31. You’ve got to be kidding me #2
At the table to my side, Malakai straightened out the bottles before taking a step back and pausing for a lengthy moment, his lips parted and canines exposed, as someone else in the room let out a belabored wail and began retching.
“Now, the terms of your second trial,” he finally said when the noise settled.
“In the bottles before you, one is a simple warming tonic, while two contain compounds that will leave you violently ill for the next several hours. A clue as to the contents is attached to each respective bottle, and you can only unseal the one you intend to drink.”
My chest tightened a little further with every word that came out of Malakai’s mouth as I studied the three unassuming bottles. They were all simple glass with clear fluids inside, and the papers tied on had been folded in half so I couldn’t glimpse anything written yet.
“Oh, and you have three minutes to make your choice,” he added, and my attention snapped up. “Starting now.”
I didn’t have a chance to fumble out any noise of protest, because Malakai flipped over a small sandglass on the table, and the grains inside began pooling in the bottle.
Goddess help me. I was so fucked.
A few quiet curses were all I managed as I grabbed the first bottle and read its hint.
White death.
The words washed over me with absolutely no immediate association in my mind and only amplified the tightness in my chest, but for the sake of my rapidly dwindling time, I moved on to the next bottle.
Green night.
And the last bottle?
Blue dawn.
It took everything to stave off the wave of panic that lapped at my mind.
I pressed the heels of my palms into my eyes and took a slow breath. I just needed to think. Eilir had taught me so damned much about Grimmoria, its pantheon of gods, and its people. An answer had to be there somewhere; I was just so fucking tired.
“Halfway through, Miss Wynn.”
There was no point in holding back my frustrated whine, and I could’ve sworn Malakai chuckled at it—as if that was any goddess-damned help to my mind, or to my fingers that drifted back to the bottle with white death written on its paper.
Something about it was clearly agitating some part of my memory, far more than the other two.
I just couldn’t figure out if it was simply because the name seemed too on the nose for something that would make me ill.
Or maybe my hypothermic body was just looking for a swift end.
“I’d suggest making up your mind with some urgency.”
I braved a glance at the sandglass, and thanked the damned goddess I did.
As the last handful of grains slipped into the lower half, Eilir’s lesson from just the previous afternoon came fluttering back into my mind.
White death was what Umbrites called their act of cremation, from the way flesh burned white under nytefire, and the pale ash that scattered on the wind after a pyre.
The odds that we’d just discussed it were unfathomable to me, and perhaps I was forming too loose a connection between the heat of a pyre and a warming tonic, but I didn’t get to overthink it a moment more.
“Your time is up, Miss Wynn,” Malakai said, far more sternly than he needed to. “Drink.”
I took the time to shoot him a scathing glance before I uncorked the white death bottle and shot it down back in one gulp.
The thin liquid tasted a little metallic, but not like much else.
I couldn’t fathom if that was good or not until the shifter lord smiled and dipped his head just as a blissful wave of warmth rolled up from my stomach and spread out through my limbs.
“My sincere congratulations on passing your second trial.” He swept a hand toward the door. “Someone will fetch you from the hall and take you for respite.”
Goddess, the last thing I wanted to do was get off the cot, despite its lumpiness. Well, maybe it was the second-to-last, because I wasn’t keen on listening to the dulcet sound of disqualified contestants heaving their guts out behind me.
I rose on legs that were unsteady but no longer freezing and trudged ahead, sending a half-assed wave back at the arrogant shifter lord as I leaned on the door panel and slipped out into the hall.
I tensed at the shrill squeal that followed.
“PRINCESS!” Eilir shot at me in a blur from a short distance down the hall.
The sprite’s entire wooden body collided with my chest with a damp thud, and their wings fluttered over my face as they tried—and failed—to get their arms around me. “I was SO worried,” they warbled. “The ice. I—I…”
Eilir made an ugly sound and clutched me tighter, but Gallan just laughed as he emerged behind them at a much more casual pace.
His silver eyes glinted, and a grin stretched across his face as he took my chin and gave my face a once-over. “I, for one, didn’t doubt you for a moment, my dear princess. Two for two, just like I knew you’d be.”
“Yes, you did!” Eilir cried. “You were just as worried as I was!”
Gallan just rolled his eyes and shook his head.
“Come now.” With great effort, he pried Eilir off me and shooed the sprite away.
He slung one of my arms over his shoulders next, pulling my body into rather unwilling motion.
“We’ll stuff you into some dry clothes, get the witch to patch you up like new, and you can park your ass on something comfortable while those last two do their runs and drink their potions. ”
“I think I could use a nap more than anything,” I rasped as I leaned a little harder against him. “Maybe for a few days.”
Gallan chuckled. “Oh, yes. You definitely need a nap. But just a quick one. We’ve got plans tonight.”
“We do?”
“Of course we do!” He gave me a tight squeeze, which did little good for my tremor-wracked body as we turned down a corridor. “Me. You. The rest of the prospects. Anyone else who wanders into The Busty Wench to celebrate two successful Agōn Ferr trials with us.”
Celebrating. At a tavern.
The thought nearly brought a tear to my eye.
When was the last time I’d celebrated anything?
Before my father died, surely, but I couldn’t place a specific event.
It was a damned good thing we were about to fix that, even though a few days of sleep would’ve been the smarter thing to do.
“That sounds incredible. I definitely could use a meal then, and maybe—”
“Enora, wait!”
That was the last voice I wanted to hear, even if my rage had been tempered to bone-deep exhaustion, spread thick with the warmth from that damned tonic.
When I glanced back, dark mist still swirled around both Maksym and Jasper’s feet.
My old friend had his hood up and his hands clasped in front of him like the studious advisor I was sure he loved pretending to be, but my betrothed held enough unease on his face for both of them.
I’d never known him to look so pale, or to have such a crease between his brows, and that was plenty to stoke my dying ember of annoyance into something with bite.
“Do not.” My voice was a little hoarser than I would’ve liked, but at least I had a damned good reason for it. “I thought I had made it abundantly clear that I didn’t want to see either of you while I’m dealing with this shit.”
“Enora,” Maksym sighed. He took a half-step forward but halted, flexing his hands at his sides. “I just want to know if you’re alright.”
A beat of humorless laughter clawed out of my raw throat. “Am I alright? I’m great, Maksym. Just fucking great. Now, if you’ll excuse me, these wet clothes are chafing, and I’m sure your ravenous citizens are eager for you to announce another round.”
Gallan was clearly stuck straddling a precarious line, because he resettled his hold on me and tugged at my shoulder—I just didn’t know if it was for my good or his king’s that he was trying to put a quick end to our interaction.
“Anything else you need to know?” I asked, but Maksym shook his head.
Thank the goddess for that, because I didn’t want to look at his pained face anymore.