Chapter 19
“Welcome to the first trial.”
Loose gravel crunches beneath my boots as I come to a stop among the crowd of competitors. Caelus stands before a set of wooden doors built into the stone arena circling the lake. A heavy metal plank rests across them, securing them shut.
But the hefty lock isn’t meant to keep the kraken in. No, it’s to keep us from getting out.
I swallow and shove my hands into my pockets. The clothes Caelus provided for the trial would be more suitable—tight pants and a fitted blue tunic—and most of the others chose to wear them. But not me.
My sleeves billow around my wrists, and the cords of my collar are pulled tight, hiding the chain around my neck. I considered not wearing it, thought it too high a risk, but I need all the luck I can get.
“You made yourself quite sparse last night, pirate.”
Her voice sends a jolt up my spine. Kressa circles me, her eyes just as sharp as the blade at my thigh.
She’s donned head to toe in black, also choosing to forgo the attire Caelus provided.
“Did I?” I say, watching out the corner of my eye as Simon enters my periphery.
“It doesn’t matter.” Kressa clicks her tongue. “You won’t make it out of this trial anyway.”
Two royal guards heave the metal plank from its perch and open the doors with a sickening groan.
“Follow me,” Caelus says.
I hesitate, but Simon shoulders my back. He strides around me and disappears through the doorway into a dark, cramped chamber. We funnel in, and I join at the rear, sliding into the small room.
Torches line every wall but one, where rows of swords hang from hooks.
An unnatural, otherworldly screech comes from the second set of doors leading to the lake, rattling the stones beneath our feet. I back into the cold, damp wall, and my breaths come out in shudders.
Half of us won’t walk out of this trial.
I might not walk out of this trial.
If the kraken senses me, I’ll be among the first to go. And it won’t be quick.
Shadows dance over Caelus’s face as he regards us. “On the other side of this door waits a sea creature so ferocious, none have ever faced it and lived. He’s known to sink ships and annihilate entire crews in a single strike.”
The pirates in the room blanch.
“The kraken,” one whispers.
Murmurs reverberate off the walls, and my stomach hollows out. I slide my hand to my thigh. My dagger would be useless against the kraken, yet its presence sends a wave of calm over me.
Kressa clears her throat. “Actually, there’s one person who faced it and lived.”
Caelus narrows his eyes. “And who would that be?”
“The Princess of the Sea.”
The room goes silent, and I swallow as I study her. It isn’t awe or reverence on her face, but a scowl.
“May I remind you,” Caelus snarls, “we do not speak of her. It is illegal to honor her. To do so, would be treason.”
Kressa scoffs. “Nothing worth honoring.”
A bitter taste fills my mouth, and I try to swallow it down, but it only grows. I glance to the pirates, waiting for them to come to my defense. But they remain silent.
Another ear-piercing roar shakes the foundation, but I’m unfazed. Since the curse trapped me here, whispered rumors of my power float through the castle—stories of the princess who disappeared, whose features or name no one can remember.
But this is the first time my guilt has been spoken aloud. My blame. It pierces through my heart and skewers me to the wall. Tensions were already high among the courts, but my actions tipped the balance to war.
Tens of thousands of deaths are the result of my selfish decision.
“Indeed.” Caelus pulls his gaze from Kressa and gestures to the wall of swords. “You’ll each be given a sword. But the kraken isn’t the only thing you’re up against.”
My knees weaken, and sweat gathers on my brow.
“You will each be assigned a target—another competitor. If you succeed in killing them, you’ll be granted immunity from the next trial. An immediate entry into the final.”
Those who previously forged loose alliances back away from each other, exchanging wary glances. But my lips tilt. I could kill any of them with my eyes closed and earn myself a spot in the final trial.
Caelus steps to the side. “Retrieve your weapons.”
The royal guards stride to the wall and hand out the blades one by one. I step up last, and the guard shoves the sword in my direction, the polished metal glinting in the low light.
The hilt is heavy in my palm. A Sky Court emblem is stamped onto the pommel, and smooth leather twists around the hilt. I test its weight against my old sword.
It’s been a decade since I last wielded one—when I fought my way out of the castle after refusing to marry Prince Barren, then killing him. But muscle memory takes over, and my hand relaxes, fingers settling into a familiar grip.
