Chapter 15
wish I couldn’t see Zara, a furious scowl on her face and angry burns still marring her skin. The healers have done one hell of a job on theI blisters and brought down the swelling, but the evidence of what I did is still clear. Her skin is puckered and pink, the hair on that side of her head gone entirely. Not just shaved but scorched away.
Beside Zara is a slender man with an almost identical face to her own. I assume it’s her brother, Shim. When he sees me staring, he taps his sister on the shoulder. Slowly, she turns to face me. Her choice of outfit is fierce – a dress that’s eighty percent chains and no more than six inches of fabric. It definitely gives the burns room to breathe.
Every muscle in my body clenches as I stand there, bolted to the ground, awaiting whatever pain’s going to come. But there’s nothing.
Nothing but my own pulse hammering in my ears as her lips curve into a sneer. Whatever she’s got planned for me now, I have a feeling it’s going to be a hell of a lot worse than when she merely considered me a ‘runt.’ ‘I need a drink,’ Jai grunts, and for once I’m grateful for the curtness of his interjections. ‘Yeah, me too,’ I reply, trying to stem the trembling in my knees. I can feel their gazes trained on me – the courtiers, former so-called friends of my family – as my own eyes fall on a redheaded woman. A gasp escapes me.
It’s Lora’s mother, and she hasn’t aged a day. Only … my stomach sinks as I realise it’s not her mother at all. It’s Lora herself. I hastily look away .
As I continue to scan the scene, I wonder how many among the crowd have placed bets that I’ll be dead by the end of the first trial and how many don’t expect me to even get that far. Now, more than ever, I’m glad I went
down to the kitchens earlier, and not just because it meant I met Llinos and her gang; I’m not sure my stomach could handle anything right now.
Along the side of the main ballroom, there are a series of archways that lead into different corridors and, I assume, more rooms where the real action takes place. My father always said that balls are never about dancing or drinking. They’re for clandestine meetings, mingling, information gathering, and forming alliances. ‘Okay, Wrohelm,’ Benny says to Jonas after Jai’s grabbed a full tray of drinks from a waiter. ‘Since you’re hanging around with us, you can make yourself useful. Who’s our biggest competitor?’ ‘Really?’ Coulter looks up at Benny. ‘We don’t even get tonight off?’ ‘You can if you want,’ Benny replies, ‘but I intend to use my time wisely, as I’m sure all the people who want a chance of actually winning this thing will do.’ I shoot Coulter a sympathetic smile. Maybe it’s because of his age, but I get the feeling this event, with the drinks and the glamour and the eight- piece musical ensemble, is a far bigger deal to him than the others. I can only imagine how giddy Kay would be if she were here. ‘There’ll be plenty more,’ I remind him. ‘One after each trial.’ ‘Yeah, as long as I live through them,’ he grumbles. ‘Oh, for Aitara’s sake. Come on, let’s go have a wander,’ Loch huffs. ‘They can fill us in later, right?’ As Loch glances at Benny, the two exchange a look, and I realise the older man’s offer to take Coulter for a tour of the ballroom creates an opportunity to put that magical hearing of his to good use. Smart.
Llinos stays close to Benny’s side, whereas Jai stands slightly apart from us and is already on his second drink. Apparently, grabbing intel on the other competitors isn’t so important to him, but I guess when you’re built like a small house and can turn the rocks beneath people’s feet into molten lava, you don’t worry about stuff quite so much. I, however, need the intel.
Rather than immediately jumping into his role as a Wrohelm guide, Jonas hesitates, his expression tightening. ‘I didn’t know if perhaps there were people Rose wanted to speak to,’ he says, looking pointedly at me. ‘You know, since you used to live here. ’ ‘Trust me, there is no one from the past that I want to talk to,’ I mutter. ‘So, spill. Who’s who?’
Jonas lets out a groan before taking a pull of his drink. ‘Okay, so it’s mostly knights and nobles we’re up against, and I don’t know much about the knights, other than what I’ve heard over in the barracks.’
‘Which is?’ Benny presses. ‘They’re tough as fuck.’ A slight sigh escapes Benny’s lips. I think it’s fair to say we could have worked that out on our own. ‘But the toughest,’ Jonas continues, ‘is Grenda.’ He gestures subtly with his head to the other side of the ballroom. ‘Grey hair, black dress. I heard she’s the second oldest in the Retterheld this year, but age has certainly not diminished her. She’s got two sons stationed on the Hirathean Path and has already told everyone that her gifting would be to get them home alive.’ My heart squeezes tightly. Risking death so your children can live. Hard to find fault with that. ‘Have her sons been given leave to come and watch her compete?’ Llinos asks.
