Chapter 42
Carrying the grail, I stride across the high bridge. I’m dressed in my Raven Queen gown. A feathered collar brushes against my throat, and more dark feathers crown my head. The breeze kisses my bare arms and the skin exposed by my plunging neckline.
A slit in the skirt traces all the way up to my hip line.
Tillie did my makeup—black liner around my eyes, shimmering cheekbones, and berry-stained lips. If I’m honest, I feel very beautiful.
Twilight is falling, nearly night now, and silver stars streak a periwinkle sky. It doesn’t matter how much time I spend here—this place still feels like a dream. A nightmare at times, too.
I remember as a kid looking up at the sky. Now, it makes me ache for a time when Tristan and I would lie in the grass, staring up at a dome of blue and white. We’d listen to the blackbirds sing and feel the sunlight washing over our skin. I want that quietness with him, when we could just be.
I glance at Aether Tower. The number has changed again—seventy-one remain after more deaths and dismissals.
And the banners have shifted places, too. Rion was right. Working together, we could take down Mabon. But even with the grail, I haven’t made it to the top. I’m in second place, just above Mabon and Igraine.
Rion’s white stag hangs in the prime spot, the sigil already crowned.
Clutching the grail, I cross into the Aether Tower and climb the worn steps. In the stairwell, haunting music floats through the air, raising goose bumps on my skin.
As I step into the hall, a hush falls over the room, and all eyes are on the grail. Those in the hall stare at it with raw hunger. A chill shudders over my skin. I feel like a rabbit who crossed into a den of starving wolves.
From the mirrors, the nobles watch me.
My skin prickles with discomfort at their notice, and I take a sip of the cocktail in my other hand. It tastes like strawberries and honey.
Mabon stares at me, his expression poisonous. Still, I think he’s already downing drinks tonight. He won’t be much of a threat after ten of them.
I scan the room. Between the soaring, open columns, the stars gleam brightly in a mulberry sky. A humid breeze sweeps inside, rustling the flowers and leaves. Floating lanterns sway, casting golden light over the guests.
I don’t see Rion here yet, or my friends.
I could gloat and lift the grail above my head, brandishing it for the noble houses to see. But Raphael told me to retreat into the shadows, and that’s what I’m going to do. Slipping to an arched window on one side of the hall with the grail, I hide among the vines climbing the amber stone walls.
The other Fey slowly pull their eyes from me, returning to their conversations.
I glance at the skull carvings in the fountain’s stone basin. I saw them the first night here. Now, I realize that the skull carvings are the grail. And along with the grail, I see two more repeated symbols—a leafy branch and a sword.
I have no doubt we’ll be looking for those in the next trials.
“Alis!” Elizabeth’s voice pulls me from my thoughts, and I turn to see her coming toward me with Aneirin by her side. She looks like a goddess in a delicate bronze gown. Her arm is bandaged, but the Fey heal quickly.
Aneirin wears a red velvet doublet threaded with gold.
Elizabeth lifts her glass. “Water, tonight. I’m being boring, but I can’t take any more alcohol.”
“I can,” says Aneirin, looking pale. “I need a break from my thoughts. I need to turn them off. Do you know? I think my happiest moments in life have been drunk.”
Elizabeth frowns. “That’s quite sad, Aneirin.”
“What are your happiest moments, then?” Aneirin asks her.
“I don’t know. I suppose when I married, but it turned out to be the worst moment in my life, looking back. So, I think it was when my husband died.” She smiles.
“How did he die, exactly?” Aneirin asks.
Elizabeth shrugs. “Someone who’d had enough of being locked in a room put a pillow over his head while he slept.”
Aneirin’s eyebrows flick up. “Can’t say I blame you.”
I lift the grail, imagining how it will feel to hand it to Vero. “I think that our happiest moments haven’t happened yet.”
Aneirin cocks his head. “Yes, your happiest moments lie in your future, I’m sure, given your passionate romance with your warlord.”
“Have you heard the rumors about him?” Elizabeth asks.
“The torture ones?” says Aneirin. “Everyone has.”
