Chapter 10
Rosie
I wake to the scintil shades being abruptly lifted, filling the gloomy chamber with silvery glow.
“Good morning, Princess!” Philippa’s voice bursts across my senses before my sleep-heavy eyes have had a chance even to open.
“You slept so deeply last night, I trust you’re feeling refreshed? You’ve a busy day ahead.”
With a groan, I turn on my pillow, only for my nose to end up buried in rose petals. Startled, I draw back, blinking blearily. The golden rose lies beside me, a little crushed and rumpled, but…not a dream. No, it’s absolutely real.
Does this mean the shadowy figure standing beside my bed was real as well?
I frown. The image feels so hazy, more like a nightmare than anything.
Holabella brew is known to bring on vivid, semi-lucid dreams. That must be the explanation.
And the rose itself? I must have brought it back with me and simply not remembered.
Philippa bustles over to my bed, prepared to roust me by whatever means necessary. “Oh, did you not hand that out last night, Princess?” she asks upon spying the rose.
I pluck up the stem. “There wasn’t much opportunity.” A handful of petals fall from the flower head, littering the pillow. There’s little left of the actual blossom.
“A pity.” Philippa reaches out, briskly sweeping the fallen petals into her hand and depositing them on the side table.
“The first rose is an important part of any young woman’s Presentation.
Why, the man I gave my first rose to ended up triumphing across the tournament.
He claimed it was that single token of my favor which inspired him to victory. ”
“Oh?” My ears prick. This is all news to me. “You had a Presentation and tournament too?”
“Of course.” She smiles. “It is the traditional means of selecting a husband for any lady of high birth. After all, the favor of the gods must be ascertained before an alliance can be entered into. Granted, the tournament trials are generally not so…shall we say, rigorous? Certainly nothing like what your own champions will face.”
“And…are you married then?” I realize suddenly that I’ve learned very little about my waiting lady over the last week. Taken up with my own strange circumstances, it simply never occurred to me to ask.
“I was betrothed,” she answers, neither her voice nor her face betraying any particular feeling on the topic.
“But he died. Dracori attack. He was in the first line of defense.” When I open my mouth to offer condolences, she shakes her head and simply throws back the blankets and tugs me out of bed.
“Come, Princess! We have work to do and we mustn’t keep the king or his court waiting. ”
Her words weigh on me, however, even as she strips me of my nightgown and sets about her usual fuss of preparing me for the day.
Philippa is from the coastal kingdom of Albhia—the same as Lord Elis.
I knew, of course, that Albhia bore the brunt of dracori sea attacks, defending Belanor from outright invasion.
But to my mind, this was all simply information, not reality.
At least not in any way that directly affected me.
But for Philippa, it’s all too real. She’s lost someone…
possibly many someones. This trial, and my own supposed role in the ongoing strife with Mhoryga, matter deeply to her.
Why else would she leave her home and family to travel to this gloomy place, devoting all her energies to the care of one reluctant apothecary-turned-princess?
The burden of expectation fills my chest with lead.
People have died for my sake—both the Rassumen pirates, determined to end my life, and the guardsmen determined to save it.
And what will today bring? The first of five trials—but surely it won’t be particularly deadly.
Just a warm-up for the champions, something to get their blood moving.
Something tells me I shouldn’t fall for wishful thinking.
Food is brought, and I breakfast in fits and snatches while Philippa styles my hair, files down my already too-long nails, and dresses me up like the living doll I am.
Part of me had hoped there would be time to process everything that took place last night, but apparently, the trial is to begin at nine bells sharply.
And I must be prominently displayed as the prize I am—inspiration and motivation for the six brave souls who’ve risked so much to come here.
“There,” Philippa says, pinning my last curl into place. She has yet again worked wonders to disguise my burn scars without covering any more skin than absolutely necessary. “What do you think, Princess?”
I study my reflection in the tall mirror glass.
Philippa has laced me up in a gown even more fantastic than the rose ensemble of last night, this time all gold with intricate black beaded detailing in the shape of flames around the dropped V front of the bodice.
