Chapter 19
Elizabeth sits across from me on my balcony and plucks a strawberry from the plate.
Out here, the moons glitter off the dark sea, and brine floats on the wind. The peace before the storm.
“We should go to sleep, shouldn’t we?” Elizabeth says.
“Sleep will be elusive tonight.” I take a sip of mead, and the sweetness rolls over my tongue. “We don’t want to be left alone with our fears the night before the combat trial.”
“Unlike you, I haven’t spent a moment preparing for it. I really should have. I was just so excited to be around people for once.”
“But you have magic to help you, don’t you? I think most of us here do.”
She shrugs. “Mine is fairly useless. It’s nothing like Rion’s magic, anyway.”
I draw in a sharp breath. “What sort of magic does he possess?”
“Dread magic. He can inspire a mind-bending terror in his victims. Drive them utterly out of their skulls by forcing them to experience their worst fears and memories.”
My stomach tightens. Auberon taught me to shield my thoughts from dread magic, but that was long ago. If I were forced to experience my worst fears—well, it doesn’t bear thinking about.
“We can always surrender,” I say, “and hope the noble houses choose to keep us alive.”
But it won’t be enough if they send me home tomorrow. I still haven’t found the grail. I have to both survive the trials and impress our judges enough to keep me around.
And right now, both of those things feel like a long shot.
She sighs. “I don’t imagine the noble houses are very impressed with me so far.
Mabon spilled wine on my dress the first night, and somehow, that made me a target, even though he’s the clumsy idiot.
When you were off training all that time, Igraine did it again.
Worse, really. She dumped an entire drink on my head, and then just said, ‘Oops!’ Mabon laughed uproariously.
I froze, then ran out of the hall and didn’t return. ”
“They act like children. Children with lethal magic. It’s a very bad combination.”
“They do, yes, but it’s calculated, too. They make other people look weak before our judges.” She refills her glass. “And tomorrow morning, Igraine and her friends will be trying to kill us.”
I drum my fingertips on the table. “I don’t suppose we could make them find us intimidating.”
“Yes. I want to be the sort of person who declares things like, ‘I am not a woman to be trifled with.’ Do you think that could work for me?”
“You’re going to need to look angrier when you say it. Imagine someone you truly despise.”
Her eyes flash with flames. “I am not a person to be trifled with,” she hisses.
Goose bumps rise on my skin. “That’s it, exactly. Bring that energy tomorrow morning.”
With a smile, she slides her glass onto the table. “On that note, I should get to—”
A scream cuts through the air, interrupting her.
The hair rises on the back of my neck, and Elizabeth goes still. Her gaze meets mine.
Another cry. It’s a bloodcurdling, almost animal sound, and it tears through the quiet night like a banshee’s shriek. My blood turns to ice.
From here, we can’t tell what’s happening. We can only see the glittering waves crashing against the rocks.
The anguished shrieks float on the wind, carrying over the water.
“Is someone being tortured?” she whispers. “Should we go see?”
“Hard to ignore that kind of wailing. Maybe someone needs help?”
She nods. “Right. I’m also nosy as fuck.”
We’re both standing now, heading for the door. I slip into my shoes and wrap my blue velvet coat around myself.
We take a few steps down to the little round door with the cart and push through. Outside, the agonized cries echo off the castle walls, clearer now. A man is screaming that he’s innocent, and he sounds out of his mind with terror.
From this vantage point, I can’t really see what’s happening, but I think it’s coming from Goch’s pit.
“Do you think we should just…stay inside?” Elizabeth whispers. “Are we being stupid?”
“I think so, yes.”
“Right.” The wind rakes through her dark hair. “Let’s go anyway.”
We climb into the cart together, and I pull my cloak tightly around me.
I push the levers down to the golden symbols of the unicorn and lion, and we shoot along the tracks, soaring over the courtyards. Most of the light is coming from the blaze of Belenior. Its flames warm my skin for a moment as we rush past, and then we swoop around a curve toward the menagerie.
We slam to a halt at the bottom, and my chest hits the bar, nearly knocking the wind out of me. As we step out of the cart, the man screams again in agony. Within the menagerie, the animals look spooked, fur raised, teeth bared. Some of them snarl and growl at the dragon pit.
I lead us on a path around their cage, heading for Goch’s stone pit. A small crowd has gathered to watch, and the sight unfolding before us turns my stomach.
A man I’ve come to know as High Lord Hermance stands tied to a stake, bare-chested. Blood streaks down his skin, with the word killer etched into his chest.
Behind him, Goch’s head is raised, his golden eyes alert. Watching. Steam puffs from his enormous nostrils.
Cador stalks closer, dressed in a black cloak. He pivots, facing the rest of the crowd. The moonlight gleams off his burgundy hair. “I hope you all realize now that if you are a liar, an imposter, or an enemy of the noble houses, we will discover your treachery.”
“I didn’t do it!” the man shouts, his words strangled.
Cador flicks his hand again, and new words slice into the man’s skin. “My magic reveals the truth in your flesh. That’s how I know you are lying. What happened to the real High Lord Hermance?”
The man’s head hangs.
“You’re not who you say you are,” Cador bellows, his voice echoing off the stone. “Someone watching from the noble houses knows the real High Lord Hermance of Joyous Isle. You’ve done a reasonable job imitating him, but you’re not actually him, are you? You killed him and took his spot.”
Cador seemed so kind when I first met him. Now, he seems terrifying.
Elizabeth clutches my arm. When I look around, I see Tristan standing against the far wall with some of the other servants. He catches my eye, his jaw tight.
Niniane lurks in the shadows behind the stake, her face covered in a thin silver veil.
“So, why did you do it?” Cador turns, and his cloak swirls around him like smoke. He flicks his wrist again, and a faint shimmer of gold magic streams from his fingertips.
