Chapter 22
The so-called great hall turns out to be a large room filled with rows of wooden tables. My army’s barracks are more prestigious than this, and still, I wouldn’t spend a heartbeat there if it were up to me.
What a disappointment, especially considering how long the Vikans have lived on this planet.
And yet they begrudge the Fae their origin in the Spiritland, even though it is the Fae who build breathtaking cities, palaces, and temples, while the Vikans seem content with dirt and simplicity.
Hags don’t begrudge you shit, Aidon chimes in my head.
I roll my eyes. I have no idea why you defend them so much.
They are fine.
They aren’t. What a freaking joke that I need to prove myself before them.
I add an extra sway to my hips as I make my way towards the largest table at the front of the room. Margorate and her cronies are already there. What makes my brows furrow is the sight of my unfortunate companions having a fucking blast with them.
I suppose loyalty is hard to come by these days.
Scarlet eyes turn in my direction. Such dramatics, and you call me disloyal, while you’re the one deliberately hiding something. His mental tone drips with accusation. I tuck the shitty comment away for later. I don’t have time to waste on traitors.
I don’t rush. Each step echoes, my studded boots striking the floor, the only sound in the room. No one looks up. Apparently, the High Queen’s arrival isn’t worth the attention.
“Your Royal Highness, we’re honoured you’ve joined us,” Margorate calls out. “Finally.”
“She needed to prepare herself,” Bogda mocks, and Wisla doesn’t bother to contain a giggle.
“It must take hours to tame those blue waves. You would know if you only cared more about your appearance,” Margorate chastises Bogda, making all three of my males chuckle.
She is not that funny.
“If I’d known official dinners in your mountains only required dirty rags, I would’ve come sooner.” I smile sweetly as I settle into the chair across from Margorate.
“We will make sure to inform you next time,” Bogda says as she lifts a glass to her lips. Margorate raises her hand to silence her, then gives me a small nod of apology.
“How do you like your living arrangements?” She asks.
“As prestigious as the rest of the village.” I reach for my glass, which Margorate poured for me and sniff.
Fae wine?
My stomach knots as Riven pins me with a glare loaded with expectations.
But he can’t expect shit from me. Not anymore.
“Great. The cottage is used only by Beriganders. Even after thousands of years, my warriors still can’t stand the smell of your kind.” Margorate’s smile is anything but pleasant.
Aidon bursts out laughing, and when Riven hits his shoulder, he shoots him a lethal glare but stops.
“You know the trials, don’t you?” She asks, eyeing my glass.
Not drinking will make me look weak. That’s what she was aiming for. Showing I am too afraid to loosen my guard in their company.
Tough shit, I am not.
I take a long sip, and the moment the liquid touches my tongue, my resolve cracks.
I’ve been holding myself back for weeks, pretending I didn’t miss it, but the rush of warmth answers the craving I’ve been choking down.
The familiar ease unfurls through my chest, comforting and dangerous all at once.
What if she was daring you to do it? Aidon asks in my mind, as I feel the disappointed stare of Riven’s silver depths on me.
I don’t look in his direction.
They’ve forfeited any claim to influence me through their deception.
“Of course I do,” I say. How could I not? My Grandma bragged she was the quickest High Queen to finish both; the Sword and Mirror Trials. One is more lethal than the other. The Sword Trial is the physical battle against my doppelganger, the Mirror is a mental one and will be the hardest for me.
“We begin tomorrow, given that your aides told me you are in a hurry,” she raises an eyebrow, daring me to say I am not ready. The panic boils in my stomach, but I swallow it. I need to be.
“Will the Sword Trial be all right? Or do you need more time, given your reputation?” She sips more wine.
“No concern needed,” I say dryly, locking my emotions tight.
I am alright.
Instead of dreading the terrible trials, I fix my gaze at Baba Yaga and, assisted by the Fae wine, I say, “I want your army beside me.”
“Bold,” Aidon mutters, while Jestin spits his drink, which in turn makes Wisla pat him on the back, and land herself on my death list.
“And why would we do that?” asks Margorate, slowly.
“I can offer you something that you long for.”
She takes ages to reply. “What exactly is that?”
“Access to the skies,” my smile is full of menace.
“Dragthralls won’t fly with the traitors!” Riven snaps, but I raise my hand, silencing him. Fortunately, it works. Have I betrayed him? Why else do I feel like a thrash?
“How?” Margorate’s eyes are full of longing, which makes me think I hit the jackpot.
“I am an architect, am I not?” I look at her as if she were stupid and wave my hand, “I can architect something.”
