Chapter 7
Iwind through the corridors, ducking into the shadows whenever a lone servant scurries by, then exit through an unguarded side door.
I circle the castle and press myself against the wall, hiding in the shadows as I peer around the corner. Only one person remains at the table, bent over the roster and adding his name to the list.
From the balcony above, voices and the clink of silverware filter down, mixed with a low melody of string instruments.
Dinner is still going on, then. Likely extended, due to tonight’s announcement.
The man at the table straightens and nods at the guard before striding away, his lips pressed in a thin line.
His brown eyes meet mine, and I take in his ragged clothing and sunken cheeks.
How many others will sign up, hoping they can wish themselves a better life?
Escape the poverty Caelus forced them into?
I dip my chin in respect, and he trains his gaze on the path as he leaves the courtyard.
Swallowing the sour taste in my mouth, I tuck my hair behind my ears and situate the hat on my head, unfamiliar with its weight. On an exhale, I turn the corner and stride to the table.
The guard assesses me and pulls out a pocket watch. “Looks like you’ll be our final entry.”
I fold my arms over my chest, as if it could stop my heart from racing. “It appears so.”
He holds out the quill, an offering. Accepting it, I bend over the parchment lined with more names than I can count. My sleeve snags on the rough table as I scribble my stolen name onto the parchment.
Harriet Wells.
The moment I lift the tip of the quill, a chill runs up my arm, snakes around my elbow, and sinks into my chest.
“Congratulations, Harriet Wells,” the guard says. “You are now bound to The Gales. I wish you the best of luck.”
I let the quill roll from my hand and pull in a deep breath through my nose. At the end of the competition, I’ll be free, dead, or bound to this curse forever.
Measured footsteps sound behind me, and the guard’s gaze settles over my shoulder, his eyes narrowed. “Entries are closed.”
“Good thing my name’s already on the list, remember? Kressa Beaumont.”
The hair on the back of my neck stands, and my stomach sinks. I know that voice.
Before I have a chance to turn, a fist grabs my hair and slams my temple against the table.
My vision swims. I go to stand, but my feet slip against the damp cobblestones as the wood digs into my ribs.
A face fills my vision. Honey eyes.
“You should be dead, Harriet,” Kressa hisses.
Blood leaks from the gash on my cheekbone, spreading across the table. My heart slams against my chest, and I free my arm, swinging a fist toward her face. She dodges and yanks her sword from her belt.
Raising it over her head, she presses me farther against the table as the night sky twinkles off the metal blade. Then it comes down.
She swings it toward the base of my spine, aimed to paralyze and kill. A scream bottles in my throat, tears stinging my eyes.
Something shifts in the air. She releases a grunt, and her blade clatters to the ground, the sound echoing across the square. I force myself upright and whirl on her, pulling my dagger free from its sheathe.
My chest heaves, and hot blood drips from my chin, staining the white cotton of my shirt.
“Entrants can only kill each other in the arena,” the guard says, bored—as if this isn’t the first time competitors have made attempts on each other’s lives.
“Where’s my list?” Kressa growls, retrieving her blade.
I blink. “Your list?”
She pushes her hair out of her face and hedges a step closer, until our chests are a hands-breadth apart. “The list with my marks. The list you stole.”
I swallow as her teeth form the final word. The woman I’m impersonating wasn’t the bounty hunter, she is.
And she’s searching for me. The Princess of the Sea.
“Perhaps you lost it.” I tilt my chin and meet her glare.
“Arrive here the day after tomorrow at daybreak,” the guard says, as he rolls up the roster and tucks it into his belt. “If you’re late, or fail to attend, you’re disqualified.”
Neither of us budge, our teeth gritted. Kressa’s hands curl into fists, and mine follow suit. We can’t kill each other, but we can still do harm.
“Now,” the guard yells, his hand resting on his blade.
Lighting flashes, distorting Kressa’s features and emphasizing her smirk—the dimple it presses into her cheek. Her eyes dance over me, following the blood dripping down my jaw. “Don’t worry, I’ll be here.”
She turns on her heel and props her sword over her shoulder. I watch her leave, until darkness engulfs her shadow and the guard brushes past me, into the belly of the castle.
Silence picks at my skin.
There should be laughter, silverware tapping, and music pouring from the balcony.
But my gaze trails up the trellises, over the gargoyles and marbled railing of the castle. The lights are off, the crowd gone.
I missed dinner.