“When the cannon blasts, the trial will begin,” Caelus says. “When half of you are dead, the canon will blast a second time, marking the end of the trial. Good luck.”
He strides to the exit and disappears into the daylight. The doors heave shut, and a clank echoes through the chamber. The metal plank, locking us in.
The man beside me worries his lip, and the tip of his sword clatters against the floor. His shirt hangs off his shoulders, arms frail despite his youth. My mouth tips into a smile. A beggar chose to wear his threadbare clothes rather than the ones provided by the Sky Court.
His brown eyes meet mine.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
He swallows. “Geoff.”
“If you win, what’s your wish?”
He inhales a deep breath. “My wife is pregnant. A girl. Or, at least we think so.” He beams, and the tremors of his hand ease.
“My wife was livid when I signed up for the competition, but if I win, I’ll wish for enough money to get us out of the slums. We’ll have a house, food, an education for my daughter.
All I want is for her to have a better life. ”
My nails dig into the handle of my sword. This shouldn’t be the answer, yet Caelus has made people desperate.
“What’s her name?”
“My wife?”
I nod, glancing at the door to the lake. Any minute now, the canon will blast.
He blinks, and the rapid rise and fall of his chest slows. “Dolma.”
Dolma. I commit the name to memory. “What made you fall in love with her?”
A light blooms in his eyes, and he chuckles. “The first time we met, she threw a glass of water in my face. I’ve been in love ever—”
The cannon blasts, and a gust of wind throws the door open.
Blinding light floods the room, and a screech rattles the walls.
A tentacle thrashes in and wraps around Geoff’s waist, the razor-lined suckers burrowing into his skin.
He screams, drops his blade, and I raise my sword overhead, but the weight slows me down, and the tentacle drags him through the doorway.
My blade slams into the stone at my feet.
A splash cuts off Geoff’s scream.
My knees buckle, and I brace a hand on the wall, steadying my breaths.
The competitors gawk at the doorway, the whites of their eyes stark in the low light. I stagger closer. If we stand here and wait, we’ll be picked off one by one. I’d rather take my chances on the shoreline.
I step over the threshold, and the blinding sunshine blurs my vision. The arena spans the entirety of the lake—a stone oval topped with packed grandstands, where spectators cheer and scream as we exit, stumbling onto the damp shore.
Only two dozen feet of muddy sand separates the cloudy water from the arena walls. Across the lake, a pile of boulders protrudes from the ground.
I take a step toward them, but hesitate. Climbing them would give me an advantage against the kraken, but I wouldn’t be able to hunt my target, whoever it might be.
Ripples fan out from the center of the lake, and bubbles emerge from its depths. I retreat a step, my stomach roiling.
The man beside me shouts and falls to his knees in the wet mud, clutching at his hand.
Then a woman.
Followed by another.
And another.
Blood pours from their palms and pools around their knees. Their backs heave, jaws clenched.
A searing pain shoots through my hand, and I fall to the ground, my sword clattering at my side. Biting back a scream, I open my palm, where an invisible blade slices through my skin.
It spells out a name.
Kressa.
I grit my teeth, lungs heaving from the pain, and force myself to my feet. Sword forgotten at her side, Kressa kneels in the dirt a few feet away, her eyes shut tight as blood drips from her hand.
I pluck my sword from the mud and hiss as my bloodied hand clamps around it. Pain shoots up my arm, and crimson trails down the handle, splashing to the ground. I breathe through my nose until the pain dulls to a steady throb.
Kressa grunts, the knee of her pants soaked through. I tune out the world—the cheering spectators, the kraken waiting to strike, and hone my attention on her.
Blade ready, I stumble a step closer.
I’ll make it quick, painless. A clean sweep. I know how to maim and torture, but also how to deliver a lethal, instant blow.
My fingers tremble, but I tighten my grip.
She won’t feel a thing.
Panting, she braces a hand against the ground. Her head hangs between her shoulders, hair a muddied curtain around her face.
I raise my sword, poised to strike the base of her neck.
Inhaling a deep breath, I steady myself. On the exhale, I swing my blade down.