Chapter 41
Ireach for it and close my hand around its stem.
Relief floods me, and my hands are shaking as I pull it closer to me. My eyes sting, and I clasp it to my chest.
I got it. I fucking got the grail that will heal Vero for good, and I don’t need to worry anymore.
Tears stream down my cheeks.
When I open my eyes again, the first thing I see is the moths fluttering around me, watching it all.
On the other side of the bridges, Niniane appears. In the gloom, she radiates a pale, silver light, and her expression beams.
“Listen, all!” she calls out, her voice booming.
“I declare Baroness Alis of Listenoise the ultimate victor of this trial! The rest of you will be judged by the noble houses on your displays of bravery, strength, and cunning. Let us return now to the Veiled Court, where we will celebrate the claiming of the grail!”
Still catching my breath, I turn to see the lion. The fierce creature is now slumbering on the bridge.
Then my gaze meets Rion’s. Blood streaks down his body, and his knuckles are white where he grips the hilt of his sword. He stares intently at the grail.
He was so close to grabbing it, just two feet away from me.
The muscles flex in his jaw, and his gaze drags from the grail up to my face. His expression is coldly furious—and there’s something else there I can’t quite read.
Without another word, he turns and crosses back over the bridge, past the sleeping lion, stepping over the bodies of those he killed.
I start to limp toward the castle.
* * *
My freshly cleaned and dried hair smells faintly of lavender, but I still haven’t dressed yet for the ball.
Mostly because I have absolutely no desire to go. All I want to do right now is sneak out of the castle and get this grail to Vero. Only then can I truly relax. And after I’ve healed her, I want to sink into a soft bed and stay there for weeks.
Across the table from me, Tristan pours the mead, and the pale liquid catches the dying light of the sun. The grail sits between us.
I cock my head. I can’t stop staring at it. It seems to draw the sunlight toward it, and it glows like the dawn. The skull sits upside down on top of a stem carved from Avalon steel, its crown fitted into the base of the same metal.
Strangely, a symbol marks the stem. It looks nearly identical to the tattoo on Rion’s chest—a vertical line with branches coming off it, like a primitive tree.
Tristan hands me the glass of mead. “And how many died during the trial?”
“Six were dismissed, halos removed, for failing to get to the trial on time. And twenty-six died, I heard.” The number coils sharply between my ribs, but I force my voice to stay flat and keep my expression neutral.
“Rion killed seven of them at least, and a few murdered each other. The rest burned in the fiery pit. I can still see the blade streaked with gore. It really was—”
“You made it across,” Tristan cuts in, dropping into a chair just next to me. “That’s what matters.”
“I ran into the beast, by the way.” My fingers tighten on the glass, but I’m keeping my voice even. “It was fine.”
“Good,” he says steadily. “I’m glad you didn’t let it overwhelm you. No point in looking back to dwell on every horrible thing that happened to you.”
I glance at the grail again, and it glows in the coral sunlight. “The legends say Bran’s head was buried beneath the Tower of London. Have you heard that? His skull is supposed to protect Britain from invaders. Didn’t always work, did it?”
A knock sounds on the door, and I stand to open it. A servant enters holding a tray with a golden gift box resting on top.
“A gift.” She bows her head slightly. “From the noble houses.”
“Thank you.” Smiling, I take the box, carry it to the table, and open it.
A handwritten note rests on top, reading,
Let the raven guide your way.
Tucked beneath the note is a little bronze raven with clear quartz eyes. It’s beautifully crafted, no larger than a sparrow. Its feathers are etched with a delicate precision, and little gold talons curl beneath it.
“They’re lavishing you with gifts now,” Tristan murmurs.
I set the golden raven on my bookshelf. “The greatest gift will be healing Vero.”
Tristan picks up the grail. “Syn, everyone is going to be after you now. Time to slip into the obscurity of the shadows. It’s dangerous too close to the throne. I don’t want you as the top target.”
“Unfortunately, tonight, I’m supposed to dress up in a gown and march into the Aether Tower ballroom carrying the grail in some kind of victory celebration. All eyes will be on me. Mabon’s included. But when do we get this to Vero?”
Outside, the sun is dipping lower in the sky, bathing Tristan’s tan skin in warm light and creating sparks in his eyes like flecks of gold.
“In two nights. I’ll find her in the Melian Forest and bring her to an abandoned cottage by the sea near the Veiled Court.
You’ll sneak out with the grail and join us there. ”
Joy blooms in my chest at the thought of handing this over to her. That will be the real victory celebration.
“Fucking incredible, Syn.” Tristan raises the grail again, and a faint smile curls his lips. “If only I’d been born into a noble house, I could have joined you in the trials.”
I lean in closer. “But then you and I would be competing for the throne, and only one of us could be crowned at the end. What would happen then?”
He glances at me, and his gaze brushes down to my lips, then sweeps up again. “I would hope you’d show me mercy, my queen, and make me your jester.”
“And why would I show mercy? Everyone knows a monarch can’t leave a rival breathing.”
