Chapter 18 #2
Moving on impulse rather than thought, I throw up one hand, the same hand which grips the knife Valtar gave me.
The blade pierces the top of the demon’s palate.
Blood spurts down my wrist and arm. Shrieking with surprise, the monster drops me like a velvet sack of potatoes.
I roll, desperate to put whatever distance I can between me and it, but my enormous skirts wrap around my legs.
Trapped, I push up onto my elbows and stare at the demon.
It spits the dagger out of its mouth, then rounds on me.
Muscles rippling, it crawls toward me, jointed and awful and inescapable.
I scream again, flinging an arm up in defense.
Suddenly, Valtar is there. He appears like magic between me and the demon.
Blood oozes in a stream through his black hair, but he braces himself, and, when the votyr swipes at him with its claws, he lashes back, cutting the beast across the arm.
The demon roars and goes for him again, but Valtar lunges, plunging his blade deep into its shoulder.
Staggering back, the monster shakes its hideous muzzle, lips curled to reveal every jutting tooth. Then it throws back its head, a roar erupting from its chest, too enraged in that instant to do anything but give voice to its madness. A mistake—the last mistake it will ever make.
A whistle of steel. A sick crunch of breaking bone.
The demon’s head falls from its shoulders and rolls across the floor.
The body stands a moment longer before crumpling in on itself in a bursting cloud of black miasma, disintegrating back to the realm of its origin. When the debris clears, Elis stands before me, King Alderin’s sword gripped in his hands.
Blood thuds in my temples, drowning out the sounds around me.
I turn to stare about the hall in time to see Taigan skewering one bat monster with what looks like a carving knife taken from the banquet table.
It shrieks and flees the hall, escaping into the dark passage beyond the open doors.
Warrick has another votyr wrestled to the ground.
He holds it in place while Elis strides forward and plunges the sword into its chest. Like the first, it too disintegrates in a cloud of darkness.
The other two demons are gone as well; whether escaped or slain, I do not know.
The hall is empty of all save us—me, my four living champions, and the broken body of Rune lying close by.
I look up at Valtar, who stands nearest to me. He is panting hard and does not meet my gaze. So I turn to Elis. He shakes his head, spinning slowly in place. “Where the gods-rutting hell is everyone?” he demands.
The question echoes in my head. He’s right—where are Captain Norlan and his men? They should have flooded the room the instant the attack began. Instead we were left alone in here, all but defenseless against these monstrosities, almost like it was…planned.
The thought no sooner crosses my mind than a sound punctuates the air behind me: a single pair of hands, clapping slowly in solemn applause.
I spin in place, still too tangled in my skirts to get upright.
King Alderin stands on the dais. Behind him, I glimpse the shadowy figures of the kingdom delegates along with Captain Norlan and a handful of the palace guardsmen.
Their faces are pale, their weapons at the ready.
But the king stands on the edge of the dais, his expression implacable as he surveys the hall before him.
His gaze lingers for a moment on Rune’s broken form before turning to the rest of us.
“The second trial is complete,” he says. “My congratulations to those of you who have survived, and to our victor, of course.”
“What?” The word bursts from my lips. I struggle, kicking my legs and feet to untangle my skirts.
Valtar offers a hand, and I grip it just long enough to get upright once more, then let go and stride toward the dais.
Heat prickles in my veins, so warm, I begin to sweat.
“What are you talking about? What do you mean?”
Alderin’s mild eyes rest on me. “Your champion, Princess Roselle, must prove himself capable of protecting you from danger at all times. Peril is always close at hand, most of all when you least expect it.”
Sickness churns my gut. I turn from the king, my gaze seeking out Rune.
He lies nearby in a pool of blood, but I think he’s still breathing.
I hasten to his side, kneeling without a care for how his blood soaks into my velvet skirts.
My hand finds his, and to my surprise, his fingers squeeze mine back.
It doesn’t take any particular healing skill to understand the extent of the damage done to him.