Jonas shakes his head. ‘Who knows though? Maybe after the vowing they’ll be allowed to return.’ Fucking Korvane, making people risk death just to see their own children. Everyone knows that going to the border is basically a death sentence. Few come back from it, and if they do, they’re in no fit state to even talk about what they saw. ‘Who else?’ Benny presses. ‘What about the nobles? There’s the prince, of course.’ Jonas’s cheeks suck inwards. ‘Yeah, Kyor’s going to be one hell of a tough competitor. He was trained by Zelle, the youngest ever commander of the army, until Kyor stole that title from him. Apparently, his bond with his wolf is crazy strong and works over miles, and as for his magic …’ He lets
out a low whistle. ‘What is it? What can he do?’ I ask.
Back before we were stripped, there were rumours of what the prince could do. Some said he would one day rival even my father as a storm summoner, but he was too young then for his powers to have settled, so it was mostly conjecture. ‘Oh, I’m sure you’ll see,’ Jonas says vaguely. ‘Don’t know where he is now or if he’ll even turn up before the inauguration. Rumour has it he rode his wolf straight back to the battlefield after his offering.’
‘What?’ Llinos’s face displays the same level of shock as I’m feeling. ‘He rides his dire wolf? Don’t people have their legs ripped off for even attempting that?’ ‘Well, he’s said to ride her,’ Jonas replies with a shrug.
It sounds like a wild rumour to me. The type to make the prince sound like he’s greater than the rest of us and worthy of his position. I’m happy to call bullshit on that, but I don’t know if I’m pleased or not about the fact that he may not show up tonight. I have dreamed about seeing the prince countless times since we were cast out, rehearsed what I would say to him over and over again, but that doesn’t stop the twinge of fear sparking in my gut about the potential consequences of lambasting him publicly. For Kay, I’ll hold my tongue – for now. ‘So … the other nobles,’ Benny continues to push. ‘I heard there were ten of you?’ ‘Right.’ Jonas slips back into his role of court informant, this time a little more enthusiastically. ‘The other guys are older. Nathan Taros is sixty- plus and a fire wielder. Was amazing but makes mistakes now. His daughter, Nessira, is probably the better fighter. She’s competing as well.’ ‘Fire wielder?’ I question, as keen as Benny to learn all I can. ‘Not exactly. She’s a healer. A cauter.’ ‘A cauter?’ Llinos questions. ‘She can cauterise wounds,’ Jonas explains. ‘Damn useful skill to have in battle. Stops soldiers bleeding out when they take an ice blade from the Issen.’ That does sound handy, but hardly competition-winning magic. Still, it’s better than my sweet fuck-all. ‘It’s the same skill as her aunt, Clade – Nathan’s sister – who’s also been accepted.’ ‘Wow, talk about keeping it in the family,’ Benny murmurs. ‘I’m guessing the Taroses will work together, given that they’ve probably trained together their entire lives.’ ‘It’s likely,’ Jonas agrees, ‘but they’ll probably need help from some of the others, given that Nathan’s the only one with offensive powers. Yeva Mancy is an obvious choice.’ He looks around for her, only to come up empty. ‘She’s an ash weaver. Really grey eyes so you’ll know her when you see her. The power sounds weak until you see what an ash storm can do.
She’s not the strongest, but she’s tough. Pen Tharolin is the youngest of the
Wrohelm Rettlings. Her touch blisters, which is nasty if you’re the recipient of it, but she’s not much of a fighter. I expect most people will be able to stop her from ever getting that far.’ Jonas pauses for a breath, but it’s clear he’s now in the flow of things. ‘Who’s that?’ I point to a woman standing near a fireplace, her body rigid as an older man and woman try to engage her in conversation. I don’t know what it is, but there’s something about her that makes me think she’s a Rettling and not just a member of the court. She has a circular tattoo for Wrohelm on her upper arm, which I can’t imagine anyone who wasn’t from here would ever get, though she seems to be observing her surroundings intently. Not only that, but there’s an anger radiating from her, a tightness to her frame, as though she’s only here because she has to be. It feels remarkably familiar. ‘You don’t know Estel?’ Jonas says. He shakes his head slightly, as though he’s realised his mistake. ‘Of course. You were already gone when
her sister was stripped.’ ‘Her sister was stripped? What, why?’ My stomach does something between a drop and a somersault. Another noble stripped? But just the sister, not the whole family. Her ‘crime’ can’t have been as severe as ours.
