Chapter 27
Chapter twenty-seven
The poison moved slowly through my veins, lighting each inch of them on fire as it skulked toward my heart.
Everyone’s eyes were glued to me as they watched to see what toll the poison would take, but I wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of seeing me wither.
I kept my head held high, knees locked and back straight as I listened closely to our next instructions.
“The second half of today’s event will be a challenge of survival,” the steward announced, and my heart already seemed to burn at the thought.
Survival? Is it some sort of battle to the death where the poison gives you a disadvantage?
It still seemed to line up perfectly with Sybil’s skillsets, but I was at least relieved to know that she carried nearly as much poison in her blood as I did.
My pulse began to quicken, my system slowly recognizing the toxin and preparing to wage a war of its own.
I needed to form a plan now, while I still had the strength to think clearly.
“In just a moment, you will all be escorted out of the palace into a remote forest,” the steward continued, my interest piqued at the thought of being let outside the confines of the castle grounds.
“Ruling Aemastia comes with the challenge of ruling over its brutal winters; therefore, any potential queen will have to prove herself capable. This challenge will test your ability to endure Aemastia itself.”
I glanced out the frosted windows, goosebumps already spreading up my arms at the thought of being stranded out in the cold with a rising fever. The long-sleeved dress at least made sense now, and I was grateful that they wouldn’t throw us out in thin cotton frocks.
“Each competitor will be required to survive out in the elements for two full days.” The steward approached Avalyn, handing her a small scroll, then doing the same for Brisa.
“You may venture out of the forest at the crack of dawn on the third day. If you’re caught venturing too far any sooner, you’ll be disqualified.
Scores will be awarded based on who makes it back to the palace first.”
So it would be two days of survival and then a race?
I gulped down a short breath, slowly understanding how difficult this race would become, especially for those who were poisoned.
There would be little hope of moving quickly if we were half-frozen, starved, and ill.
Our ability to take care of ourselves in the forest would greatly impact our performance in the final race.
What if I become too sick to survive?
I couldn’t think about that. There had to be a way to fight this poison and still endure the winter. He didn’t say we couldn’t team up with other competitors. Mara might be able to help me for once.
“The forest borders will be well guarded, as well”—the steward looked straight at Mara—“so be sure to keep to the designated area.”
Mara looked down at her shoes, her terror written all over the scar that traced her face.
Even with the guarded borders, it seemed odd to allow Mara and me outside the palace.
We were essentially prisoners, with nothing holding us here except the will to survive.
Surely the guards couldn’t monitor every inch of the forest’s edge.
They were practically asking us to try to escape.
My breath hooked.
That’s exactly what they’re doing…
I glanced at the king, unable to read his thoughts but certain that he was locked in on the next moves of his well-designed game. He wouldn’t give me the option to run if he didn’t plan to catch me. Very clever…
King Septimus wanted only two things out of me: to kill me or to make Ivalon hate me. Running from an event would give him every reason to execute me while also making both Ivalon and Aemastia lose faith in their coward of a champion.
Escaping wasn’t an option, but it was a trap I certainly needed to avoid.
“You will be allowed nothing more than the clothes currently on your back and this map of the area.” The steward passed me my scroll, and I kept it tucked tight in my palm.
“However, you will be allowed one outlet of assistance, if you so choose.” He stepped back from us, gesturing toward the sea of servants, soldiers, and nobles that had been crowded into the room.
The unknowing guests glanced nervously between each other, clearly unaware of what their roles were.
“Every queen has her servants, so each of you will be allowed to choose anyone as an attendant from this room to accompany you for the challenge.
These attendants are allowed to serve you however you deem fit, but they must return alive and in equivalent health to your own.
You'll receive extra points for a healthy attendant and lose points for a damaged one.”
Another layer of challenge, was the poison not already enough?
I looked across the mass of faces, my head already pounding and making it difficult to pick out any good candidates.
Taking someone along might seem like an advantage, especially if you chose an able-bodied soldier or a resourceful nobleman, but in truth, it would only make things harder.
Taking care of yourself in a survival setting was one thing; taking care of someone else was twice as difficult, especially if you accidentally chose someone who didn’t want to see you succeed.
I see why I was dressed in red today…
There was no chance I could pick an Aemastian soldier or noble. Not when they might very well choose to sabotage me out of spite. That left me to choose an overworked, underfed Ivalonian, or to go alone.