Elizabeth shakes her head. “No, the other rumors.”
I find myself leaning in closer to her, my pulse racing with anticipation. “Don’t keep us in suspense.”
Elizabeth’s fiery eyes dart from side to side. “They say he’s secretly King Auberon’s son. Alis, you know him. Is that true?”
My heart skips a beat. “What? No, the king only had two sons. One is dead, and the other tried to kill him.”
“Alis is right,” says Aneirin. “Prince Talan is a hero or traitor, depending on who you ask, because he tried to kill Auberon. And Prince Lothyr died centuries ago. Apparently, Lothyr’s death drove the king nearly out of his mind, and he started burning every peasant he could find.
He blamed them all because Prince Lothyr died in the peasant revolt—”
“Hang on,” I say. “You said Prince Talan tried to kill Auberon. You mean, he didn’t succeed?”
It’s what I suspected, but no one else has dared to speak the words out loud.
Aneirin’s throat bobs. “Well, I don’t know. We didn’t see the body, did we? I certainly hope he’s dead—otherwise, what’s all this for?”
A hush falls over the room, and I turn to see Rion striding into the hall, his golden tattoos glowing over his high cheekbones.
He wears a midnight-dark suit of a rich, velvety material, and a half smile curls his lips.
He seems to radiate light, and he draws the eye like the sun.
As he steps into the hall, his gaze sweeps around until it meets mine.
My mind is aflame with the whispers that he’s a son of Auberon. It’s only a rumor—but Rion did have Auberon’s family tree hidden in his room.
I raise the grail as if in a toast.
Gracefully, he stalks closer to me.
He only makes it a few feet before Igraine sweeps over to peer adoringly up at him.
But his gaze darts to mine, and his eyebrows lift. Of course, he’s seen that he’s still winning, and he no longer looks as though he wants to murder me.
The slow curl of his lips tells me there’s more in store for me. Apparently, he still thinks I’m useful to him. We are the top two contenders. It doesn’t matter how fake the romance is because the noble houses are buying it.
Igraine follows his gaze and narrows her eyes at me. Her lips are pressed into a thin line.
Now, metallic moths dart and flutter around our heads, watching us.
But Rion stalks past her, gliding closer to me.
He ignores Elizabeth and Aneirin completely. They might as well be statues for all the attention he shows them.
His eyes sweep down my body slowly, then up again. “And here is my lover, cradling a king’s head in her hands—not for the last time.”
I lift the grail. “This is a king’s skull?”
Instead of answering, he slides his hand onto the small of my back and guides me away from my friends. He leads me to an alcove, a stone bench with soft pillows and diaphanous curtains. He pulls aside the curtains, and we sit on the velvet.
When he glances at me, heat flares in the silver-blue eyes. “I’ve been waiting to see you all day.”
A total lie, but he makes it seem convincing.
The moths flit around, their wings sparking with amber in the lantern lights. Rion reaches for the grail and lifts it to stare into its hollow eyes. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”
He’s very good at playing the part, letting others see him holding the grail as if it belonged to him. As if he were born to be king.
He hands it back to me, then leans in close, whispering, “Murderous Peasant.” Despite his words, heat shivers over my skin. “You know I’ll do whatever it takes to win.”
Even slumming it with someone like me.
I lift my lips close to his ear. “So, are we still performing?”
He flashes me a disarming smile. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think it was actually affectionate.
“Show them how much you want me,” he whispers. “Fake it if you must. Because I need you to make them believe that you are so in love with me that you are willing to share the grail with me for the rest of the week.”
I freeze. “No.”
“Why not?”
I narrow my eyes at him. He thinks he can bully me, but he doesn’t know that I have a greater purpose than simply winning power. “Because, warlord, I won it. And you lost.”
He pulls me into his lap, and my breath catches as I am pressed against the hard angles of his muscled body. I lean into the solid heat of his chest, tilting my head up.
I can feel everyone’s eyes on us—watching the golden couple. And yet, when I’m this close to his mesmerizing glow, the rest of the world fades to gray.
