29. Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Ariella
H airs along my arms rise the closer I get to the castle. Every home I pass, every shop and tavern, all empty. The city is quiet. Desolate. Abhorrent heat beats down on my exhausted body—the irony of me all but begging the cold to disappear just a few hours ago is not lost on me.
My tongue weakly attempts to provide any moisture to my mouth and lips, even knowing the only solution at this point is water. My head pounds harder than the sun as every muscle in my body aches, as if they’ve been pushed past their limits for days.
I’m so caught in the throes of my discomfort that I breeze through the castle gates before noticing the lack of red and gold attire that normally surround the entrance. I pause, wincing at the strain looking over my shoulder causes in my neck.
There is not a single royal guard in sight. I scan the courtyard, purposefully skipping the fountain—no one. No movement or chatter. No wary stares in my direction. Nothing. Until a booming cheer sounds from the left, my feet moving toward the arena before my mind catches up.
The noise gets louder as I step closer to the large structure behind the castle. What the fuck could they be cheering for? And while the rest of us are dying on a mountain? Pathetic.
Two royal guards donning those unbecoming red masks straighten when they spot me. One nods his head before pivoting to enter a tunnel several feet away from the door they’re stationed in front of. A finger taps on my blade as I follow the guard, smirking each time he looks back as if I’m about to attack.
Maybe I will just because of how fucking annoying he is.
Stale, dry air thickens; the man ahead nothing more than a barely perceptible silhouette. It takes longer than I remember before light grows in the distance, and I can feel my heart’s racing tempo in my throat.
The noise becomes near-deafening as the guard gestures ahead, and I step through the entrance. I stop my restless finger to unsheathe my blade.
This does not feel like a crowd that is ready to congratulate a winner. They’re hungry, basically drooling around their pleas of a final round . It is not difficult to discern their meaning when my eyes lock with Sivara’s, who stands idly at the center of the arena. I swallow down every bit of pain and tiredness as I saunter to the only other person in the grounds with me .
At least I am not alone in having struggled my way back. Her normally pristine hair falls around her in hardened chunks, a hint of red glistening when the light hits it right. Her leathers are torn in several places, faring better than the flayed pieces of skin hanging from her arm.
I avert my eyes—too fresh of a reminder. Images of Isaiah’s body will only render me at a disadvantage.
My knees almost give out when I stop a dozen feet from my opponent, turning right to face Eldoria’s illustrious royal family. My eyes pull to the side where the prince sits already watching me—always watching me. He winces, mouthing I’m sorry . I memorize his lips as they wrap around the simple words; the same ones I wish I had the chance to tell my best friend.
Caspian offers a sad smile, as if he knows where my thoughts went. But now they veer in another direction…tension, heat, those lips devouring mine. Feeling wanted and cherished when it is the last thing I’d ever deserve. His contorted features when my blade met his flesh. Blood seeping from the same lips that gave me so much the night before.
What he did last night.
When I’d gone from wanting to kill him to needing to protect him, I’m not sure. Truthfully, I’m too exhausted—physically and mentally—to be sure of anything at the moment .
I meet his warm, gentle eyes and return his smile, if only to silence my head so that I may focus on whatever the king is about to say.
The bastard himself stands, gesturing to the audience with his arms. “My great people of Eldoria, welcome to the final trial!” Cheers. It’s baffling just how invested these people are in trials they’ve barely seen—that is until I’m reminded of how these same people laughed as my father was whipped in the same streets they walk each day. “Before you are the two remaining competitors—the others have been confirmed deceased.” So they have been watching us somehow.
The king leans against the railing in front of him, gesturing to my left. “Sivara Dhuri, here from the cliffs of Invalle,” he booms, grinning widely before narrowing his beady eyes at me. Uncoordinated stomping rings from behind me, likely those who know Sivara personally. “And Ariella Mistaire, the legendary Silver Wraith, and a member of Valoria’s very own guild!” I don’t want their admiration or applause. I have half a mind to test just how widely my essence can spread, so that I may kill every fool from here to the Aether.
If for no other reason than silencing their vexatious cries.
“There may only be one crowned victor…” His attention sweeps between my opponent and me. “Sivara. Ariella. Do whatever you must to wi—” The entire arena silences as Sivara’s body dr ops to the ground, my blade protruding from just above her ear.
He wanted a show? He will not get one from me.