The three of us are staring at Jonas, waiting for his response, but it appears his reticence has returned. Regardless of his revelations over the last five minutes, he’s clearly not a gossip. I find that I like that about him. ‘What did the sister do?’ Llinos repeats my question. ‘Why was she stripped?’ Jonas’s Adam’s apple bobs slightly before he answers us. ‘She got pregnant … without Etta’s blessing.’ The shock is so acute that I feel almost winded by it. ‘You have to be joking.’ Benny’s expression is as aghast as mine. ‘You can’t be serious? Stripped for accidentally getting knocked up?’ People aren’t meant to get pregnant before they’re married and blessed by one of Etta’s priestesses – after all, she is the Goddess of Life – but I’ve known dozens of children born out of wedlock in the slums, and none of them have been stripped. Not that most of them have much magic to strip.
More and more children in the slums are being born with barely any magic at all. I suspect that – as with most things – the noble children get the majority.
‘Was it just because she was a member of Korvane’s court when it happened?’ I ask in bemusement . ‘That’s the reason that was given,’ Jonas replies, yet I can hear the ‘but’
teetering at the end of his words. ‘But …’ I prod him.
Jonas looks around as if he’s afraid of being overheard. Fair. Assuming there’s someone else with Loch’s skill around, there’s a good chance of it.
Jonas must reach the same conclusion as he presses his lips together and mutters, ‘Later.’ I’m desperate to know the details, not to mention where the sister is now, as there’s a chance that she and Kay could be of comfort to each other while Estel and I are facing the trials. I’m about to suggest we head to one of the antechambers around us so we can speak freely, when a young man walks towards us. ‘Brother!’ He embraces Jonas tightly before stepping back with a wide grin. ‘I worried I wouldn’t get to see you.’ ‘Brother?’ Surprise hitches in my voice. The boy looks about fifteen, which means that he would have been born before I was stripped. Yet Jonas’s mother died several years before, and as far as I’m aware, Artur never remarried. ‘William.’ Jonas smiles at his sibling. ‘I’m surprised to see you. I didn’t think Father would allow you to come.’ ‘Well, he’s not here.’ William winks. ‘Had to do something important, apparently. But there’s no chance I’m missing the inauguration.’ ‘Your father remarried?’ I blurt. ‘You never said.’ Jonas combs his fingers through the length of his beard as his eyes skim over mine and across to the rest of the group. ‘William is my father’s ward.’ ‘But I’ve been with him so long that we’re as good as kin,’ William quickly adds. ‘I know Jonas better than my own family in Rowell. In fact, I doubt I would even recognise them if one of my cousins from the city were here at this very ball.’ ‘If they’re from Rowell, you’re probably better off not knowing them,’ Llinos mutters to me and we share a smile. ‘So how come you ended up here? With Jonas?’ Benny asks. ‘It’s a long way from Rowell.’ ‘Indeed.’ William nods. ‘My mother sent me here after my father passed away, when I was about three or four. She knew Artur from their youth and
believed I would have a better education here than if I’d stayed up north.’ ‘And you’ve stayed here all this time?’ I query. Even when my mother was so sick she could barely remember our names, she’d never have sent us away. But maybe that was because she’d already lost Florian. After his death, she clung to Kay and me harder than ever before. ‘My mother died when I was nine,’ William tells me. ‘Killed in a battle with the Issen. I have an aunt in Rowell, but it was seen as best that I stayed here.’ He shrugs, trying to portray a nonchalant air that I don’t believe. ‘It is my home now.’ ‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ I say, meaning it. Kay was only twelve when our mother died, and it was two years later that we lost our father, too. At least she has memories of them, even if so many of them are tarnished by sickness. If William only has memories of his parents up to the age of four, I doubt there is much, if anything, he can genuinely recall.