One of his hands wraps around the small of my back, and the other rests casually on my hip. Languidly, his thumb brushes up and down over the silk of my dress. The blue darkens in his eyes.
His mouth is close to mine. “You can’t possibly hope to sit on the throne when you’re lying to everyone about who you are. You’ll be under far too much scrutiny. The best you can hope for is a title from me. I’ll give you Mabon’s ancestral palace near Corbinelle.”
He smells of fire-kissed wood, a warm scent that coils around me.
“I’m not giving it to you,” I whisper. “What do you even want it for? You’re in the lead.”
Still stroking my hip, he slides his gaze down my body, then up again. “Your heart is racing, love.”
I nuzzle the side of his face, nearly kissing his ear. “That’s because I’m worried about what you’ll do.”
His hand slips from my hip down to my thigh, caressing me. “Then do as I say.”
He’s not going to relent, is he?
My heart slams. No matter what, I need to give it to Vero first. “Fine. I’ll give it to you for one day at the end.”
“Your last chance will be Wednesday by noon. Four days. That’s your deadline.” He reaches for my face and strokes my lower lip. “Now, pretend to find me captivating so it’s believable.”
I kiss his thumb. “As long as you personally understand that I’d rather stab my eyes with hot pokers.”
His lips hover inches from mine. “It would be a shame to ruin such pretty eyes.”
I lean in closer, whispering into his ear, “Perhaps I should carve out yours instead.”
For all the world, it looks like I’m whispering sweet nothings into his ear.
He brushes the hair off my face, leaving a trail of heat in the wake of his fingertips. “Is this how peasants seduce each other? With threats of maiming? I’ve always wondered how you did it. I must admit, it turns me on.”
“Poor warlord.” Our lips are nearly touching now. “Hurts to know a peasant holds your fate in her hands, doesn’t it?”
He whispers, “I think you’re an uncultured swine in a beautiful woman’s body. But sometimes we use beasts to get a job done.”
My lips brush against his jawline. “I should have killed you when I had the knife to your throat.”
“Your hatred for me only makes this feel all the sweeter,” he breathes in a ragged whisper.
One hand slides to the back of my neck, his fingers threading into my hair. His touch seems far too gentle for the brutal killer who spilled so much blood today.
His thumb brushes along my jaw, then over my lower lip. Molten heat slides through me—low, dangerous, liquid fire. A man so vicious has no right to be this beautiful. And right now, I feel the full force of his power trained on me. It shouldn’t, but it feels like I’m standing in the sun’s rays.
His eyes darken, shadows sliding through the silver until they turn iron gray. Then they close.
His lips meet mine in a slow kiss. He’s taking his time with me, like he’s savoring a fine mead.
My body answers to his, and I want to drag my hands down his chest. This is a performance. A lie. A pantomime with a man I loathe. But my body is too stupid to know the difference.
When I part my lips, letting him deepen the kiss, I have to admit that yes, he’s unbelievably hot, and yes, I’ve dreamt of exactly this. But even in my dreams, I don’t feel desire lighting up my core the way it is now.
His tongue sweeps in, and a heated, unwelcome ache coils tightly inside me.
Slowly, my tongue brushes against his. It must be his magic—nothing else explains this.
For a moment, I imagine myself as one of the women in his harem, and in my imagination, his fingertips stroke between my thighs, lightly—
And just as the thought slides through my mind, his hand traces languidly up my thigh. Desire spills through me. When his hand moves higher, I have to bite back a moan—
Too late.
It slips out anyway, soft enough that only he can hear.
Get it together, Syn. Reality crashes into me. This is all fake. He wants the grail that I need to save Vero. And as Ranae said, he’ll discard me like an old rag when he’s done with me.
When I pull away from the kiss, his eyes are still dark, his chest rising and falling as if he’s just come out of battle.
We are at war, the two of us, one fought with secrets and lies, and I’m pretty sure only one of us will be left standing.
“Four days,” he whispers.
Before Rion snatches the grail from my hands, I have to get it to my sister. And if I fail, either Vero or I will end up dead.