Chapter 5
Leaf
That evening, just as I swallowed my last mouthful of dinner, the locks rattled outside my room and Esen entered alone, her expression pinched, not open as it had been during our visit to the stables.
“When you shoved me in here earlier, you forgot to remove this,” I said, holding my chained wrists aloft.
“No. I didn’t.” She tilted her chin toward another gown that a servant had hung on a coat stand by the door. “Put it on.”
“Why?” I rose from the chair, pushing it under a small, round dining table before smoothing my palms over my leather pants.
“The king wants you to wear it while you fight.”
So tonight’s event was a battle.
Of course Azarn wasn’t interested in testing the strength of my mind. Well, fine, then. If he wanted blood and gore, I’d do my best to give it to him.
I cracked my back, thankful I’d spent the day training. Even with my wrists restrained, I’d moved through as many two-handed strike patterns I could think of, limbering my muscles.
“I’d like to see Azarn fight in a dress,” I said. “Will my opponent be wearing one?”
Silent, Esen crossed her arms and stared at me through narrowed eyes.
“No? Then neither will I.”
She rolled her eyes, then led me down the tower staircase and through the palace, while I quietly celebrated the fact I still wore my tunic and leathers. A sad victory considering I was possibly about to die, but a victory nonetheless.
In the Great Hall, servants collected the leftovers of a lavish feast from tables that lined both sides of the oval room. On a raised platform that loomed high above the court, a male flutist with silver hair so long it tumbled almost to the marble floor, played a dark atmospheric tune. He accompanied a singer who flew around him, the webbing of her bat-like wings translucent and her voice high and ethereal.
The musicians and courtiers fell silent as we approached the dais where the king sat surrounded by his family. I squared my shoulders, lifting my chin, refusing to show any signs of fear, my pulse racing, and my heart pumping erratically.
An oval, stained-glass window dominated the space behind the dais. Framed by magical flames, it spread the colors of a fiery sunset throughout the hall and illuminated carvings on the curved black walls. At night, the hall’s true beauty was revealed.
The Sun Realm royals sat like statues carved in ice on tall, narrow thrones, their expressions frozen in unreadable masks. A thick silence enveloped the hall, each deliberate, slow thud of my boots the only sound cutting through it.
In a burst of swirling gray fabric, the king’s ghost sister appeared out of thin air and shot along the center aisle, stopping in front of me, her slippers hovering two feet above the floor.
Cold fingers swiped over my throat. Correction, swiped through my throat, as if she wanted to strangle me with her ghostly hands but couldn’t.
“Arrowyn Ramiel despises you, human,” she hissed.
“So it seems. Did he hate you as well?”
Tears of blood leaked from her translucent eyes, and her body shook with fury.
“Ruhh dearest,” the king called out. “Return to me at once. The best seat from which to enjoy the proceedings is the one beside me, and tonight it is yours.”
Azarn stared down his nose at Queen Estella, and without a word, she rose obediently, then eased into the ghost girl’s chair. In a cloud of dust and ragged material, Ruhh glided across the marble and joined her brother on the shining black dais.
One foot in front of the other , I told myself. And if that was all I could do, it was better than collapsing on the floor and giving up.
Never give in, and never show fear—that was the mantra I lived by. And I’d gladly die by it, too. Because Mydor blood would never fail.
Even after my death it would live on in Van and the reaver elves. Killing me wouldn’t end my quest for balance throughout the Five Realms. In my stead, others would rise up and carry the eternal torch of peace. I was certain of it.
I stopped at the bottom of the stairs, staring up at the king, waiting for his instructions.
Leaning forward, he braced an elbow on his knee. “I’ve heard that you killed your brother, whose skills were enhanced by fire magic, with your human fighting ability alone. I find that difficult to believe. Tonight, I’d like a demonstration of your supposed prowess.”
“You’ll have me fight? That’s the first supposed entertainment?” I asked, mirroring the word back to him.
He smiled. “Yes.”
“But if I die tonight, there will be no Earth Realm bride for your son.”
Azarn shrugged. “And as I’ve already advised you, there are other ways to control the gold trade.”
Nausea churned in my gut. Arrow and the Zareen would never cede power over the gold to the Sun Realm. Coridon and Auryinnia had existed in a symbiotic relationship for thousands of years. They needed each other. And nothing King Azarn did to me would change that.
Torchlight flickered over the Fire King’s obsidian throne, his hands gripping armrests of extravagantly molded gold, and his green eyes blazing as he studied me.
The same barely bridled excitement burned in the gazes of his family—except for Queen Estella of the Crystal Realm—a star fae whose detached manner was as mysterious as the galaxies surrounding the five realms.
My chains rattled as Esen stepped forward and unlocked them with deft movements, her eyes on the task and her breaths coming out short and ragged. What did she have to worry about tonight?
Esen wasn’t poised to fight an unknown opponent and possibly get hacked to pieces or burned to ash in an enemy territory.
Dark flames writhed around Azarn’s crown of ever-burning wood as he rose from the throne and addressed the court, his voice projecting arrogant authority. “Tonight, Zali Omala of the Earth Realm, a traitor to the Hidden City of Mydorian, will complete a challenge for the chance to see the light of another day.”
My wrists ached and fear weighed heavy in my stomach, but I stood tall with my hands loose by my sides, breathing slowly.
