Chapter 53
Acramp in my stomach stirs me, but I seal my eyes shut. Anything to avoid seeing another person I care about disappearing or falling to the jagged rocks below.
But no voices float to my ears. Kressa’s fingers don’t comb my hair. No screams rattle the cell. And somehow, the empty pit in my stomach grows.
The ocean swells, and early dawn paints the whitecaps in pastel hues of pale pink and tangerine.
My last sunrise. And if Caelus keeps his promise, the last for Thea and Kressa, too. My eyes are swollen and dry, yet fresh tears fall down my face. Because of me, Kressa will never see her brother again, and Thea will never reunite with Celia.
The third trial begins in a few short hours, if not sooner. When it does, the power binding me to the competition will kill me.
I peer over the edge, and the jagged formations beckon me. At least mother was killed in battle, protecting our court. I’ll simply perish in this cell, staring at the home I’ve done nothing but harm.
Queen, indeed.
I rest my cheek on my forearm, and the rough obsidian floor digs into my ribs. But I don’t shift. I deserve the pain piercing my skin, aching my muscles. A penance.
A sweet song fills the air.
My body tenses, stomach churning at whoever the cell will torment me with next. Marianne? Rita? The remainder of my crew? Perhaps I’ll see The Twelfth Night floating in the distance, engulfed in flames.
But no touch appears—no bodily manifestation. The notes grow louder, floating over the ocean. I untangle my arms and legs and press into a seat, training my focus on the song.
A grin spreads across my face.
I jump to my feet and cup my hands around my mouth. “Louder!”
My words aren’t more than a hoarse croak, but the voice grows, joined by another, and another.
Sirens.
I throw my weight into the door and beat my fists against the metal. My skin splits over my knuckles, but I don’t relent. The song continues, sweet and melodic. Irresistible.
The small window unlatches and swings open, revealing a pair of beady eyes. “I’m surprised you haven’t jumped. You screamed all—”
His pupils dilate, blotting out the blue of his unblinking eyes. They hone in on the ocean.
I smile. “You were saying?”
The heavy bolt slides, and the door opens into the cell. The guard enters, his arms and legs swinging as the languid notes pull him closer to the ocean. As if I’m not in the cell, he strides off the edge and doesn’t make a sound until his body slaps the water.
Sunlight spills over the waves and illuminates three heads bobbing in the distance. I nod and sink into a deep bow. A tug pulls in my mind, and I open the bridge.
We bow to you, Your Majesty.
The space behind my eyes stings, but I don’t have time to cry—not when the final trial will start any minute. Holding my breath, I lean out of the cell and peer down the corridor. Empty.
I slide into the dark hall, and my hand reaches for my dagger, but it closes into a fist and I grimace. Caelus’s guards knocked it out of my grasp at the safe house. The blade I’ve had for my entire life, gone.
The hall curves on itself, and no windows line the space, yet natural light streams through—
“No.”
Cells hang open, as if a group of prisoners were escorted out. I count them. Eight—one for each competitor left. My stomach plummets, and I break into a sprint, my boots sliding along the slick, uneven stones.
I grip the rail of a steep flight of stairs, going down two at a time, and come to a landing with a narrow door. Light seeps from the crack at the bottom, and voices filter through. I ease it open, and my blood freezes over.
Two alabaster thrones sit on the dais, facing away from me. I slip into the ballroom, and the door disappears into the marble wall, the seams hardly visible—like the servant’s door in Harriet’s room.
I swallow. Kressa didn’t know about this dungeon. Her father either kept it hidden, or Caelus had it constructed when he invaded Sarenia. I can only hope it’s the latter.
Voices echo, and I peer around the throne where a servant crosses the entryway, her arms laden with a basket of bread. I throw myself from the dais and run across the room.
“Wait!”
She backtracks and furrows her brows. “Briar?”
“Have you seen Gemma?”
Her gaze drags over me. My hair hangs limp around my shoulders, clothes damp from the constant sea mist, eyes red and swollen.
She bites her lip. “She left for the final trial with everyone else about twenty minutes ago. The kitchen staff were asked to stay behind and prepare lunch.”
My vision blurs, fingers trembling at my side. “When does the trial start?”
She glances at a clock above our heads and shrugs. “About fifteen minutes.”
My stomach sinks through the floor, and my pulse races in my ears. I’ll never make it. “Where?”
“Behind the gardens.” She reaches a hand to my shoulder and squeezes it. “Is everything okay?”
“Fine.”
I slip from her grip and take off through the castle. Servants stare as I fly past, and my heart thunders in my chest, my body aching from where Caelus and the guards hit me. My lungs beg for air—for a break—but I can’t stop. I have to get to the final trial with or without glamour.
I stumble into my quarters and dart for the dressing room, yanking out the pirate’s clothing from my armoire.
Shedding my clothes, I slide the pants on and haphazardly tuck in the shirt. My fingers shake as I wrestle with the laces on my boots, tying them as tight as possible. I stand before the mirror.
A vise squeezes my windpipe.
Our frames are entirely different—Harriet’s stature taller than my own. But only someone looking close enough would notice the difference in our shoulders and the length of our legs.
It’s my face and hair that’s a dead giveaway.
But I have no other choice.
I snatch the wide brimmed hat and sprint to the vanity.
Rummaging through the drawers, I pull out a pair of shears and wrap my hair around my fist. In a single slice, I cut it off.
The blunt ends fall to my shoulders, and I shake it out.
It’s not the same ashy blonde as Harriet’s, but it’ll have to do.
I gather it into a bun at my nape and press the hat low over my face, hiding the majority of my hair and shadowing my eyes.
Seconds tick by on the clock. Five minutes until the trial. I don’t have time to consider how, if someone gets too close, they’ll recognize me.
Either I die here when the competition begins, or I die trying to save Thea.
The dagger’s absence weighs at my thigh, but I bolt through the door and bank to the ballroom, my heart slamming against my ribs. I clear the balcony and sprint down the curving double set of stairs.
Nobles mill about the garden, sipping on champagne in suits and elaborate gowns. A newly constructed staircase sweeps up the face of the mountain, leading to a grandstand perched at the top rim. A cluster of dark clouds hang over the arena, promising rain.
A hesitant smile crosses my face. The clouds cast shadows over the arena, just dark enough to hide my main features.
I shove through the crowd and anchor the hat over my face as I climb the stairs, my legs shaking by the time I reach the top. Weaving through the bodies, I skirt around the side and lower myself into the arena.
The grandstands form a half circle around the arena, where the seven other competitors stand in a single line, staring at the rocky plateau in the distance. At the other end, metal cages hang off the cliff.
My stomach hollows out, and a cold pang slices down my spine.
In the center cage—Thea.