Chapter 10
10
T he interior of the Saltspire Palace was somehow more stunning than the exterior. The pink-hued salt acted like stained glass, but because the entire palace was made of it, every surface seemed to glow with the warm light of the sun. The rays dripped like honey across a nearly translucent dance floor. The ballroom was round and couples spun across it, almost seeming to float with the way the light played on it.
King West was sitting on his throne on the dais, speaking to a few other nobility that surrounded him. Along the far wall, massive surfaces were adorned with tantalizing food, the tables low so that the guests sat on colorful floor pillows to eat. Musicians played sparkling music with notes that bubbled like champagne. Even the chandeliers were made of salt, glowing flames tossing flickering lighting across the hall as the sun began to set.
It was all so romantic, so lush, so comfortable .
This was where the King and his court were staying while us prisoners suffered in Ashguard?
It stoked a fire within me. One that cooled only slightly when I remembered that we were prisoners—on death row. Did ruthless killers like Tristen or Ajax deserve comfort? Deserve this?
Did I deserve this?
Conflict warred within me, and I didn’t even notice as a man stepped up beside me.
“I’ll accept a dance as a thank you,” a voice purred in my ear.
I whipped my head to see Tristen standing beside me, a smirk on his lips and his dark hair barely tamed. My heart jumped as I took in his finely cut attire. All black—it cast him in a darkness that just emphasized his natural beauty. His innate power.
“A thank you for what?” I asked, leveling a glare at him as he circled me, taking in my dress.
“For helping you slay all those demons and saving your life,” he said smoothly.
“You need a thank you for killing the things that would have surely killed you as well?” I said coldly.
“Come now, wouldn’t want others to stare at us,” Tristen said, his fingertips brushing down my forearm to my hand, tugging me to the dance floor.
I kept my feet firmly planted, staring him down. “A dance… in exchange for an answer to a question.”
Tristen grinned. “There she is,” he growled, and prowled toward me. “I accept your bargain, Sael .”
There it was, that odd word again—but I didn’t want to waste my question on deciphering Tristen. He led me onto the dance floor where royalty danced, wearing colors I suspected were from different kingdoms. I spied the rest of the prisoners lurking by the food, not daring to set foot on the dance floor as the royal guards nervously watched them.
“You look like a vision,” Tristen said, sliding one arm behind my lower back, the other to my hand as we joined the other couples on the dance floor. I tried not to feel the fluttering in my stomach at his soft touch on my bare skin.
“In this vision, I’m planning your death,” I said, scowling at him.
But that made Tristen grin, and he winked at me. “I’d expect nothing less.”
The music picked up, and Tristen spun me into a fast-paced waltz, a dance so fast it was dizzying. But his grace made the quick pace and the fast spins feel effortless—even as I stumbled, his strong hand flat on my back helped steady me. I felt his body shift as his strong arms guided me. I wasn’t just dancing with him, I was floating through the ballroom in his embrace. My steps became sure, as if his confidence gave me confidence.
I was breathless as the song moved to one with a slower pace, and the couples swaying in time with a more simple dance. Tristen pulled me close.
“Your question?” he asked, looking down at me with amusement and curiosity.
I smiled sweetly, looping both of my arms around his neck. I felt his hands slip down the sides of my gown to rest on my hips. “Yes. I had an interesting conversation today. Where I heard about how you kidnapped me from my village in Riverleaf during a rebel skirmish.”
Tristen slowed, but didn’t stop our dancing. His expression was unreadable. “That wasn’t a question.”
“I’ll put it more bluntly, then. Why did you steal me from my village? From Callum?”
Tristen narrowed his eyes. “Who the hell is Callum?”
I blinked. “Callum. Callum Wells. The Commander?—”
Tristen nodded, as if remembering. “Ah. Yes. He was in your village?” A darkness flashed across Tristen’s face. “What has he told you about your past?”
“You promised me an answer. Not more questions, Assassin ,” I said.
The song shifted, and Tristen smoothly slipped a hand on my back, the other to my right hand as we began the steps of another intricate dance. “Keep your face neutral. Best to not let the others see us fighting.”
I glared. “Why?”
“Don’t you want them to think you have my protection in the trials?”
“Answer. My. Gods. Damned. Question,” I snarled.
