Chapter 18
Derian
Ihad been barely older than a boy during the last Conclave, when Taric won my Aunt Ulna’s hand in marriage.
That Conclave had been relatively quick, thanks to Taric’s rare abilities as a blood-wielder.
If memory serves, he killed all his opponents in the very first trial.
He’d been remarkably brutal in his efficiency.
It had only taken twenty minutes for the bodies to drop, blood leaking out of their eyes, ears, and mouths.
This time feels different, though. The presence of Mortals changes everything.
I suspect that’s why so many have gathered to watch. Some have even traveled quite far just to be here and see who will live through this trial and who won’t. All around me, they’re exchanging bets on the lives of the women, none choosing to favor any of the Mortals.
“How was your trip?” Cal asks under his breath, careful to keep his question neutral with so many listening ears nearby.
“You were right.”
Cal suspected there was a growing power in the Wastelands, so I’d gone to check it out myself. The second I crossed the threshold into that dead land, I could feel the oppressive magic against my skin.
Velkai magic.
Stronger than I’ve ever felt before.
Then I’d felt the ground shake under my feet as if it knew I was in their territory and wanted me gone. I’d ventured only a few more feet before the sound of a feminine scream suddenly echoed through my mind, nearly bringing me to my knees.
Days later, I still couldn’t quite place that voice.
Eventually, her cries stopped. The magic around me settled, the echoes ceased. I walked another few paces into the Wastelands, just to test if that dark force would attempt its attack again, but the world around me remained quiet and dead.
Still, I’d seen everything I needed to.
“Would you like to send for additions to the barracks?” Cal asks, hiding his true question.
Reinforcements.
If we called for reinforcements to Oxhurn, we might as well announce to the entire Fae kingdom that the Velkai were returning. It would cause a frenzy of fear.
I sigh. “Not yet.”
Cal looks at me for a long while, contemplative, as if he doesn’t quite agree with my decision, but finally nods. “Have you talked to Luceron?”
My brother's name leaves me on edge. “No, but I’m sure someone’s already alerted him to what’s going on here.”
Not just about the Wastelands, but about the Conclave too.
It’s only a matter of time until he makes his opinion on all this known.
“You think he’ll summon you back to Bridgemond before this is over?”
“He can't.” Even a King can’t stop a Conclave once it’s started. “When it’s over, I’ll go to Bridgemond with his new sister-in-law in tow, and he can scold me then.”
Cal snorts and turns his attention back to the arena where Roland is finishing the last of his instructions to the women.
“It’s starting,” he says.
So it is.
I’d been watching absently as Roland explained the trial to them, my attention split between the women, the Velkai, and Huntyr. The last of which seems to be, annoyingly, avoiding my gaze.
The second Roland announces the beginning of the trial, though, I focus in on the arena, watching as the women’s bodies all go rigid. Magic cascades through the air as their muscles lock and their eyes go unfocused. They stand right before us, and yet their minds are somewhere else entirely.
It’s begun.
I glance at her again.
If I was a smarter male, I might turn my attention to the Fae who had a stronger likelihood of winning these trials. I might watch Seraphina, who will most likely be my wife at the end of this.
But I can’t deny that Huntyr's the only one I care to watch.
I notice the moment she steps forward into the illusion. Her body remains locked in place, but her jaw clenches, her fingers flexing subtly. Still, her muscles are relaxed and loose compared to everyone else. She’s ready for whatever she’s about to face.
Good.
Leaning forward, I rest my elbows atop my knees, not daring to even blink.
“How long do you think it will take?” Cal asks from beside me, running a hand absentmindedly across his jawline.
The other women stiffen suddenly, each of them beginning to face the challenges of the labyrinth. The Mortal next to Huntyr stumbles, her breathing turning shallow, fingers twitching as if reaching for something that isn’t there.
She’s already losing, and she doesn’t even realize it.
I’m sure she’s only minutes away from death. She’ll be the first.
Groans echo across the arena from those who lost bets of who would fall first.
“Not long,” I answer, watching Huntyr’s every move. I note the twitch of her brow and the purse of her lips. Her chest rises and falls evenly, her breathing steady. “I don’t think this will take very long at all.”