His body has been ripped open, gore and guts falling out onto the floor.
He struggles to breathe, choking on his own blood.
There’s nothing anyone can do for him. Not now.
Tears spill onto my cheeks. I lift his hand, pressing it against my heart as I bow over him. “You saved my life,” I whisper, voice cracking.
The Learned Majestic’s strange eyes turn. His gaze is unfocused, but he seems to make an effort to look at me, to see me. “It…it was an honor,” he gasps. Blood spills from the corner of his mouth. “Princess.”
I utter a shuddering moan. I didn’t know him.
I didn’t like him. In fact, the strongest emotion I ever felt for him was intimidation.
But as his spirit eases from his broken body in a sigh of pain released, I weep over the Learned Majestic Rune.
Sobs shake my body so hard, I fear I will collapse.
A strong hand grips my shoulder and keeps me from crumbling entirely.
I lean back into that hand, and when it draws me, I allow it to pull my face into a neck and shoulder, allow an arm to wrap around my shivering body.
Somewhere in the distance, Taigan’s voice protests angrily: “The princess may have been hurt or even killed!”
“If she had,” Alderin answers impassively, “that would be a sure sign that her divinely ordained champion was not present. As it is, the gods have spared her, and we are all that much nearer to discovering who her true champion is.”
“And who is the winner of this trial?” Warrick demands from somewhere behind me, his voice rough.
I peer out from the shelter of the shoulder in which I have hidden my face.
Alderin stands above us, so pristine, so untouchable.
Such a contrast to the rest of us in our bloodstained finery.
“Lord Elis,” he declares, sweeping an arm to indicate the young Albhian lord.
“He was the only champion who managed to slay any of the votyr. He is the winner of the second trial.”
“Rutt.” Elis shakes his head and wipes sweat from his brow with one arm. “I only killed them because I happened to find this sword.”
“Exactly. The sword left on purpose for one of you to claim.”
“That isn’t fair!” Fury laces Prince Taigan’s words. “The rest of us made do with what we found on hand. Out in the real world, there won’t be convenient weapons left lying around for us to discover!”
The High King fixes a cold stare on his nephew. “This isn’t the real world,” he replies. “This is a championship, a holy rite to determine the will of the gods themselves. Do you, Taigan, wish to question how the gods go about revealing their will?”
“It’s not the gods I wish to question,” Taigan growls, but not loud enough for the king to hear. He merely bows, his face red with the effort to suppress his rage.
Alderin turns from him, addressing the rest of us. “On the morrow, Lord Elis will be afforded opportunity to speak privately with the princess and perhaps win her favor.”
Elis shoots me a look. He’s got blood on his face and is panting hard, but he manages to offer a semi-apologetic smile. I cannot manage a response. I’m shaking so hard, I would sink to my knees were it not for the support of the strong arm around my shoulders.
And whose strong arm is it? I turn at last and find that I am leaning against Prince Valtar.
That my hand is gripping the front of his tunic, that I’m clinging to him like some sort of fainting damsel, right here, in front of all these watching eyes.
A shudder rolls down my spine. Summoning strength from somewhere deep inside, I pull myself upright and push away from him.
He immediately lets me go, and I back away several paces, sniffing and blinking back the tears still streaming down my cheeks.
“Now,” says King Alderin, his gaze finally coming to rest on me, “I must speak to the princess alone. Captain Norlan, please escort her to my chambers within the half hour.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Norlan acknowledges with a nod.
I hear Valtar’s deep inhale of breath. For a moment, I wonder if he’s going to protest. It won’t go well for him if he does. I shoot him a quick glance, catching his eye, and shake my head slightly. His lips close into a hard line, and his jaw clenches. But he does not speak.
Wiping blood on my skirts, I turn to Captain Norlan, who approaches me with four other guards.
They surround me in escort formation and march me from the chamber.
I keep my gaze lowered, unable to bear looking back at the gore-strewn hall.
At the broken corpse of Learned Majestic Rune… the third man to die in my name.