Thoughts of Kay make my stomach churn with worry. It’s not even been a full day apart and I feel half mad with the need to see her, to know she is well. We’ve never been apart for longer than a night, and it’s clear this separation will be more torturous than I feared. ‘Where is Father?’ Jonas asks, echoing what I’d asked him upon my arrival. ‘Why is he not here?’ William lifts a shoulder. ‘Dunno. Said he hoped to be back for tonight, but I guess that’s not the case. I don’t think he’s gone far though.’ I hope his task is to find a home for my sister, someone to take care of her in one of the inner rings, but I daren’t voice the hope aloud, lest I curse it with my breath. ‘Worked out who you’ve got to kill to win this thing?’ William asks Jonas, that childish grin back on his face. ‘Hopefully no one,’ Jonas replies with a frown. ‘That’s not the purpose of the Retterheld.’ William rolls his eyes. ‘No, but you know some people are going to want to kill you just because, right?’ ‘Sure sounds like you’re from Rowell,’ Benny mutters, and the rest of us can’t help but chuckle, regardless of how macabre it may be. Before William can rebut, a hush drifts across the room, prickling my skin. The musicians stop playing, and a moment later, the entire hall is eerily silent.
The crowd parts at the far end of the room, and the figure they were all crowding around comes into view.
King Korvane.
My stomach clenches as the taste of bile stings the back of my throat.
The monarch’s hair is a little longer than the last time I saw him, but it’s still just as dark, and even from this distance I can see his eyes share the same dark brown hue as his only son.
My pulse thuds, and for one blood-rushing second, I wonder if I should take my chance and plunge a knife through Korvane’s black heart right now. This distance, no breeze, a clear view … I’d hit my target the first time. And the blade strapped to my thigh would do the job perfectly. Heat fills my lungs as my hands quiver. So much of me longs to do it. To kill him. The way he killed Florian. And it’s not like that’s the only life he took.
In killing my brother, he also killed my parents. They just took longer to die.
I take a steady breath and cool, rational thought returns. I could kill Korvane, but then what? He’s surrounded by knights, guards, and loyalists with magic I could only ever dream of. If I miraculously got my dagger unsheathed and in his chest before someone stopped me, I’d be dead before I could even scream out why he deserved to die. And they wouldn’t just stop with me. They’d come for Kay, too.
And it’s not like the king’s death would change anything. Not when Kyor is just as vicious as his father.
Korvane’s low drawl, silky and smooth like a snake, interrupts my thoughts. ‘Lords, ladies, distinguished guests, and of course … Etta’s blessed Rettlings. Welcome to my humble abode.’ A light laugh ripples through the ballroom like a wave. A lump swells in my throat, and for a moment, I struggle to breathe. ‘Are you okay?’ Llinos reaches out and squeezes my hand, steadying me. ‘Not really,’ I admit, gratefully clinging to her like an anchor.
Regardless of what happens in the trials, I already know I’ll be indebted to Llinos, if only for this moment and the steady hold I didn’t realise I needed. ‘The Retterheld is revered across all Morathka as the most formidable and honoured trial that our people can face,’ Korvane continues, ‘but the reward outstrips even the gold in our coffers. What could be more precious than a gift from the Goddess Etta herself? I’ll tell you. The winner of the Retterheld will enjoy not just the gifting from Etta, but our favour as well.’ He smiles as if the second gift is as worthy as the first.
My ears hum so loudly with the rush of adrenaline that I barely hear what he says next. Instead, my eyes are fixed on his crown – probably the most ostentatious piece of jewellery in existence. It’s not the first time I’ve seen it. It was upon his head when he came to his wife’s bedchamber and found her lifeless .
Though I know it’s impossible, the smell of the queen’s blood fills my nostrils, cloying and metallic. I can’t cope, can’t breathe. I need to get out of here. But there’s no way I can bolt without drawing attention to myself.
My heart is battering my ribs as I try to keep myself still, when from the other side of the room, a loud banging causes Korvane to fall silent.
A sudden murmur of voices swirls around me as the moment is broken, and the vice around my ribs falls away. Dropping Llinos’s hand, I gasp in relief. I can still smell it, that acrid tang of blood, but I can breathe. And that’s something.
When at last I drag in enough air, I realise the chatter has fallen to a hush, and every eye has swung from the king to the lone figure staggering across the ballroom. In one sweep, the swaying man grabs a glass of champagne, downs it in one, and returns it empty to the waiter’s tray before grabbing another. ‘Well, isn’t this a fucking delight?’ I can’t yet see his face, but his voice is a deep drawl that’s awfully familiar. ‘Let’s have a party while the great king’s soldiers die. Or maybe that’s why we’re having a party? Is it?’ As the second drink follows the first down his throat, he grabs yet another and turns in a slow curve towards the king, his arms stretched out wide. ‘Have I missed the toast? Has our beloved king already said a word for the fallen?’ Eyes wide, I baulk. Whoever this is, he must have a death wish to speak to the king like that in front of this many people. I wait for the knights to snap into action, for the few dire wolves prowling the room to rip across the floor and savage him. But none of them move. ‘Come on, who’s drinking to our fallen?’ His words slur and the champagne in his glass spills onto the floor as he gestures wildly.