His eyes gleam. “Because you can’t live without me, darling. You’d spare me, I think. You’d risk your crown just to keep me around.”
He’s right. I would.
“And would you spare me?” I ask with a smile.
“Of course I would. We grew up underground together. You’ve been with me longer than I’ve had the sunlight on my skin.”
My breath quickens as he leans in closer to brush a strand of hair off my face. The closeness heats my blood, and I desperately want to pull him closer, to feel his solid, warm body against my own.
Tristan’s gaze moves to my mouth again, and I think he’s going to kiss me, but the door opens.
We jump apart as Jasper the tailor strides into the room, a purple cocktail in one hand.
Lifting the goblet to his lips, he takes a long sip and stumbles closer.
A lock of his hair falls before his eyes.
“There you are, darling. Someone told me that our little Waste Land gutter urchin found the grail. I want to see—ah! There it is. King Bran’s drinking cup. Whose skull do you think this was?”
“Hello, Jasper.”
He cocks his head. “Do you think I could sip my lavender libations from the grail?”
“Absolutely not,” I say. “I am the grail’s keeper for the week, and it’s not a cocktail glass.”
He shrugs and drags his heavy-lidded gaze to my face.
“You know, isn’t it just the most interesting thing to happen?
Everyone expects the wealthier nobles to get the grail.
The more powerful ones. You look at Igraine or Rion, and you think they’re going to win it all, but that’s boring.
It’s expected. Do you know what’s a good twist?
” He slurs his words. “The grail in the hands of a wretched waif who crawled from the slums.”
I stare at him. “Can I help you with something?”
He snaps his fingers. “Ladies! Assistants! Come in, for fuck’s sake.”
Looking sullen, Tillie and Ranae slink into the room. Tillie carries a dark, feathered gown that gleams with faint shades of deep purple. Silver accents glint from the feathers. Tillie lays it out over a chair near my bed.
“The Raven Queen,” says Jasper. “That’s what they’re calling you. Do you know what? Prince Talan would love you, I reckon. He collects strange creatures, like his wife from Cali…fornia. And Rion reminds me of that beautiful prince…”
Yes, well, Rion probably abducted and possibly murdered his favorite prince.
Tristan is still holding the grail, and Jasper suddenly notices. He lurches forward, snatching it from Tristan.
“Oh, no, no, no. That’s not for a peasant to touch,” Jasper sets it on the table. “Hands off. I’ve flogged servants for less.”
Tristan stares at Jasper, and I know what he’s thinking. If he didn’t have the emotional restraint of a knight, Tristan would throw Jasper out the window and watch him fall to his death.
Jasper must sense it, because he edges out of Tristan’s reach. Draining the rest of his cocktail, he shoves the empty glass onto a bookshelf near my new bronze raven.
He claps his hands. “All right, now, time to get you dressed, yeah? I’ve heard the gossip, you know.
The noble houses are all aflutter about the passionate romance between the Raven Queen and the Ruthless Knight.
They say you kissed him again today by the riverbank.
Couldn’t keep your hands off him. Is that right, you little minx? ”
I glance at Tristan and find that his eyes are narrowed, his jaw tense. He cocks his head, and his green eyes blaze. Slowly, he raises an eyebrow.
I shrug and flutter my eyelashes. “How could I resist, Jasper? As you said, he reminds you of Prince Talan. What could be better?”
Jasper points at me, smiling. “You are truly skilled at entertaining the noble houses.” His gaze drifts to Tristan. “You. Servant. What’s your name?”
He enunciates each word as if Tristan were an idiot. Truly, Jasper is testing the bounds of Tristan’s patience.
He stares back at Jasper without answering.
“I don’t actually care what your name is, yeah?” Jasper drawls. “Just get me another cocktail. I’m parched, and I’ve got important things to do.”
Tristan cuts me a sharp look, as if this is all my fault, then stalks from the room. I know he won’t be coming back, but I doubt Jasper will remember the conversation in five minutes.
As Tristan leaves, Jasper leans back against the bookshelves, folding his arms. “Let’s see the dress on you, Baroness.
Igraine is competing for Rion, too. She wants a king and a crown, and you’re in her way.
So, you’d better look amazing tonight if you want to keep his attention.
She has that old money thing going on, you know. All gold.”
“Oh, Baroness.” Ranae’s voice floats across the room, sugar-sweet and false. “We heard how he helped you today. That’s how you got the grail. Rion helped you.”
“We heard,” Tillie adds, “that he would have the grail himself if he hadn’t dragged you out of the river. We heard that he impressed them all with his chivalry. He’s still most likely to win, you know.”
Ranae steps close enough to twist one of my curls around her fingertip. “I think that when he grows bored of you, he’ll discard you like an old rag. And everyone knows a king cannot allow his rivals to live. So, Baroness…you’d better find a way to make Rion happy.”
“Shhh,” Tillie cuts in. “If she wins, she’ll have you executed for that.”
These people are annoying, petty, and cruel, but they’re also right about Rion.
Of all the Veiled Court’s dangers, Rion might be the deadliest threat, and I need to find out exactly what he’s planning behind the scenes.