Chapter Twenty-Eight #3
Part of me wants to reach out and push the goblet down. More wine will only make any trial they have planned more difficult.
Queen Ambra leans forward, her silky, raven strands coiled over one shoulder like a serpent. “It’s simple. All we ask is that you walk.” Her eyes gleam as she gestures toward the center of the hall.
All heads turn.
At first, I don’t see it. But then the crowd parts. Nobles shift aside with the eager rustle of silk and laughter until a path is exposed.
Oh, shit.
Everyone stands to get a better view.
The tiled, twenty-foot path, narrow and straight, has been cleared across the length of the hall.
Its edges are flanked by two rows of golden vases interspersed with lit torches, the flickering flames casting sharp shadows onto the tile.
And scattered across the tiles, coiled and shimmering like water in the firelight, are at least a dozen snakes.
My breath catches.
The snakes barely move, their movements deliberate as they hiss. Like they’re waiting.
What the fuck is this?
Dante glances at me for a split second before inhaling deeply. He sways slightly as he sets down his goblet. My eyes go to the king, and even he seems rigid, the grasp on his goblet turning his knuckles white.
The queens exchange a glance of private amusement, Ambra hooking her arm through Eosla’s.
“Make it from one side to the other,” Queen Ambra says, her voice like velvet drawn across a blade. “But step carefully. The serpents of Bastos do not take kindly to drunken feet.”
Queen Eleanor holds a gloved hand to her chest. King Silas swallows hard before schooling his features, giving Dante an encouraging nod.
“Ah-ah-ah,” Queen Ambra lets out, shaking a finger at Dante. “No sword. Those are royal serpents, protected by the realm.”
Dante exchanges a glance with Silas as Sir Donovan steps forward and waits by Dante’s side. Dante’s jaw stiffens as he unsheathes his falchion and hands it to Sir Donovan to hold on to.
Murmurs ripple through the audience. Some are watching with fear, others with glee.
I shift, palms damp, and I have to stop myself from reaching for Dante’s hand.
Luckily, Nadya mollifies me by linking her hand with mine, giving me the support I need.
Dante’s bloodshot eyes catch mine for a moment as he moves around me toward the path.
Nadya tenses beside me. “They’re venomous,” she whispers.
A man in a violet sash moves to stand near the path—young, sharp-eyed, with a cobra tattoo winding down his arm.
I swear his eyes are pitch black. He raises a hand in a slow, practiced motion, and when he does, a few of the snakes slither to life, their heads raised and their scaled bodies gleaming beneath the firelight.
He’s fae. An animal-wielder, or at least a snake-wielder. But I’m not sure if he’s there to keep Dante safe… or to make this trial more challenging.
Everyone is quiet as Dante steps onto the first tile.
From the musicians’ corner, someone hits a drum in an unnerving tempo.
Dante’s shoulders rise and fall as he steadies himself, as if shaking off the haze of wine and heat.
The sweat on his brow is visible from where Nadya and I stand, and the tight set of his jaw makes me nervous he’s going to crack a tooth.
The music starts again, the flutes and string instruments joining the pulsing drumbeat, and the air feels like it thickens in my throat.
He takes another step. Then another. The fae flicks his wrist, and the first snake shifts toward Dante with a hiss.
I nearly step forward, but Nadya’s hold is strong. I glance at her with wide eyes, and she shakes her head. She’s right. I have to let him complete his trial.
But my magic pulses, anyway, an anxious hum beneath my skin. I clench my teeth, trying to keep it quiet, trying not to let it leak out, but already, I feel the ache pressing behind my eyes, the dull, rhythmic throb that always precedes something I can’t control.
Dante gapes at the snake, his body swaying.
“Steady, Dante. Please.”
Dante straightens a bit, then he moves again, slower now. The snake is now joined by a second, both of them curling across the tile before him, rearing their heads back slightly. The fae twitches his fingers, directing them. They wave their bodies, taunting Dante.
Dante shifts sideways, his weight careful, his focus absolute. But the wine is dulling his edges. He lifts his foot and slides it forward, his eyes trained on the two reptiles. I watch the rise and fall of his chest as he takes a step forward and clears past the first two threats.
I release a breath. I hear a giggle and glance over to see the queens tittering, Ambra’s arms now wrapped around Eosla from behind, her chin resting on Eosla’s shoulder.
