Seraphina,” before focusing his attention back on me, the smile dropping from his face.
“Let’s go.” Not waiting, he turns on his heel and starts walking. I glance at the two women who eye me with suspicion, their fists planted on their hips.
“Don’t worry.” I throw up my hands and grimace. “He’s all yours.”
“Lor!” Gabriel shouts from halfway down the hall, and I scurry after.
When I catch up, I study him out of the corner of my eye.
“What?” he barks.
“Nothing.” I roll my lips together to keep from smiling. Gabriel’s a flirt?
Not with me, that’s for sure.
Finally, we enter a large room with a high ceiling and racks of weapons lining every wall. The floor is lined with gold and cream marble, and the walls are painted in the hue of buttercups. Large windows surround the space where dozens of people, including most of the other Tributes, wait. One Tribute stands off to the side with her warder, talking to a group of Fae who
scribble on notepads while she speaks.
“What’s going on there?” I ask Gabriel as he directs me towards a rack full of gleaming swords.
“The royal note-takers,” he replies. “They’re documenting the entirety of the Trials for posterity. They also distribute it to the public daily so they can
hear about how it’s going.”
“Why?”
“People are interested, Lor. Whoever wins will become their queen. They take these trials very seriously.”
I listen as one of the note-takers asks the Tribute a question. She’s beautiful, with honey-blonde hair woven into a thick braid that hangs to her
waist. Her golden skin looks as soft as silk, and her armor fits her like a glove, smoothing over generous curves and full breasts.
“I’ve been training with a sword since I could walk,” she says, flipping the braid over her shoulder, a smile curving on her perfect pink lips. Her lashes are so long they must produce a breeze when she blinks.
“Am I going to have to do that?” I ask Gabriel, my stomach dropping out as I clutch his forearm. He gives me a disapproving look.
“Yes. But you’re going to say as little as possible. Let them think you’re a
bit dim. Shouldn’t be hard.”
I nod slowly, too worried about the prospect of having my words judged
and documented forever to comment on Gabriel’s insult. I can say as little as possible. That seems like a very good plan.
“Choose a blade,” Gabriel says next, and I turn to study the rack of weapons. They’re incredibly intimidating. Polished hilts and gleaming blades are all stamped with a sun with eight curved rays—the Sun King’s insignia.
It’s emblazoned on everything, including his personal guard, I note, casting a
glance at the gold tattoo on Gabriel’s neck. I guess there’s no mistaking who the warders belong to.
“You’re giving us swords?” They never let us near anything that might resemble a weapon in Nostraza. All of our food was to be eaten with fingers or a spoon, and they made even those from the flimsiest of tin. They searched us regularly to ensure we hadn’t gotten our hands on anything that could be commissioned for self-defense.
“Yes, the Trials might include fighting off an opponent. And I’m guessing
you’re way behind.”
“But why?”
“Because you’re training to be a queen, and these are dulled for practicing.
Don’t worry.”
I frown at that. “Why do I need to know how to fight to be a queen?”
“Because a queen needs to lead armies and establish her strength,” he says, starting to lose his patience. He sweeps a hand down the rack. “Pick one.”
“I imagined being a queen was more about sipping tea in frilly dresses and
looking down my nose at everyone,” I quip as I meander down the length of the rack. Gabriel’s quiet chuckle follows me, and I look over at him,
delighted to see his smile. Maybe he’ll warm up to me. I need a friend in this place.
“Well, I suppose there’s a bit of that too,” he says when I stop.
“That one,” I say, pointing to an especially shiny one with a polished silver hilt.
Gabriel reaches out and pulls it off the rack. “Excellent choice.” He hands it to me with the hilt pointed in my direction.
A whistle blows, and Gabriel directs me to the center of the room, where I
line up in a row with the other Tributes. The beautiful girl who was speaking with the note-taker stands next to me.
“Hi, I’m Lor,” I say, because honestly, what have I got to lose? She eyes me up and down, an awkward silence dragging between us.
“I’m Griane,” she says finally, before turning to the girl on her left and whispering something in her ear that makes them both giggle. I grind my teeth. Is this what the next eight weeks are going to be like? Me against them?
Griane is talking to a Tribute with sleek black hair and light brown skin.
Her dark, angled eyes highlight the perfection of her sharp cheekbones.
“I’m Elanor,” she says, looking at me with that arrogant expression I’m
becoming intimately acquainted with. It’s then her eyes widen as she looks past me and the entire room erupts into furious whispers.
The king has arrived.