“Right. If you deliver, we will fight for you,” she states, and I feel the hope spreading inside me like a parasite.
“If I deliver, you will make an oath to fight my battles as long as I live, and my Heir’s battles if you want to continue accessing the skies.”
“Let’s discuss it after you manage your trials, Seleste.” My name on her lips tastes like a curse word.
“Why should I let you test me?” I ask, agitated.
She arches a brow, the movement edged with sarcasm. “Those tests are a measure of character. They send a message across the continent that you’re a good-hearted Queen, not a spineless wimp.”
“Isn’t it enough?” asks Wisla, smirking.
“I don’t see it,” replies Bogda, rolling her eyes.
“You have invaded our land, forbidden us from seeking revenge and demanded peace. It is only fair that you show us you’re worth our compliance,” Margorate states.
“I am,” I stare her down.
“I hope you are, Seleste Berigander.” She licks her lips.
“Too much is on the line.” Her teal orbs drill into mine, searching, assessing.
Then she lowers her voice, so only the closest to us hear.
“How are you planning on facing that challenge if you are afraid of what’s inside you? You will doom us all.”
“I am not afraid,” I lie.
“The Mirror test will tell.”
◆◆◆
Riven decides to take me to their training ground immediately after the dreadful dinner. The Fae wine leaves a light buzz humming in my head, but he insists, “No time like the present.”
I don’t argue, even though I’m more than unhappy about the practice. I haven’t seen Karo since yesterday afternoon and the hunger for my balm grows sharper with every heartbeat—along with the guilt of offering his sworn enemies exactly what they wanted.
I look up. The arena crowns one of the highest peaks of the left mountain, looming above like a silent sentinel. From here, just outside the grand dining hall, it feels impossibly far, a distant monument of stone and power against the sky.
“I’m not walking,” I inform him, folding my arms.
“As you wish,” Riven offers me his hand and I reluctantly take it, unable to ignore the hardness of his skin, the calloused ridges and warm strength that sends a strange heat through me.
Riven pulls me to him at lightning speed, grabbing me under my knees and around my waist, cradling me against his warm chest.
I am ashamed when I realise I moaned, but the General, the gentleman he is, only spreads his wings, and with a powerful beat of them we ascend.
The wind rages forcefully enough to spare us from any awkward conversation, but the firm grip he has on my waist speaks for itself.
When we land atop a mountain, a vast stone arena brims with battered training dummies, scarred weapons, and racks of armour, the air heavy with iron and sweat. Riven sets me down gently, letting out a sigh before immediately shifting into the unmerciful trainer.
“Twenty laps around. Now,” he barks, and I shoot him a look of disapproval.
“Now, my lady,” he repeats and I very reluctantly obey.
By the time I finish the laps, every muscle in my body throbs, even the ones I did not know existed. And I am not talking about my vagina. This is not that kind of joke.
Riven looks at me over with pure disapproval. “Over a hundred years old and you’ve never exercised?”
I hold my hands up, looking away. “I have, once or twice.”
His smile is edged with disapproval. “Dance lessons don’t count.”
“Only because you don’t respect dancing, doesn’t mean it doesn’t count. You Dragthralls know only brawling,” I accuse him.
“Yeah? Weren’t you satisfied with my dancing skills?”
“I was, but—”
“Exactly. Fifty more squats.” He smiles, like a cat that got some cream.
“Fifty?! Are you trying to murder me before the actual coronation?”
“My Lady, with the way things are, I would be impressed if you managed to climb the castle stairs without panting like a dog.”
“I can pant,” I insinuate, my body stirring as his gaze meets mine.
He is unmerciful. After all the squats, laps, and other tortures, I could barely stand.
Now I can confirm I am well acquainted with pain.
“What is the point of those exercises if I won’t be able to move tomorrow?” I pant the words out, to my utter annoyance.
“Don’t be a baby, I’ve made you some tonic for regeneration.”
“Famous Dragthralls’ potions?” I raise my brow, “Is it legal?”
“If you know the General”, he tosses me the rarest of panty-dropping smiles, and my crush on him reanimates itself in an instant.
I make two lazy crunches and sit up, but when he opens his mouth again, I regret taking a break.
“What do you know about the Sword Test?” He towers above me.
“Don’t question me,” I snap. I need this remedy, my whole body aches, my soul aches, my fucking storm itches. Soon it will be awake.
He shoots me another glare, and the sheer force of his determination makes me comply.
“Okay, okay.” I sigh. “It is a test of strength against my doppelganger.”