From his glittering magic, words begin to etch themselves into the arm of Hermance—or whoever he is. He shrieks again.
“Stop it,” I mutter through clenched teeth.
Slowly, I watch the letters form one by one as he cries out, until I read the word Fratricide.
“Well, there you have it,” Cador announces. “Your brother was the real High Lord Hermance, wasn’t he?”
“Half brother! I found him with my wife,” the man screams. “He promised her he’d make her queen if he won these trials. He’s a half brother, that’s it, but my father always loved him more.”
Cador spins to face him. “You’re a bastard, then? Do you even have a title?”
Tears stream down the man’s face. “Some bastards get titles.”
Niniane crosses into the center of the circle.
“If you kill the person intended for these trials, you steal their halo. Even a commoner could murder their way in. But we will not tolerate liars and deceivers. Those who would cheat and steal their way onto the throne, those who would make a mockery of the noble houses, those who do not even have a title, cannot rule from the high throne. This is treason!”
A word I know all too well, one that always sends ice-cold needles dancing down my nape.
The word seems to have an effect on Goch, too, because his eyes blaze with flames.
When someone wields enough power, the definition of treason bends to their whims. Want someone’s land? Treason. Worried they might threaten your power? Treason. Sick of your wife? She committed treason, too.
Cador turns to us, his eyes raking over our faces. “I suggest you all step back if you don’t want to get singed.”
At this, the prisoner starts screaming again, begging for mercy.
“Let’s go,” Elizabeth whispers. “I don’t need to see another burning.”
She loops her arm around mine, and we turn to walk toward the cart, trying not to look back. Behind us, the man’s desperate cries are drowned out by Goch’s roar. The sound rumbles through my bones, setting my teeth on edge.
Heat singes the air behind us, a scorching blast that blows past, and the man’s cries fall silent. The scent of charred flesh lingers in the air, and embers drift on the wind around us. Elizabeth is walking with her eyes closed, as if this will help her block out the sound, the smell.
Nausea twists in my stomach. If anyone learns the truth about me here, that same fate awaits me.
The sound of his shrieks still echoes in my skull, and smoke from his body coils into the night sky.
Traitor.
I taste the word like blood on my tongue.
As we pass the Aether Tower, I see the number on top has already changed. Now, the golden numbers read 179.
* * *
In my room, I sip a rose tea. After I rang the little bell for food, a young woman brought up a tray of tea and honey cakes for me, but I wasn’t remotely hungry.
Even if I need to rest before tomorrow’s trials, I feel as if I’ll never fall asleep tonight. I can’t forget the look of terror on that man’s face. I imagine myself in his place. Killer. Liar. Peasant.
A quiet knock sounds on my door, making me jump. When I pull it open, Tristan is standing there, his green eyes flashing.
“Come on in,” I say, my voice thin and weary. “Do you want some tea?”
He slips through the door, shutting it with a quiet click behind him.
“I think it’s time to extract you,” he says. “I won’t let you die like that.”
I drop into a chair and pour him some tea. Tea always makes the worst situations slightly better. “I will stay here until I get the grail or die trying. And as a bonus, maybe I’ll kill some aristocrats while I’m at it. Let us sit upon the ground, and tell sweet stories of the death of kings.”
He scrubs a hand over his jaw. “You have a habit of bastardizing Shakespeare quotes. And what happens when they realize you’re an imposter?”
I set my tea down, frowning. “Maybe I am supposed to be here. Why didn’t the dragon burn me on the first night? Goch was supposed to kill the unworthy, but instead of killing me, he incinerated Lady Blythe.”
Tristan shrugs. “He’s a dragon, Syn. He doesn’t follow rules or logic. Maybe he didn’t like the color of Lady Blythe’s dress. Maybe he thought she smelled like old onions. But if Niniane learns the truth, she’ll have you killed.”
I scowl, staring at the starry sky outside. “Niniane’s priority is protecting the nobility. But the magic here is older than titles or lineages. Anyway, I have a benefit that man didn’t. I was in the Undercroft from eleven, then London. No one here could possibly recognize me or Alis.”
“You could let down your guard. Your accent could slip.”
“And what is the safe alternative? The halo returns the moment I leave. Of course I don’t want to burn to death, but the Cloaked Ones will burn me, too. At least as long as I’m here, my death will serve a purpose. At least here, the danger also means I can save Vero.”
“You have a point.” He pulls out a chair across from me, sitting before the coiling steam of the tea. “Syn, you need to come with me to Avalon Tower. You need to meet our tarot reader and diviner in person.”
“What’s her name?”
“She’s called Tana. If she approves of you, you’ll get clearance, and then I can tell you what I’m actually doing here. You can work with us, which means you’ll also have the help of Avalon Tower if we need to get you out.”
Excitement flickers in my chest. I’ve always wanted to see Avalon Tower. “How do I get to Camelot?”
“In two nights, I’m scheduled to report back. If we move quickly enough, I can take you with me.”
“After the first combat trial.”
He nods. “And it won’t be easy to get there.”
“I don’t suppose they can discreetly open a portal within the Veiled Court?”
“Not for this mission. Reporting to Avalon Tower is only half of my assignment. The other is transporting a dragon. And there’s a battle raging nearby against the Iron Legion.”
I blink. “Hang on. You know how to ride a dragon now?”
He raises an eyebrow. “I’ve learned to do a lot of things since I left Brocéliande.”
And what have I learned in the past fifteen years? How to make tea for my colleagues so it’s just the right shade of milky brown.
But maybe I gleaned important lessons from all those years of service among the English—how to be nice and polite and to smile sweetly, even when I want to scream. That mask of artifice is precisely what I’ll need to survive here, because I need these people to think I’m one of them.
And when the time comes, I’m going to steal their most precious relic.