He glides into the room, as graceful as a lion. Gleaming brown hair slashed with copper frames his face, hanging to his shoulders in untamed waves. His
aquamarine eyes sparkle like a pair of jewels. He wears a pair of leather pants like the rest of us, along with a fitted white shirt that highlights every honed line of his body, every rounded curve and ripple of muscle. Not a single
person in the room can take their gaze off him as he makes his way towards us. He stops next to the Fae male with the whistle, folding his muscular arms
over his chest.
“Please proceed, Master Borthius,” he says, his deep voice resonating like the plucked string of a cello. “I’m only here to observe.”
The warders line up in front of us, and Master Borthius calls out instructions to run through a series of drills. It becomes instantly clear how woefully far behind I am.
“Thrust!”
“Parry!”
“Dodge!”
I don’t even know what these words mean. The extent of my sword training is confined to snippets from books and the occasional prison brawl.
Though the guards had blades as part of their arsenal, they seemed to prefer using their fists.
Gabriel swings his sword, missing my cheek by a hair.
“Watch it,” I hiss. “You almost hit me.”
He stops and rubs a hand down his face. “This is much worse than I feared.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’re even further behind than I’d guessed.”
I press my mouth together.
“Well, I’m so sorry I’m not living up to your standards, considering you dragged me here and—”
Gabriel slashes his blade again. This time he nicks the tip of my chin, a bright spot of pain blooming before I touch it, my fingers coming away
stained with blood. I glare at him. “What the fuck? You said the blades were dulled!”
“I said your blade is dulled. Mine is perfectly lethal.” His blue eyes flash.
“And I told you to keep your mouth shut.” His voice has dropped so low, no one else in the room can hear. His gaze flicks to the king, who is watching us both intently. “We’re going to have to start from the beginning. And you’re going to need extra lessons. You have less than two weeks before the first trial.”
I open my mouth to do something. Argue? Protest? I’m not really sure, but Gabriel is behaving like such a monumental ass, I feel the need to resist in some way, just to make his life difficult.
But then I remember Tristan and Willow. I remember the Aurora King.
Looking over my shoulder, my gaze meets a pair of clear aqua eyes, and I consider everything that’s at stake. The king tilts his head, the corner of his perfect mouth tipping up as if we’re both in on some kind of private joke. My stomach bursts into a cloud of butterflies, and I tear my gaze away, focusing back on Gabriel.
“I see you’re getting more comfortable with Atlas?” he asks, his voice dripping with rivers of sarcasm. “That didn’t take long.”
“Shut up,” I reply and hold up my sword. “Teach me.”
Gabriel’s answer is a slow, lazy smile that I’m sure must have every maid in this castle ready to toss up their skirts and spread their legs.
“Glad you’re able to see reason, my lady.”
Over the next few hours, I train alongside the other Tributes. Gabriel
teaches me the basics, barking at me when I get it wrong. Making me repeat the drills over and over until I’m a little less like a duck tripping over its own feet. By the time we’re done, I’ve dissolved into a pool of perspiration, my
muscles twitching so erratically I fear they’ll leap from my frame and run for cover.
Griane, the beautiful woman who was speaking with the note-takers, looks like she’s barely broken a sweat. She’s still perfect, and I’m panting like a dog left too long in the sun.
Master Borthius claps his hands together. “That’s enough of that,” he declares. “Tributes, now you’ll face off against one another.”
Shit. Panicked, I look over at Gabriel. He might take pleasure in torturing
me, but at least he wasn’t trying to kill me. I think.
I can feel the stares of the other Tributes, not only assessing me, but each other. What better way to eliminate the competition than accidentally running a sword through her gut? Our blades are dulled, I remind myself. They’re still blades, though, and could do some permanent damage if one put their mind to it.
“You’ll be fine,” Gabriel says, his large hand wrapped around my biceps.
“Aren’t Fae much stronger than mortals? And don't they have magic?”
“Yes, and some do.” He studies me. “But they don’t come into their full strength until about their twenty-fifth year. Everyone here is younger than that, and any magic they might have is restricted during the trials. You’ll be
fine,” he repeats. But I can detect the uncertainty in his voice.
“Will I?”
He pauses. “Sure. Of course. And if not, you lasted a day. That’s longer than anyone expected, especially me.”
“Well, thank you for that resounding endorsement.” At that, his mouth
compresses as if he’s trying to hold in a smile.
“I’m thrilled you think this is so funny,” I snap as I’m called to stand in front of a female Fae. She’s taller than me by several inches and is willowy
and elegant. Her skin is pale and her long black hair cascades like a midnight waterfall down her back. A pair of cobalt blue eyes burn as bright as the
lights of the aurora.
As I approach, she scans me from top to bottom, her nose wrinkling before she snorts and brandishes her sword. “Did they drag you from somewhere even worse than the sewers?” she asks. “I can still smell the stench of
whatever hovel you used to call home.”