I turn my focus back to Dante, who stumbles for a breath—just enough to draw a collective gasp from the room. Laughter bubbles up from a few courtiers.
He recovers. Steadies.
King Silas stretches as if working out a kink in his neck, his hands clenched into fists.
The path ahead of Dante narrows, twisting through a dense cluster of serpents. They slither lazily, but their intent is unmistakable. With the snake-wielder’s signal, one of the reptiles slinks directly into Dante’s path, blocking his progress.
He has to step over it.
My heart is a frantic drum. My hands clench in front of me. I can feel the wild heat of the room, the prickle of sweat against the back of my neck.
The snake juts its head forward with a loud hiss. Dante instinctively reaches for the hilt of his falchion, the wine apparently making him forget it’s not there. The realization throws him off-kilter, and he almost tips forward into the serpent.
My magic surges again.
No!
I push—barely a whisper of will, just enough to nudge the snake away from him. It works, the snake sliding a foot to the right, but the force backlashes through me like a crack of thunder behind my eyes.
Pain splinters across my skull. I flinch, head ducking, and Nadya reaches for me in evident alarm. Her gaze drops to my nose, and her eyes widen. Before I can question her, she grabs a silk handkerchief from the table and shoves it into my palm.
I wipe my face quickly, almost shuddering at the sight of the blood on the silk.
Nadya nods, letting me know I’m in the clear, but my body is still buzzing. If my magic cuts loose again, I’m going to need more than just this handkerchief.
“It’s fine,” I whisper to her.
But it’s not fine. My vision blurs at the edges.
Dante has made it past the snake, but he’s not at the end of the path yet. He’s not walking straight, but he keeps going.
The music swells—faster, louder. The snakes are restless now, weaving through the tiles like living shadows. The fae lifts both hands and two serpents writhe into Dante’s path.
Fuck!
He’s swaying. Sweat glistens on his skin. His focus is slipping.
Come on. Just a few more steps.
I press my palm flat against my stomach, grounding myself as best I can.
One final push—I don’t even know what I’m aiming for.
Just something to keep him upright, to clear the tile.
I shove the energy outward, but it bursts sideways—wild and chaotic.
As soon as I release it, I get a sharp pain in my chest.
The fire from one of the nearby torches flares too wide, causing the nobles closest to it to cry out and scatter back. Dante’s arm shields his face, and I suck in a breath when I notice the instant, red blistering of his skin.
Without thinking, I send another wave of energy surging.
In my mind, I sense the urgent need to heal him.
The next two seconds play out in slow motion in my eyes—an icy film appearing on his scorched skin, Dante pulling his arm against his chest and covering it with his other arm, his brow scrunching over narrowed eyes, and then the straightening of his back.
Luckily, I see that the distraction has also caused the animal-wielder to falter. The snakes shift off-course. And when Dante finally steps forward again, he strides cleanly over the last tile and into the open.
The hall goes silent.
Then… applause. It’s slow at first, then grows louder. The faces of the people in the crowd are filled with amazement. They’re clearly impressed.
I feel like I’m going to faint, and the sharp pain behind my eyes has blossomed to the point that I see black spots dance before me.
My arms are wrapped around myself, and Nadya is supporting me to keep me upright.
I wince, then straighten, flashing her a look of gratitude as I breathe through the pain.
The queens lean toward each other, exchanging another knowing look before Queen Ambra claps her hands once. “Very well done,” she says, stepping forward. “You’ve completed the path, Lord Dante.”
Dante inclines his head, his movements stiff, as if he’s barely holding himself upright.
I glance around, wondering if anyone noticed what I had done. No one remarks on the fire burst; no one mentions seeing any ice form on Dante’s arm. Even the snake charmer seems oblivious to my magic interfering. Maybe it was the wine, dulling everyone’s attention.
“But your night is not over,” Queen Eosla adds, her voice dripping with amusement. “Come. The final mark awaits you.”
Final mark? What the fuck does that mean?
They gesture to the flaps at the rear of the tent. Two attendants appear, draped in gauzy crimson, beckoning Dante forward.
His jaw tightens. His eyes find me, and his brows come together.
I force myself to stand up straight, hoping there’s no trace of my nosebleed for him to see. I give him a nod, but he can only blink.
The attendants clap him on the shoulders, and he has no choice but to follow.
As he disappears into the night, I’m left with my pulse pounding in my ears, the taste of blood at the back of my throat, and the certainty that whatever they plan next could be worse.
Much worse.