Chapter 24
Rosie
Will Valtar be at the trial today?
Not that I care. In fact, it would probably be best if he didn’t show up at all, if he finally abandoned this foolish championship and set out for home.
I’ve already told him in no uncertain terms that I will not be marrying anyone at the end of all this nonsense.
And, if I’m honest, it was unreasonable of me to ask him to help keep the other champions safe.
Unreasonable and ultimately fruitless, considering poor Rune’s fate.
No, no. It’s best if he goes. And I will not spare him any tears.
I certainly will not ask myself unhelpful questions like…
Why?
Why was he so angry last night? Is he jealous of Lord Elis?
Do I want him to be jealous? Maybe…maybe that’s why I let Elis kiss me.
Maybe I’ve gone and caused a world of trouble, just because I wanted to provoke him.
Unfair to him and to Elis. And to me as well.
I don’t deserve to give up on my own hopes for life and freedom just because some fellow with highly kissable lips is going around brooding and looming and making my heart do stupid things.
I don’t want to think about any of this.
Especially not now, with the third trial imminent.
My gut tells me King Alderin has something singularly unpleasant planned.
When I consider how two champions have already died such brutal deaths…
fear shudders down my spine. And not just for Valtar.
I don’t want anything to happen to Elis or Warrick or even gods-damned Prince Taigan either.
Philippa seems more tight-lipped than usual, and her hands are shaking as they prepare me for display.
Is she worried for Prince Warrick? A little smile pulls at my lips, and I half consider teasing her about it.
But no, that would be cruel. If something did happen to him, if she were to lose him because of me… I don’t know if I could forgive myself.
So Philippa finishes her work in near silence, speaking only when she requires me to turn or tilt my head or lift an arm.
But when the guards come to escort me away, to my surprise, Philippa threads her arm in mine.
“I will join you today, Princess,” she says coolly, her expression carefully masked. “If it pleases you, of course.”
“Oh! Yes,” I blurt, surprised. She has never shown interest in observing the trials before.
Things must have progressed rather quickly between her and Prince Warrick since last night.
Though her eyes remain fixed forward as we march through the scintil-lit halls, I can feel the tremble in her arm.
Part of me wishes she wouldn’t come. She hasn’t seen what I have seen; she doesn’t know how bad it can get.
But I haven’t the courage to warn her. I merely grip her hand and squeeze now and then.
I half expect to be brought to the same pulley carts and, eventually, the same arena as the first trial.
Instead, we are taken down to the river, which I have not seen since my arrival in Stromin Palace.
All over again, I am struck by how treacherous that black flow is, running swiftly on its blind, underground course.
Even the large, enhanced scintils hung from the boughs of the barges cannot illuminate more than a few feet ahead at a time.
I don’t care to ride on one of those barges again, but it’s not as though anyone’s giving me a choice.
King Alderin stands at the onboarding plank right at the bank’s sheer edge.
He turns to smile at me, and my blood runs cold.
I’ve not seen him since he burned me. My fingers curl into a tight fist around the blisters on my left palm.
And yet, though I hate myself for doing so, I cannot seem to help but smile in return.
“Dear princess,” he says, extending a hand to me. Philippa releases my arm so that I may take it, and he helps me across the plank onto the flat floor of the barge. It bobs underfoot, making my stomach knot with tension. “You are looking quite remarkably lovely today.”
He seats me in a chair, and I grip the arms tight.
Philippa, Captain Norlan, and two members of my guard join us on this barge.
The king takes a seat beside me, then gives a signal for the bargemen to push off.
The river’s current carries us, and though it feels wild and threatening, the strong men with their stout steering poles keep us off the rocky sides of the tunnel and in the center of that flow.
I cannot bear to look ahead, straining my eyes into the dark. I stare down at my burnt palm instead.
“Today’s trial is going to be exceptionally interesting,” Alderin says, making conversation just as though nothing unusual happened between us.
Just as though he hadn’t tortured me at our last meeting…
as though he didn’t intend to torture me again at his next opportunity.
“It should give a solid indication of who is truly ordained for the mighty task ahead.”
“The mighty task of marrying me,” I murmur, but too low for him to hear above the river’s roaring voice.
He discerns nothing more than my polite nod and smile.
I can’t help wondering yet again why marriage is such an important part of this whole bizarre affair.
Choosing a champion to escort me on this journey seems reasonable enough insofar as it goes, but…
but why must we be bound with wedding vows?
Something about it has never quite added up, and the only excuse I’ve been offered is some nebulous something about “purity” and “divine ordinance” that never made sense to my mind.
Everyone seems so sure about it, however, and at this point, I feel rather foolish for continuing to ask.
It’s not as though a marriage will actually take place in any case.
Now that I know the secret of the air shafts, I intend to make use of them.
Tonight I will begin exploring, searching for a way to the upper world.
And when I escape…well, I’ll figure out then how to navigate the wilderness.
I did it once, as a child of seven years.
I fled into Inamaer Forest to escape the dracori, who dared not pursue me into its depths.
And somehow I stumbled out again, half-feral, more than half-starved. But alive.
Surely this forest, wild and mysterious as it may be, cannot be as perilous as that one.
We come to a landing at last—man-made, by the looks of it, rather than dwarfish.
The barge docks, and King Alderin takes my arm, escorting me into another cavernous space.
It’s so huge, so echoing and enormous, I could almost forget we are still deep underground.
The scintil lights cannot illuminate the ceiling overhead, leaving nothing but a smear of blackness and that inescapable sensation of crushing weight that follows one everywhere in this realm.
I close my eyes, unwilling to see it, and try to imagine myself back up on the mountaintop, out in that crisp, cold air under a starry sky.
But this is a mistake—for the minute I do, I picture Valtar as well.
It’s like he’s lurking in the back of my mind, waiting for an opportunity to spring into my thoughts. Damn him.
“Here we are,” Alderin says abruptly. I open my eyes to find we have come to another balcony overlook with a waist-high railing to protect us from a perilous drop.
The delegates from the various kingdoms are already gathered here, crowding that rail, eager for the best view.
But they make way for the king, offering up the prime observation spot at the center.
I cast a look back at Philippa, who has followed close to my heels.
She does not meet my gaze but moves silently to a viewing spot some way down the line, between a lord of Albhia and a lady of Gorduin, judging by their courtly raiment.
I have no choice but to stand alone with Alderin, my hand clasped in his, as though we were great friends.
“There, you see?” the king says, pointing into the pit below.
It’s nothing like the huge arena of the first trial—this space is scarcely big enough for a man to take ten paces before he’s forced to turn around again.
But what I find most interesting are the four small tunnel openings, one on each wall.
I’d call them doorways, for they are roughly shaped as such.
But really, they’re more like clefts into pitch darkness.
My stomach turns at the sight. Something about those openings fills me with dread.
“Champions, step forth!” Alderin calls, his voice echoing against the stones.
Three tall figures emerge from the shadows just to the right of us on the balcony.
I jump, startled, having expected them to be down below already.
Instead, they line up in front of us and the gathered company: Taigan, Warrick, and Elis, each carrying a single scintil globe in his gloved right hand.
Elis’s eyes flash to meet mine in a quick smile and that telltale wink of his.
He wears my rose-hued scarf tied prominently to his right forearm.
Taigan, by contrast, doesn’t look at me. Neither does Warrick, I note with interest; his gaze is fixed somewhere over my shoulder. I cast a glance back at Philippa. She looks very pale, her hand behind her to clutch the balcony rail for support, her fingers white-knuckled with tension.
“And where is Prince Valtar?” Alderin demands, giving voice to the question I have not allowed myself to ask. “Where is our fourth champion?”