8. Chapter 8
8
Zara
I looked first left, then right, and then down. Initially, I saw nothing but blackness. Then cool air bit my cheeks, and a light pulsed to life in a wide, dark hallway. Ahead, the heir strode down the hall away from me. His features had solidified and no longer appeared like writhing smoke. Shiny black walls, unbroken by a single window, surrounded me and a stairwell opened to my left and right, both reaching up.
Dizziness washed over me, and I stumbled sideways until my hand braced against the cold stone wall. Under my fingertips, small veins of a lighter colored stone streaked through the otherwise black walls.
Felipe strode around me and nodded at me. “Wasn’t so bad, was it?”
I scowled at him and wrapped my arms around my shoulders to fight off the chill sinking into my skin. I took a step forward, but Felipe held up a hand.
“Wait here. Someone will be around to fetch you.” He sounded annoyed, as his eyes scanned the hall and quickly flicked to the stairwells on either side, as if this someone was late.
Without another word, the tall fae marched away, toward the prince’s retreating form. The two men exchanged a quiet word, and the prince tossed a single glance back at me.
For a long moment, he stared at me with a cold, shuttered expression. I stiffened under his gaze. Then, with a small huff, he said, loud enough for me to hear, “Let her try.”
To my horror, a shadowy figure separated from the prince’s frame, the same dark form I’d seen in my father’s ballroom. This second prince sprouted wings from his back and vanished down the wide hallway, leaving me pinned to the wall with two hands clapped over my open mouth.
Casimiro, whatever part of him was still standing in the hall beside Felipe, chuckled at my reaction. Pushing aside his suit jacket, he shoved his hands in his pockets and strolled away down the long, dark hall. Felipe nodded once to me and spun to follow the prince.
My eyes cut to the stairwells, then behind me. A solid wall stood in place of the dark passage that had brought me from the mortal world. On the wall was a door-shaped etching, intricately carved with a pattern of trees that mirrored the pines I’d just walked through. The stone was cold when my fingers touched it, tracing the lines of the forest.
I backed away, and without a second thought, I charged up the stairwell to my right. If they thought I would wait patiently in this cold, creepy hall, they were wrong.
The arched ceiling above the stairs echoed my footsteps back to me. A light, pale and almost entirely white, glowed to life atop a wall sconce as I climbed. At the top of the steps, I glanced right and left down another long, pitch-black hall. Across from me, illuminated by the light from the stairwell, was another carving in the stone wall.
This one depicted a massive dragon, talons out like an eagle about to snatch a fish. But instead of a fish, this dragon was about to grab a lone figure with an upraised sword.
A shiver shook my body. If the Wild Hunt was real, then dragons might as well be real too. I only hoped I never had to encounter one.
Fast footsteps behind me startled me so forcefully that I jumped, nearly toppling down the steps. A man wearing white hurried up the stairs toward me. He had a shaved head, putting his rounded mortal ears in full view. A dark shadow of a beard hugged his chin, and he wore a long tunic that fell to his knees with white pants beneath it. The neckline of the tunic was sewn with a dark purple thread. A metal cuff on his wrist partly shone under his long sleeve.
When he reached the top of the steps, he took a breath before he said, “Don’t run off like that. You’ll only anger them.”
I glanced back at the bottom of the steps. “The fae? They already told me they plan to kill me. I’m not sure how angering them makes any difference.”
The man ran a hand down his face and blew out a frustrated breath. “I’m Malik. And believe me, angering the fae will make things so much worse. And not just for you, but for us as well.”
My brows lifted. “Us?”
The man’s lips pinched before he spat, “The servants. Those who chose not to entertain.”
“Are there many mortals here?” Somehow, knowing there were others like me here, others not destined to die, brought a wave of comfort, despite the fact that he’d called them servants.
Malik’s frown deepened. “Yes. Now, come. I’m to prepare you for your first trial.”
“Now?”
He nodded. “Those who choose to entertain complete their first trial the night they arrive. And the fae care deeply about their entertainment.”
The way he said the last word sent a chill down my arms.
I swallowed. “What kind of trial?”