Oh, isn’t this lovely?
“Did you miss the lesson on how not to be a raging bitch at that fancy finishing school?” I ask with a sneer. Her self-righteous smile slips for a fraction of a second before she flips her hair back and squares her shoulders.
“At least I’m not here as just a scapegoat,” she says.
“A moment,” a voice calls through the room, the king’s rich baritone turning us all into chess pieces standing at attention. “I said I was only here to observe, but I’ve decided that after today’s session, one of you will dine with me tomorrow evening.”
A giggle of excitement races through the Tributes. My opponent tosses her hair again, batting her eyelashes at the king with such force I’m surprised they don’t shatter right off her face. The king gives her an admiring smile
with those perfect white teeth, and something green twists in my stomach.
When the king has returned to the sidelines, I face off against my opponent.
“Lor, is it?” she asks, saying my name like she’s just stepped in horse shit.
“I’m Apricia.”
“It’s so nice to meet you,” I reply, slicing her with my sarcasm.
“I’m going to wipe the floor with you, Umbra rat.”
“I’d like to see you try.”
There’s no warning as she launches herself at me, and I lift my blade at the last second, clumsily deflecting her blow. She doesn’t wait for me to recover,
attacking again, and it’s all I can do to dive out of the way. It’s obvious she’s far more skilled, a fact she underlines by baring her teeth with glee.
“Umbra scum,” she hisses. “You don’t belong here and I will ensure you don’t become the Sun Queen if it’s the last thing I do.”
She leaps for me again, and I’m so focused on the blade aimed at my head, I don’t notice when she spins and swipes a leg behind me, kicking up my feet
and sending me crashing to the floor. I land on the marble with a grunt, the air whooshing out of my chest. I’m still too tired and weak from my time in the Hollow. The Fae healers did a remarkable job tending to me, but I need more time to recover.
Apricia looms over me, flipping her stupid hair again, and smirks.
“Do us all a favor and throw yourself into the sea.”
She spins her sword in some fancy maneuver that might be impressive if I didn’t want to rip every strand of hair from her head. Catching my breath, I watch as she preens and basks in the admiration of the other Tributes.
Without stopping to think about it, I launch myself up and leap onto her back.
I may not understand how to use a sword, but I’ve been in hundreds of fights
throughout my life, and I know how to make a man twice my size weep. This twig of a bitch is no match for me. Even if she is Fae. I hope.
She goes down like a pile of straw, collapsing beneath me. Her shrill scream is a soothing caress, and my satisfaction knows no bounds. Apricia bucks under me wildly, my arm banding around her neck. I won’t kill her.
Maybe. I’m very tempted. No, I can’t do that. She just needs to understand this is one rat who won’t put up with her shit.
My ears ring because she’s screeching so loud, but it’s a beautiful sort of
music. She twists beneath me, dislodging my hold before she sinks her teeth into my arm, and she must be part tiger because I feel it even through my
leather vambraces. It’s my turn to scream when she flips me over and we trade blows. I get in a punch to the side of her head and one across her cheekbone before she cracks me across the face with the back of her hand.
There are snarls and teeth and hair and tangled limbs of fury.
A moment later, she’s hauled off me and someone drags me to my feet, an arm banding around my waist as I try to launch myself back at her again.
“Enough!” the king’s voice rings through the room, and that’s enough to shut us both up. Apricia’s luxurious hair is now in snarls, blood smeared across her cheek. Part of me is humiliated I behaved like an animal in front of the king, while the other is satisfied I wiped that smirk off Apricia’s pinched face.
“I think that’s enough for the day,” the king continues, tossing both me and Apricia a look I can’t interpret. The rest of the Tributes also watch us, trying to contain their smiles, knowing there’s no chance either of us are going to be chosen to dine with the king. The expression on Apricia’s face could melt all the gold in this palace into a misshapen heap. Good. At least I took her down with me.
The king takes a few steps, stopping in the center of the room, and I roll my eyes as the Tributes all smooth back their hair and straighten their clothes. One Fae even pinches her cheeks and licks her lips, casting a coy look over her shoulder and winking.
Gabriel still has me caged in his grip, clearly worried I’m going to attack
Apricia again if he lets me go. I might, actually. Especially when she also simpers for the king like an overcompensating peacock.
“I’m looking forward to getting to know all of you,” the king says. “I can
already tell this is the most remarkable crop of Tributes the Sun Queen Trials has ever hosted. I’d love to get to know the Tribute who showed so much
spirit today.” It’s then his gaze finds me. Gabriel’s grip on me loosens a fraction, mirroring my own disbelief. “Our Final Tribute, Lor.”