He sighed, and I gasped as he dropped me into a sudden dip, his lips by my ear. “I can’t.”
I jerked to pull away from him, but he merely pulled me up and into another spin that had others staring at the way my petaled dress shone in the light of the dying afternoon. He dropped me once more into a dramatic dip before I could catch my breath, and as the song ended I was seething, daggers in my eyes.
“We had a deal,” I said, feeling foolish for trying to make a bargain with such a ruthless enemy.
“And I had a deal before our deal. So I can’t tell you.”
“Deal with whom?” I demanded.
A shadow passed over Tristen’s face as we resumed our dance.
“Nothing… nothing I’ve ever—” Suddenly, Tristen pulled back, choking.
I stared, and he stumbled to the side of the dance floor, coughing.
“Tristen?” I asked.
His coughing stopped, but when he withdrew his hand, I saw that it was covered in blood. Blood .
What had just happened? In my peripheral vision, I caught a glimpse of Callum arriving, his chest puffing up when he saw who I was standing with. But then his gaze shifted to something behind me—and his eyes widened.
“Let’s keep the bleeding to the trials, shall we? Blood is hard to get out of salt. I’m sure you’ll understand.”
That cold, regal voice was unmistakable.
“King West,” I said, turning to see the King standing behind me. He was decked out in finery, his clothes a shimmering gold that reflected the flickering light of the candles shining through the salt chandeliers. The sun was teasing at a sunset, the rays of golden light glimmering on his bronzed skin.
“I’m rather impressed by your performance at the trials so far, Saffron,” he said to me. “To think, you were trying to remove yourself from the competition just a day ago.”
“I didn’t have much of a choice,” I said, unable to hold back my glare at Tristen, who was now watching the King with barely concealed hatred.
“A dance?” King West asked, holding out a hand to me.
Turning down the King would be foolish, so I summoned what little court etiquette I had access to, and curtseyed. “I’d be honored, Your Majesty,” I said, and took his hand as he led me on the dance floor. I snuck a glance at Callum to catch the horror in his gaze.
King West was a much more demanding lead than Tristen. When Tristen had danced with me, his strong lead moved in time with me, bending to my body while giving me enough tension in his hold on me to keep me moving fluidly with him. West had none of Tristen’s smoothness and was dominating in the way he forced me around the dance floor in time to his steps.
I silently thanked the gods when the song slowed, giving me a reprieve. The other couples on the dance floor all gave us a wide berth, and the King fixed his dark black gaze on me as we swayed, our steps in time to a much slower tune.
“Why are you here?” he asked.
I frowned. “You invited me.”
He laughed, and the sound caught me off guard. “No. Why are you in my prison? And don’t say it’s because you’re The Lord Killer. I just got word today that that particular murderer is still very much at large, with another noble slain last night. So, I’ll ask again. Why are you here?”
I blinked. So I wasn’t The Lord Killer. It truly had been a lie by Tristen. Was it… relief that flooded me? “I… I don’t know. Is that not information you have access to?”
“I hear from my guards and my spies what crime each has committed, but mostly through gossip if I have not sent a prisoner to Ashguard myself. The ledger of crimes and punishment are kept by the Order of the Serafim, as they have been for centuries. The Order are the ones who work with the island’s magic. They bind the prisoners to their fates here commensurate to their crimes. But no one can see the ledgers they keep. I can sentence prisoners to Ashguard—but if you ended up here without my choosing, then there was another force that brought you here.”
“I don’t know, Your Majesty.”
His eyes narrowed. “What do you mean you don’t know?”
I didn’t want to reveal too much, but I couldn’t risk a lie. “I woke up without… without any memory of who I am.”
The song began to end, and the King eyed me. “You’re very interesting, Saffron. Maybe you even have a chance to emerge as the victor. It’s been so long since we had a Warrior Queen.”
My stomach dropped. But I didn’t have a chance to say anything as the King let me go as the song ended.
“I’ll enjoy watching you,” he said, and then he was whisked away by a flurry of courtiers fighting for his attention.
I stood stock still on the dance floor. Another song was struck up by the musicians, but I had to force myself to move off the dance floor.
Warrior Queen.
I had been wrong to see winning The Ash Trials as a chance at earning my freedom, even if that included years in servitude at the front lines. But if King West saw me as a potential queen?