King Korvane laughs loudly, but his eyes are hard and cold. His forced jovial tone falls flat when he says, ‘Well, it appears that our alcohol might be a little too strong tonight. This is indeed a celebration and we need a toast. To Etta and our great Rettlings. Drink up, everyone.’ The room does as instructed, lifting their glasses and muttering their toasts in hushed and hurried whispers, yet my attention remains fixed on the
man who swans through the room as if he owns the place.
As he moves to set his empty glass back on a tray, he finally faces me, and the breath rushes from my lungs as his icy-blue eyes lock onto mine.
It’s him.
A thousand shivers cascade down my spine as the heat and fury I felt at the sight of Korvane transform into something else entirely. Something that causes every sense in my body to heighten.
The white shirt that he’s wearing is unbuttoned a third of the way down his chest, revealing a hint of the circular tattoos that mark him. But I remember them all. Just as I remember the sharp lines of the muscles beneath his olive skin and the way his lips curved into a smirk when he spoke to me. A warm and involuntary shudder overtakes me. ‘Who is that?’ I whisper to Jonas, but my voice barely makes a sound. I clear my throat and try again. ‘Jonas, who is that? He’s from Wrohelm, right?’ Jonas looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. ‘You’re joking, right? That’s Prince Kyor.’ ‘No,’ I murmur in confused denial, unable to draw my eyes away from the royal as he drinks directly from a champagne bottle, gulping down the expensive vintage as though it’s water. ‘No,’ I say more forcefully. ‘Kyor had brown eyes.’ ‘He did.’ Jonas puts all the emphasis on the second word. ‘But then he had them changed – after his mother died.’ ‘What?’ I search Jonas’s face for any hint of humour, as if he might be pulling my leg. But there’s nothing. ‘It was a massive scandal,’ Jonas continues. ‘Korvane was furious.
Every heir to the throne has had the same dark brown eyes for the last, well, Gods know how many generations. And then Kyor went and pulled that stunt. He had priests and priestesses from all seven Gods perform the charms, so it’s irreversible. Kyor will be the first blue-eyed Morathkian king for centuries.’ I can but gape. Those icy-blue eyes – the ones that have haunted both my sleeping and waking dreams since I first saw them two nights ago – belong to fucking Prince Kyor? That touch that caused my skin to nearly melt belongs to the man I despise more than even the king himself?
The knots in my stomach twist so tight I can barely draw breath. I don’t want to believe it. With my whole heart, I want Jonas to be lying, but I know he’s not. I knew I recognised those eyes somehow, but I couldn’t place them, convinced that the last time I saw eyes that shade, they belonged to a woman. And I was right. Kyor’s eyes are the exact shade of the irises that looked up at my mother and told her to save the babe instead.
The blue eyes that flashed when the queen sent me a fleeting smile as I stood at my mother’s side, uncomfortably aware of the blood that was pooling on the ground by our feet. ‘Are you all right?’ Jonas brushes my arm. ‘You look pale.’ Of course I look fucking pale, I want to snap at him. This is the man responsible for ruining my entire life, and I’ve been lusting after him. A mixture of fury and disgust rises within me, and not just because of our past.
This ball is in celebration of Etta’s name, and he is a Rettling gifted with the honour of competing, when dozens – if not hundreds – of others were rejected. Yet he’s here, drunk and talking of death. Whatever powers he may have been blessed with, even Zara has more right to win this thing than he does. What can he possibly need?
I lift my glass, desperate to ease the dryness in my throat. As the champagne bubbles touch my lips, those blue eyes lock on mine for a second time. My pulse soars and I will him to look away, but he doesn’t.
No, this time he holds my gaze completely. Adrenaline floods through me.
No matter how much I want to tear my eyes away, I can’t. My mind and my body are locked in conflict.
Finally, I let my lips shift into a snarl, letting him see all of my fucking hatred for him.
In answer, his own lips tip up in amusement. My hatred amuses him?
My jaw clenches and I refuse to look away. Refuse to show him even an iota of deference.
But the prince, it seems, is not in the mood for a staring contest across a crowded room. Instead, he drops the champagne bottle to his side and starts
walking.
Straight towards me.