Courtiers murmured, the air thrumming with excitement. I was sure every one of them hoped to see me fail, and I prayed I had the strength to disappoint them.
“Zali, tonight, you will walk the Dragon’s Path,” the Fire King said, sweeping his arm out in front of his velvet-covered chest as he strutted to the edge of the dais. “In recognition of your human weakness, other than the flames that enclose the pathway, I guarantee no other magic shall be used in this event. And no combatant will wear protective armor.”
“Dragons?” My pulse raced. “I have to fight one?”
“There are no dragons present tonight. The flames are your adversaries.”
“What flames?” I asked, whirling around and scanning the throne room.
It looked exactly as it had a moment ago. Fire fae sat at tables around the walls—ogres, trolls, jinns, and the more humanoid fae, all bristling with excitement, their wings, teeth, and other strange appendages grinding and flapping in anticipation.
Prince Bakhur, looking particularly thrilled, laughed as he joined Azarn. “Watch closely, Zali Omala,” he said.
Father and son moved their hands in matching complex patterns, and wisps of fire formed a web in front of them. They flicked it outward, and a tunnel of flames swept along the length of the hall.
“Your task is to pass through the flames and emerge intact on the other side,” said the king. “If you survive, you may have the honor of joining my son in a dance before you retire for the evening.”
Oh, lucky me. What a prize!
“And when will the second event happen?”
“When it suits me, impertinent human.”
I nodded and considered what I’d learned.
Azarn wanted a demonstration of my fighting skills. Did that mean I’d need to battle the flames themselves? Or was there more to the trial that he hadn’t disclosed?
Raiden appeared and handed me a black-hilted sword. I closed my eyes, holding the weapon over my open palms. The blade felt well-balanced, and when I opened my eyes, firelight was reflected in the sword’s sharp edge.
At least the fire fae had given me an excellent weapon.
Stepping backward, I slashed the sword through the air, wondering if I should slice Raiden’s head from his shoulders while I had the opportunity. And since Esen stood beside him, I could remove two heads in one satisfying sweep.
But then the fire fae would kill me, and my plans to destroy Arrow and return to Van and the Mydorians would be dust. And I’d be nothing but ash, floating on the warm Taln breeze.
Two winged fae standing on either side of the fiery tunnel lifted large rams horns to their lips and blew simultaneous, ear-splitting calls to battle.
Silence fell over the hall as I stared at the writhing flames, summoning my courage.
“Well? What are you waiting for?” boomed the king. “Go forth and entertain us.” He returned to his seat, then flicked his fingers at me. “Begin!”
I drew a breath deep into my lungs, raising my sword as I strode toward the tunnel, hoping I looked a lot more confident than I felt.
The moment I stepped onto the Dragon’s Path, the magical space expanded, the wall of flames moving farther away from my body as the ground shook and heat scorched my skin. There was no smoke, but my eyes stung and my vision blurred regardless.
With dawning horror, I watched flames peel off the side of the tunnel, merge and form the shape of a tall fae. It raised its arm, holding a sword of fire, waiting for me to move.
Fuck.
How would I get myself out of this fiery shit show?
Violent determination was the only option.
Whispering the Mydorian battle chant, I started forward, my teeth gritted and hands gripping the sword for dear life.
With every few steps I took, more flames leaped toward me, and two more creatures appeared. Their fiery arms slashed across my vision, and I ducked and wove, slicing off limbs and piercing the creatures’ hearts one by one.
Enormous, the fire beasts were terrifying, but thankfully slow, and before long, I’d slain three, then four, five, six, their bodies melting back into the tunnel walls the moment I stabbed their chests.
The most difficult thing about this challenge was the heat. It licked down my throat, and dried the moisture in my eyes, evaporating my sweat. My breath sawed in and out of me, and I tried to breathe through my nose to conserve energy, but couldn’t get enough air in.
Both fury and determination boiled inside me, growing hotter with every slash of my sword. I had to make it through the tunnel. I couldn’t let Azarn win. Nor would I allow the Storm Idiot to triumph. I would marry the damn Fire Prince if it was the only way to survive and escape this unhappy realm of ash and smoke.
I just had to keep swinging.
As I reached the halfway point, the heat intensified, the flames roaring louder all around me. Feeling dizzy, I swayed, my strength wavering as glowing embers rained down and burned through my clothes, scorching my skin.
Outside the tunnel, noise from the courtiers, cackles, grunts, and roars, could be heard over the flames of the Dragon’s Path. Most fae probably hoped I’d run from the tunnel with blackened skin, barely alive, so they could watch me die on the floor of the throne room.
Ignoring the taunting sounds, I kept two images fixed in my mind, the beloved faces of Van and Ari, and with every surge of heat, I reminded myself of the Mydorians who needed me and pushed forward with renewed vigor.
I refused to die tonight.
Another creature dropped from the ceiling of flames.
Time slowed as I spun and slashed, the end of the tunnel getting closer with each lung-scorching breath I took. Not much farther now. I could do this.
As I pulled my blade from another fire creature’s heart, leaving a swirling hole of molten embers in its place, I glimpsed the real task Azarn had set for me. A tusked fire troll snorted and bellowed near the exit, his orange eyes painfully familiar.
Gorbinvar had been raised from the dead.