13. Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Thirteen
Ariella
W hat must be hundreds of people stand in silence as guards draw open the throne room doors. All eyes turn to our group, the excited atmosphere potent. Far down the path we are to walk, the king, queen, prince, and princess sit in their respective chairs, waiting stoically.
I slide a foot to begin the ridiculous journey through the room, to Aether with the dramatics of the salivating audience. I despise being made into a spectacle. I’m not two steps in before a palm latches itself to my chest with a force that means for me to halt. I look down slowly, debating how important it is that the fool who dared touch me keeps his hand.
“Slow down, wraith.” Jeth’s nasally voice overpowers the whispers. “Someone as hot as you should be walking next to me. We’re the best here, so it only makes sense.” I refuse to meet his arrogant eyes.
“Remove your hand.” I weave as much venom as possible into the words.
“Or what? Nothing wrong with a man testing out the goods of a woman before he fucks her. Plus, I don’t believe the shit they say about you. You look harmless to me.” He chuckles, looking over his shoulder at his companions who follow suit.
“If you do not remove your hand, it will not be the only appendage you lose tonight.” My eyes flit to the prince’s white knuckles as he watches the encounter.
“Ooh,” Jeth mocks, his fingers dangerously close to their end. “The feisty ones always suck the be—” I lunge to grab his wrist, folding it until I hear the snap. Jeth screams as I twist his body, unsheathing the sword at his back before kicking him roughly. He stumbles, arms flailing as he falls—a satisfying thud greets my ears when he lands roughly on his back. The audience next to him backs up when I swing the sword around and plant a foot to his shoulders.
“No, no, please! I’m sorry, it was just a joke!” I push harder, enjoying when his groans turn to wheezes.
“Jokes are meant to be humorous, and yet I’m not laughing.” I rear the sword back before sending it through his wrist. A clean cut.
I hum, stepping over his writhing form to avoid soaking my boots in blood and dropping the sword on his abdomen. His sobs lessen, and my eyes find the prince, who is not attempting to hide his pleased smirk. I raise a brow at the men in the crowd that have moved to cover their women.
As if that would stop me from taking them .
Not that they wouldn’t come willingly—I’d fuck them better than those feeble pricks could ever dream to.
“You stupid bitch!” I stop, a wicked smile tugging at my lips. The prince looks at me expectantly, his eyes gleaming brightly. “What now, angel?” his gaze challenges.
Before he can blink once more, I snatch one of my blades and spin to fling it at Jeth. It makes a delicious noise when it sinks into the man’s cock. His eyes become unnaturally wide as he looks between me and the blade, frozen in place. Eventually, his gaze lands on me again, a torrent of emotions darting through him.
“I warned you.”
I turn and saunter the final distance, ignoring that fool’s childish wailing. Perhaps it was imprudent to maim another contestant right before the second trial, but he was asking for it. I’ll leave him my blade as consolation; I’ve no desire for it back, anyway.
My fingers flex before I clasp them behind me and peer at the Blackwood family. Vespera wrings her hands together, worrying her lip as she attempts to look anywhere except the bloody scene I’ve created. Her blonde hair is woven into a braid, draped over a tense shoulder.
She could be salvageable yet.
Seraphina lounges in her seat with an outward air of boredom, though her eyes speak different tales. Their calculating leer matches the severe angles to the queen’s face. Her jaw appears carved out of stone, while her lips are thin and endlessly framed in sincere distaste.
Nothing will ever be good enough for such a woman.
Interesting, though, that her contempt is only aimed toward her people and not the mutilated contestant behind me. Deep brown hair surrounds most of her head, with a brighter piece at the front from where it catches the warm light.
I should not look his way, nor give him any more of my attention, but my disloyal eyes betray me. My abdomen flexes when my body registers the all-consuming heat of the prince's stare. His clothes seem finer this evening—where he often wears trousers and a button-down top, tonight his tawny skin is covered by a crimson doublet that is threaded with gold. The griffin within the royal crest stands proudly over his heart.
He certainly portrays the image of nobility.
The corner of his mouth rises when he notices my perusal. His eyes flick to Jeth before meeting mine again, and he raises his brows as he nods slightly. His nonchalant composure nearly breaks at the unimpressed look on my face.
He knows I do not seek or care for his approval.
I itch to play into his ongoing attention and secure his loyalty. It will be so much sweeter to know the king watched me take his son from him emotionally before I kill him. Though I’m not sure I even need to pretend anything…the prince is quite taken already .
The musky air fills my lungs when an awareness builds behind my neck. Curiosity drives my eyes to the king, who glowers at me as his jaw grinds side to side. I offer the slightest acknowledgment, curving one side of my mouth before ignoring the Blackwoods once more.
Jeth’s sobbing fades until he can no longer be heard by the entire realm. I assume he’s been taken to a healer, though I’ve little care to confirm. Thalion rises, his light hair swaying with the precise movement, and raises a thick hand to silence the audience.
“People of Eldoria, and contestants, welcome to the second trial! This particular trial will test your stealth and strategy. I do hope you’ve donned proper clothing, as any small mistake could leave you caught and eliminated from the competition.” He chuckles darkly, and several people in the crowd follow along.
“This trial is simple. You will be given a riddle to solve, where the solution reveals the location of your trial. You are to bring back the hidden artifact at your location.” Gold and crimson decorated guards shuffle from behind the thrones, each taking a position in front of the thirteen assassins.
I survey the features of my guard, a patronizing comment resting on my tongue when he will not even look me in the eye. Despite being the same height as me, he manages to lift his chin enough to focus his eyes over my head and ignore my presence. His nose bends to the left, making his face appear tilted. He looks nice, though. Soft .