The effect is stunning—seductive and alluring, a true temptation.
Designed to make a man forget all common sense and hurl himself into greater and greater risk for the sake of achievement and possession.
Did you really think all these mighty men were here for you? Joro’s words burn in the back of my brain. It’s the fire you carry inside they are interested in.
My mouth goes dry. Because I know the truth: There is no fire.
Sure, I thought I felt something building in me last night, but…
that was only brought on by the stress of the moment, a surge of adrenaline, nothing more.
What if more men die only to discover I was never what they needed after all?
An illusion, painted and primped, but ultimately hollow.
I chew the inside of my cheek, staring into my own eyes.
There must be a way to stop this. There must be a way to prevent more of these needless deaths, but… how?
“It’s lovely, Philippa,” I say at last, unable even to describe the object in that mirror as me. It is just that—a vision, a mask. A falsehood. But I meet her gaze in the glass and offer a little smile. “You’ve performed miracles yet again.”
The palace bells ring, signaling the quarter hour.
Philippa hastens me out of the chamber and into the waiting arms of my escort guard once more.
Their numbers have tripled since last night.
I’m surrounded by a veritable phalanx as they march me through the stone passages, making for some part of the palace to which I’ve not yet been.
This surprises me; I assumed the trials would take place in the great hall, as it’s a large enough space for whatever feats of heroism must be performed.
Soon, however, we leave behind the polished floors and tapestried walls, entering a rough and natural cavern that seems not to be part of the palace at all.
There are no scintils here save for those the guards carry with them, and I’m suddenly much more aware than I was before of the terrible weight of stone overhead.
“Where are we going exactly?” I ask, addressing myself to the back of Captain Norlan’s head in front of me.
The captain turns to cast a half glance over his shoulder.
“To the pulley carts, Princess,” he says, leaving me none the wiser.
Light appears up ahead within the next few moments, however, and our little party soon joins another, larger party waiting at the end of the tunnel.
King Alderin stands at the forefront of his gathering, various courtiers of Stromin Palace clustered behind him, solemn and beautiful in their regal robes.
“Welcome, Princess,” he says, extending a hand to me. “Come—ride with me.”
I peer curiously beyond him into a larger tunnel, which the gathered scintils illuminate.
A series of boxlike carts on rails stand before me.
The rails seem to run rather steeply downhill, and I shudder at the prospect of venturing any deeper into the mountain than we’ve already come.
But the king’s hand remains extended, expectant. I can’t very well refuse him.
Placing my fingers lightly in his, I allow myself to be guided into the foremost of the carts.
It’s well cushioned and carpeted, as befits a royal carriage, though the height of the benches implies they were meant for dwarves rather than humans.
Still, I sit and try to arrange my legs and skirts as gracefully as possible.
The king takes a seat opposite me, his expression mild.
The rest of the courtiers board as well, and two guardsmen take up standing positions at the front of each cart.
There’s a signal shout, a sudden creak of metal on metal, and I cannot quite stifle a little yelp when the cart begins to move much more swiftly than expected.
At a brisk clip, it begins its descent, clinking and clanking along the way.
The scintils swinging from their posts flash off brief glimpses of caverns and crevices far deeper and older and more terrifying than anything I’ve yet seen.
There’s a whole world down here beneath the mountain, beyond the safe walls of the palace proper.
“And did you rest well last night following your ordeal, my dear?” the king asks, speaking above the clank of the carts and pulleys.
I manage a nod and force a weak smile to my lips.
“That was certainly not the end to the banquet I had hoped for,” he continues, “but you came through unscathed. And a viper has been plucked from our midst.”
My smile melts away. I cannot believe he didn’t see fit to warn me that an assassin had infiltrated the palace. I would have been more on my guard. Perhaps he simply did not want to worry me unduly…or perhaps I’m giving him too much credit.
“What happened to Prince Valtar?” I ask, obliged to repeat myself to be heard over the racket. “Will he be charged with…with Prince Joro’s murder?”