Nausea rose in my stomach as I slipped through the crowd, trying not to run as I gripped my flowing skirts and dashed out of the ballroom and down the spiral stairs. I hurried past courtiers, down an empty corridor.
I found myself at one of the lower levels, reaching where the palace opened up to the gardens, wrapped in round hedges that overlooked the sea. Large white columns framed the view of the greenery, the columns smooth as marble even though they were made of sanded salt.
I gripped a railing on one of the spacious balconies, my breath coming fast—so fast.
What was I fighting for? Survival? Or to trade one cell for another?
Shudders ricocheted through my body, the shaking uncontrollable as my breaths came out short.
Something within me was fighting to break free. Something nameless and raw. Something?—
“Saffron?”
I turned, finding Callum watching me, concern written on his face.
“Are you okay?” he asked, approaching me with care. His hands went to my hips, and the warmth of him stilled my shaking. “What do you need?” he murmured, standing close to me. So close.
I shoved the fear and whatever the thing fighting to break free from my mind was. I stuffed it all down into a tiny box, locking it away.
As Callum’s strong hands brushed the sides of my arms, his warm eyes gazed into mine as the sun’s setting rays dusted him in gold. I raised my head, and reached up to weave my arms around his neck.
“You,” I whispered, the raw need in my voice. “I need you.”
Callum didn’t hesitate. His rough hands cradled my face, tilting my chin upward to meet his lips. At first it was a tender kiss, a kiss I imagined a young lover would give to their first crush. But as I wound my fingers in his hair, tugging him to me, the heat burned as his lips moved more hungrily against my own.
And then he was hoisting me up on the railing, my back pressed against one of those salt pillars as Callum’s lips trailed from my mouth to my neck, to my shoulder. I tipped my head back, fire trailing in the wake of his kisses.
“Saffron,” he murmured against my skin.
His hands roamed my body, sliding up my sides and leaving goosebumps in their wake.
More. I needed more.
My breath hitched as his fingertips brushed underneath my gown, sending electricity tingling up my spine.
But as his lips crashed back onto mine, there was another sensation creeping up my spine. It was warm and tingly, and wholly new. It was heady, intoxicating, and I felt my body drink it in, buzzing with a kind of high…
A giggle sounded from somewhere inside the palace and Callum pulled away from me.
“We have to get back,” he said, dragging his gaze up my body to meet my eyes, even as they kept drifting down to my lips, which felt so warm and slightly swollen from the way he had claimed my mouth.
I didn’t want to leave his arms. I couldn’t get enough of his sweetness as my body desired to continue drinking him in. “No,” I whispered, pulling him back in for a heady kiss. I wanted to just stay here in his strong arms as his hands explored my body…
“Saffron,” he moaned on my lips, and the sound sent a shiver down to my core. “The toast is starting soon. I need to get you back.”
But his voice was rough and heavy with want. My breath came out with a shudder as he slowly lifted me up off of the railing and set me down on the floor.
“I’ll meet you in there,” he said. “Just to keep?—”
“I know,” I said, not needing him to explain. Cassandra’s wrath alone was a good enough reason for us to be careful about being seen together too much.
He nodded, turning to go, but paused at the entryway to the garden. He pulled his hand over his mouth and jaw, drinking me in. “You’re gorgeous,” he said with that boyish grin of his, and then turned away.
I waited a few moments after he was gone before I straightened my dress and started weaving through the Saltspire Palace, back up to the ballroom. I pushed through the ballroom doors, blending into a busier-than-ever crowd as, at last, all the prisoners had arrived. They looked out-of-place and uncomfortable in their loaned finery.
I stopped by a high table that held long-stemmed champagne flutes and grapes. I picked a few grapes, popping them into my mouth as I surveyed the room.
“Get into a fight with a salt wall?” that silky voice asked. Tristen appeared beside me, and he reached over to brush off some salt from the back of my dress.
“Touch me again and you die,” I whirled, glaring daggers at him.
He leaned his head on a closed fist that balanced on top of a high top table, his gaze flickering up to where Callum was standing across the room. “I’m guessing that rule doesn’t apply to that guard of yours, does it?” My eyes flashed as Tristen smirked. “What was his name? Oh, right. Callum .” Tristen savored my squirm. “Feeling nervous, princess?”