I’m fucking sick of being paraded in front of the good citizens of Eldoria who want nothing more than to watch me bleed. Suffer. I’m done wearing this collar and taking part in this sham of a competition.
The next blade I throw will meet the creased space between his eyes. I glare through him and ensure he hears my message clearly.
He’s next.
My eyes scan the audience, most of them tense with shocked expressions. Some laugh. Others carry their children out of the arena. When my attention flits back to the royals, a ghost of a smile settles on the queen’s face. She’s fitted in a silken, gold dress with straps that reach around to hug her neck. Gold chains fitted with jewels I cannot make out wrap around both wrists. Her long hair falls in waves over a shoulder, a lighter piece framing her severe face.
Next to her, Vespera stares at Sivara’s body with her jaw hanging as far as I’m sure it will go. I pass over the king to focus on Caspian, who covers his mouth with a hand, eyes glimmering playfully as if he’s struggling to hold in a laugh. He straightens and bites his cheek when the king pins him with a disapproving look before addressing the utterly silent arena .
“I suppose we have our champion! Ariella Mistaire, you have proven yourself worthy of such a title. The awarding ceremony will occur in two days time. For now… rest .” The manner in which he spits the word churns my stomach, guaranteeing I will indeed not be resting.
But no longer will I remain here, either.
I cross my feet to turn back toward the tunnel, stalking from the arena without acknowledging any of the cheers or questions aimed my way. The moment I enter the castle, I pause to breathe. It’s over—and I’m still alive. Isaiah will not be crowned the winner. I did not murder the prince or his father. Not a single one of my plans succeeded, and I am now left with dozens of questions that I did not have before.
I sway, pressing a hand to a cream wall and opening the eyes I didn’t realize I’d closed. I need to return to my room before I fall unconscious right here and render myself vulnerable. Then I will sleep before thinking further about any of this.
No—water first, then sleep.
I attempt to swallow, a phantom of the motion gliding down my throat.
I wander through several halls, filled with paintings and decor that scream royal . Something touches my shoulder, my hand snapping up to grab the wrist of the prince, who immediately covers it with his other in a placating manner. He says something.
“What?” His brows furrow as he examines my body, focusing longer on the bloody spots. “Not all of it is mine.” I’m not sure why I felt the urge to calm his nerves.
“Are you okay? I was calling for you, but clearly you did not hear me coming,” he whispers, his thumb rubbing heavily over my finger that taps against him. I pull my hand back and continue walking.
“I’m fine.” He says nothing, walking next to me as if we’re equals. His steps are sure—confident in a way that only the gait of someone who is familiar with their route would be.
“Ariella, I’m so sorry for last night…”
I stop abruptly, reaching to pinch his chin and force his eyes to mine. “I’m not angry with you.” Why do I care what he thinks? The heaviness in my body turns into an intense ache as adrenaline wears off. “I just can’t talk about it right now, okay?” He peers down at my hand, a question flitting through his curious eyes. I say nothing, allowing him to grasp it with both of his. His lips brush over my fingers as his gaze locks with mine, a flickering sensation running down my arm.
“Okay.” He squeezes my hand before dropping it lightly, grinning wickedly. “Though I will walk you to your room…you look a heartbeat away from death.” I scoff, my eyes widening before I shove at his chest. He snorts, catching up when I stalk away from him .
“You really know how to make a woman feel good,” I attempt to say coldly, though it comes out much softer.
“Would you like me to make you feel good, angel? My mouth is excellen t at so much more than just producing charming words.” I can’t help the laugh, though I don’t hide it, either.
I struggle to weave my umbral strand enough to undo the wards at my door…only to groan when I remember there couldn’t be any because I was drugged the last time I was here.
I feel eyes boring into me.
“What?”
I roll my head to Caspian as I lean against the door. He shrugs, sliding his hands into the pockets of his pants. “Nothing—I just love hearing you laugh.” I suck in a breath as his hand reaches to push a loose strand of hair behind my ear. I shift, holding his stare. After a moment, he drops his hand and smiles, though it doesn’t reach his eyes.
“I know—too much.” He sounds almost sad. I shouldn’t care…so why does my chest squeeze tightly from his defeated voice? “Get some sleep, Ariella,” he breathes, nodding to my room before backing away. Should I ask him to stay… “Actually, shower first, will you?” He scrunches his nose playfully before disappearing down another hall.
I barely make it to my bed before my eyes close—huffing because I know he’ll tease me for sleeping in such a filthy state.