The man’s honey-colored eyes narrowed as he looked me up and down. “I’m not certain. But I do know that the mortal games, as the fae call them, are designed to kill you.” At my gaping mouth, he added, “Welcome to the Shadow Court.”
All the air in my lungs whooshed out. Casimiro had warned me of my imminent death. But he’d also told me I only had to survive for one year. How hard could it be?
I lifted my chin. “I’m not dying tonight. Now, tell me where we are. We’re not in Avencia anymore, though I was just there a moment ago.”
“This is Nightsong, the palace of the Shadow King. Tell me your name.”
“Zara Valencia Calderon.”
“Nice to have met you, then.”
The servant turned and walked crisply down the windowless hall, but I planted my hands on my hips and called after him. “Malik. You are mortal. You serve this court, I presume?”
He turned and fixed a stony gaze on me.
“Shouldn’t you be telling me what I can do to survive here?” I asked. “Do you not care that they’re going to try to kill me?”
Malik’s eyes widened but the scowl on his face lessened a bit. After a brief pause, he said, “The other human servants here do not like the entertainers.” His gaze averted briefly. “The entertainers are treated…like kings compared to us.”
“But you just said the trials are designed to kill us. Not exactly kingly treatment.”
A slight pinching of his eyes hinted at an unspoken apology. “Indeed. I believe the animosity arises from jealousy on both sides. The entertainers envy us our guaranteed safety. And we envy the way they treat you. I’m sure it delights the fae to no end that the mortals in their palace don’t get along. They want to watch us suffer, make no mistake. When they give you the fancy clothes and the good food and the lavish rooms, don’t let it get to you. They hate us.”
I nodded slowly. “I won’t forget.”
“Come, we have no time to stand here and chat. I am sorry, Miss Valencia,” he added.
“Where are you from?” I asked as I stepped after him. I wasn’t used to being called miss , though I’d heard foreigners in Leor use the term.
A more genuine smile ghosted over his mouth. “You are Avencian?” At my nod, he added, “I am from Votna. Though it has been many years since I left.”
My eyes widened. “I’ve never met anyone from that far east. Your Avencian is perfect.”
He waved away my enthusiasm. “It’s the language we all speak here. The fae are the ones who brought this language to your lands, did you know that?”
I shook my head. I was quickly realizing there was much I didn’t know.
Malik continued, “You’ll meet many people here. The Shadow lords and ladies travel far and wide to wreak havoc on mankind.”
At those happy words, he led me farther into the palace, which with its lack of windows and cold stone walls felt eerily like it was underground. As we moved through the darkness, white flames leaped to life in sconces along the wall. We traveled up another flight of wide stone steps, to an atrium of sorts that ended in a pair of massive wooden doors braced with ironwork. The ceiling soared over my head, and the white light cast dancing shadows on the stones that appeared to move entirely more than candleflames called for. As I squinted up at the writhing shapes, I sensed that it was not merely a dance of light and shadow but actual forms. Casimiro had turned as black as night and sprouted wings. Perhaps other shadowy beings cavorted in the darkness.
Malik caught me gaping and whispered, “It’s best not to stare. You don’t want to give the fae any reason to dislike you more than they already do.” He sighed. “You asked what you can do to survive? Do not question anything you see here. Do not stand out. Do not anger them. Keep your head down—and fight.”
I tried to respond, but my throat had closed up at his words, and I simply nodded.
Images had been expertly embossed on the walls of the atrium and threads of gilded paint outlined the shapes. Great, sweeping scenes unfolded on the walls as we walked toward the doors—battle scenes, throne room scenes, and one that looked like a winged man blocking out the sun from a panicked crowd below.
Some of the artwork depicted things I didn’t want to see, so I averted my eyes, shocked at what these fae considered art. By the time we reached the tall double doors at the end of the hall, my cheeks flamed with heat. Dread filled my stomach as I contemplated what I’d agreed to in choosing to entertain these creatures.
“The fae are waiting,” Malik said, nodding at the doors crisscrossed with ornate iron bracing.
“Waiting for what?” I asked, throat dry.
“You. It’s midnight. Time for you to perform.”