“I’m not a princess,” I spat back, still wrestling with what the King had said to me. I wouldn’t be anyone’s anything —I would be the one to pick my own crown. Not someone else. And certainly not Tristen.
“Stop bickering, you’re making a scene,” Rachelle said, sidling up to us. She looked downright regal in a dress of emerald green. Her eyes flashed at Tristen. “You’re a rogue and a bastard. You’re lucky I didn’t claw out your throat in the first trial.”
He shrugged. “I’d like to see you try, kitty cat.”
Rachelle bared her teeth at him, hissing.
“What were you saying about not bickering?” I asked with a raised eyebrow.
Rachelle turned to me and grinned, slinging an arm around my shoulders. “Lucille would’ve liked you, y’know. I wish you could have met her.”
I leaned into Rachelle, a warmth growing in my chest. Before this prison, had I known friends like Rachelle? I would have to ask Callum. Ask him who else filled my life and my happy days of being just a simple maiden baking bread before Tristen ripped me from my village.
Before I could dwell on my past, King West stood from his throne, commanding the room.
“Let us raise a glass to the contestants who are here tonight as our guests of honor. A toast to their bravery as they transcend each trial and become worthy of claiming the title of the hero who will save Luminaria and the fate of all of the kingdoms on Septerra. To you,” King West said, inclining his head toward us contestants, sweeping his gaze across all of us until his eyes landed on me, his stare weighing too heavy as he raised his glass.
Waiters handed everyone champagne flutes, and we raised our glasses as well.
“Illumia be with you,” he said, and the entire ballroom echoed the words back as he took his first sip and they followed suit.
I tipped the glass back… but didn’t let the liquid breach my lips. The tea incident was still burned into my memory, and I didn’t trust the liquid in the glass. As I lowered my glass, I turned to Rachelle—only to find my friend falling to the floor.
The breath caught in my throat as Tristen’s legs gave out from under him, his body falling heavy on the ground on the other side of me.
The sound of breaking glass was all around me, as contestant after contestant fell with their glass.
No no no no.
My mind shouted in fear. I had been right—something had been slipped into our drinks. But as I crouched next to Rachelle to check her pulse, I saw that her chest was still rising and falling. Not dead. Not poisoned. Merely… unconscious.
“Please, wake up. Wake up,” I begged Rachelle, shaking her limp body.
Footsteps sounded in the quiet ballroom. I hadn’t noticed the hush that had fallen, hadn’t noticed how none of the King’s court or any of his guards were afflicted. It was just the prisoners. As my gaze rose, I saw King West standing in front of me with a sneer on his lips.
“You do not toast to your King?”
“I—” I started.
“DRINK!” he roared, and I sprung to my feet, shaking my head and backing away.
“I won’t—” I caught sight of Callum standing at the foot of the dais, his face pale as he slightly shook his head. I had said the wrong thing.
But King West was already motioning to someone behind him. A man who was crouched over a swirling wooden cane, wearing a black cape with a hood.
“Sophos,” he said. “Make her.”
The man looked up at me with eggshell white eyes—that were missing pupils. He was blind, but those sightless orbs still seemed to pierce my soul. He raised a hand, and I sucked in a breath as I felt an intruding presence in my mind. Mindweavyr . This man was trying to use compulsion on me.
I wildly felt for my mental shields, but I was too rattled.
“Drink,” Sophos intoned, his voice frail, but the command echoed in my mind with that ancient power. As if a god had echoed the command, forcing my body into submission.
“No!” I shouted, but my body wasn’t listening. My hand reached for the glass I had left on the high table. I forced it not to grasp the cup. Tried to slam down those shields.
Sophos trembled, and I realized I was holding him off. He didn’t have nearly as much power as Tristen had, maybe I could?—
“ Drink ,” Sophos said again, and this time, the compulsion slipped through the cracks in my mental shields.
With a trembling hand and a cry of defeat, I lifted the champagne flute to my lips.
And drank. The liquid tasted strange, earthy. If the land could bleed, it would taste like this. Grainy, almost medicinal.
The last thing I saw before total darkness was the cruel smile on the King’s lips as he watched me fall, all of the eyes of his court on me as I was lost to oblivion.