He reminds me of Isaiah a few years ago.
“I realize it is after the dinner hour. However, do not fret. Your devices will not ignite at midnight. Ah-ah,” he chides at whatever he finds disappointing behind me. “It is just for tonight’s trial. You have until the break of sun to return with your artifact and move forward in this competition. If you do not return by midnight tomorrow…well, you are not foolish enough to think there is a way out of your fate.”
The guards raise an arm, passing each of us our riddles. To my left, Sivara scoffs at the contents of her paper. The riddles must not be difficult, then. A glare from the king’s gilded crown skips over my eyes, and I blink, finding His Majesty watching me intensely.
“Your trial begins now. Do make haste—you do not wish to be snared in the claws of the night when you are so close to the final trial.”
It’s as if we’re the only two present in the room. I almost hear the echo of his deep voice as he says the cryptic words only to me.
A threat. One I’d do well to heed.
The king may be a bastard, but he is not foolish. The Blackwoods are the family in power for a reason, and Thalion is the embodiment of their viscid disposition.
I snap my gaze away, pocketing my riddle and turning to Isaiah and Ally, who huddle together, whispering amongst themselves. My stomach clenches. Is always seems to know when I’m watching him; he looks up at me, and I raise a brow. We communicate well without words. He nods slightly, waiting for my returning one before focusing on Ally once more.
The remaining competitors stare at their riddles, silently mouthing the words as if that will change their meaning and help solve it. Ignoring them, I stalk through the group and swiftly out of the doors. Guards stiffen when I pass, their fear palpable. I grimace at the mustiness of their sweat encased suits.
How often do they fucking wash their clothes? The answer is undoubtedly nauseating.
I reach for the paper as I walk beyond the doors of the castle. There’s less light here, but I will not chance someone reading the words. The king’s obvious interest in me earlier pricks the back of my mind, and my instincts warn me to increase caution. Something in the way he eyed me…the underlying threat was no mistake.
I suspect the king does not make many mistakes.
I shiver. Aether fuck me, it grew cold quickly. I pinch the paper and roll it open.
“For fuck’s sake.” This cannot mean what I think it does.
A sacred guardian in the mountains. Obviously a fucking griffin…it is the only lawfully protected species in the realm. Harming a griffin—even in self-defense—is punishable by lifelong imprisonment or death.
But that is not the thought that bristles the hair along my arms.
No one encounters a griffin and survives. They are territorial and vicious. I’ve heard stories in passing; mere rumors, though I scour each memory I have of them.
“It don’t matter how clever you are. They see you and you’re dead—just your presence pisses them off.” The round man spills his drink as he cackles, soaking the fabric of his shirt that’s barely holding together as is. I can’t make out his next words, his slurring increasing by the second.
“No way that’s true! They wouldn’t be sacred if they killed everyone they see.”
“Is true!” The first man screams, his face growing purple. “My grand told me it happened to him!”
The three others burst out laughing, one gripping his abdomen when he can’t stop. “And did his fucking ghost tell you that, Ter?”
“Course not—I don’t have the spectral. Besides, he hasn’t died yet.” He coughs, my nose scrunching at the wet sound.
“Then how can he claim to have seen a griffin and live if he says they kill everyone they see? That’s fucking stupid, Terry. ”
I tilt my chin back, basking in the chill. Every story I have collected about griffins has been the same as my memory of those senseless men. They’re killers. Savage. Unforgiving beasts.
I still before snatching the riddle back into focus. Fuck me.
There are an undetermined amount of nests on the Elysaran Mountains. The mountains span weeks worth of travel, and I’ve not a single clue as to where I will find the one I need. I groan, my head throbbing. I doubt the artifact will be conveniently displayed…I’ll need to see the nests to know.
The likelihood of me surviving long enough to inspect even one nest is nearly zero. My fingers tap against a blade, and I shrug.
I’ve defeated worse odds.
Bone-chilling wind whips my tied hair around violently, obscuring my vision every few seconds. This is going to be a very long night. I’ve already wasted an hour running to the base of the mountain—to the only safe ascent point that I’m aware of.
I am foolishly relying on the presumption that someone must have given the artifact to a griffin, and likely would not have traveled far or deep into the creatures’ territory. And they surely couldn’t expect me to travel far, steal from a fucking griffin, and return to the castle before dawn…my jaw clenches hard.
I am going to gut the fucking prince and feed his innards to the king.
I’m not meant to return. They created an impossible trial knowing they could behead me for failing if the griffin did not first. Why? Do they see me as such a threat that the prince fabricated an inevitable death?
My fingers twitch to rip the collar off and get it over with, but the raging heat inside my body demands more.
I begin the steep climb, the ground hardening while my breaths become visible. Eventually, I veer off the path that others use for transport. It’s perceived as the safest route through the mountains, as it avoids as many threats as possible. I know the griffin territory is west, most likely centered around the part of the Weaver’s Torrent that travels through the mountains.
When I’m high enough that snow crunches under my boots, I pause. They’ll hear me approach if I’m not careful. I chew on my cracking lip, cursing the Angel for providing me the worst possible weather tonight.
Not the worst, I suppose, though I’ve never claimed to lack dramatics.
My pyro strand would prove effective—but I am not convinced there isn’t someone watching me. Did the king send a spy to ensure my death, or is he convinced I will certainly not live through this encounter?
I have no choice but to risk the exposure. The use of this strand could be explained easy enough if I manage to radiate heat from my lower half without sparking flame.
I tug on the strand and silently enter the griffin territory.