Curse you, Septimus.
A servant handed the steward a crystal goblet full of papers, and the steward pulled one out and read out the name. “Lady Mara, you will be selecting first. Who should you like to accompany you in your challenge?”
Mara was about as unprepared as a ship in a sand dune, her mouth opening and shutting but no sound coming out yet. She looked frantically through the crowd, her breathing heavy enough that her entire body shook until she jabbed a shaky finger at a familiar face.
“H-him,” she said, picking out none other than Beckham from the crowd. “I’ll take him, please.”
“You heard her, boy. Come forward.” The steward waved at the panicked boy, and the crowd parted so he could reach the center of the room. Beckham’s head shrank down, keeping close to his shoulders to shroud his neck as he shakily walked up to Mara and bowed.
Oh, Beckham…
It pained me to see them both drawn into the king’s deadly spotlight. I understood why Mara gravitated toward a familiar face, and honestly having his healing magic made him more valuable than anyone knew, but I couldn’t imagine the level of terror they carried together.
“An excellent choice. Now let’s see who’s next.” He drew another name, unfolding it with a polite smile. “Lady Brisa, who will you choose?”
The petite blonde cleared her throat, her sharp eyes scanning the room one final time before her attention strangely landed on the wall where the royal family was seated. “I choose Prince Lochlan,” Brisa said with a dainty point of her finger. “He’ll do nicely.”
Confused whispers flooded the room, and the steward shot the crowd a stern look to silence them.
“My apologies, Lady Brisa, but the prince isn’t—”
“You clearly stated that we could select anyone in this room,” she said primly, completely unbothered by Lochlan’s disapproving glare. “He’s in the room, so I have chosen him. I shouldn’t have to repeat your own rules.”
She was right; no one had specified that you had to choose someone from the crowd. The king called the steward over, whispering in his ear for a brief moment with a stoic expression before turning to his son. He nodded at Lochlan, then gestured for him to join Brisa.
“Good luck, Son,” he said coldly as Lochlan begrudgingly joined Brisa.
I wasn’t exactly sure what drove Brisa to pick Lochlan of all people, but clearly her plans were already working as she proudly flaunted her captive prince.
That means that she was right about the rule…I can choose anyone within these walls.
“Lady Diaspro, you may choose next.”
Maybe there was still hope after all.
“I choose Prince Atlas,” I said, pointing toward the one person who I knew would do everything in his power to help me win.
The king gave his seat a tight-knuckled clench at my request, never looking at his son as Atlas obediently joined me.
Brisa’s loophole was making a mess of his plans, but his hands were officially tied.
Thanks, Brisa.
“Always the lucky one, aren’t you?” Atlas whispered in my ear as Avalyn was called next to choose.
“Lucky? Tell that to the goblet I just drank from,” I scoffed. He gave me a detailed look, his eyes scrunching as he studied my clammy palms and paling skin.
“At least someone spared you,” he said, shifting a little closer as if he was already offering me his warmth. “There’s meant to be a storm rolling in soon. You’re about to run out of all that luck.”
“Then I guess I’ll have to borrow yours,” I said, my throat already feeling dry.
“I choose Prince Cedric,” Avalyn announced, claiming the last available royal other than the king. I wasn’t certain how well Cedric would fare in a survival situation, but he was likely still a better choice than most.
“Princess Ciara, you may choose.”
Ciara didn’t bother seeking out any royal, and instead scanned the crowd until her finger pointed toward a short, young servant girl with bright eyes and an Ivalonian maid outfit. “I’ll take her.”
An Ivalonian? The crowd seemed equally confused as the feeble girl curtseyed to the princess.
I supposed it made sense to choose someone young, resilient, and small who would be easy to take care of and kept fed.
Though it would have been just as easy to go alone if she didn't care about the extra points.
Was the servant girl hiding magic like Beckham?
That would certainly make her more valuable.
“Finally, Lady Sybil. Who would you like to take with you?”
“Nobody,” Sybil clipped, crossing her arms tightly against her chest. “I’ll go alone.”
“Very well.” The steward shrugged, waving for a row of guards to come forward and escort us. It was feeling real now. Somehow, some way, I needed to survive two days in the bitter cold with a stomach full of poison and only my fated enemy to rely on. “Your carriages are waiting. Best of luck.”