13. Rorax
There was someone in her room.
Rorax opened her eyes and jerked up, blinking away any extra sleep dust remaining on her eyelashes and cheeks. She was in a big four poster bed that was so soft it felt like she was falling in through the middle, surrounded by smooth light gray brick walls. The walls were plain, but the ceiling was intricately carved into patterns of paisley and flowers, providing the only decoration in the room.
Lamonte must have dragged her inside the castle.
Fuck.
Across from the bed was a large stone fireplace with two cozy armchairs nestled in front. One of the two armchairs was occupied by a woman.
Rorax blinked a few more times, sitting up straighter in the bed, the hackles on the back of her neck prickling. Her thoughts felt sluggish and distant, making panic bloom in her stomach.
“Welcome to the Northern Castle, Roraxiva.”
Fear crackled in Rorax’s stomach at the use of her full name.
Rorax had to blink sleep away a few more times before her eyes finally focused on the woman in front of her. The woman sat with her back stick straight, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Her long, straight silver hair flowed all the way down to her hips.
Age marks, and the most beautiful wrinkles Rorax had ever seen, donned the woman’s skin.
Very rarely did someone who was Gifted release their immortality. Wrinkles were a sign of status in the Realms, a sign of unbending will, and they were highly coveted. Rorax had never seen anyone with so many.
The woman before her smiled knowingly. “When I choose to release my power to engage the new Choosing, I’ll also choose to release my immortality. They go hand in hand.”
When I choose to release my power to engage the new Choosing.
Rorax was confused.
The woman’s smile turned wicked. “My name is The Guardian Tomaren. Guardian of the Northern Realms.”
Rorax stiffened. “The Guardian?”
The Guardian nodded. “We have been awaiting your arrival for months, Roraxiva.”
“Where is Jia, and where are my weapons?” Rorax asked. Glimr was with her and could never leave her unless it was trapped by a witch-box made of black salt. There were only a few remaining in the world, and if the knife was not in such a box Glimr would reappear in her hands once a certain distance was reached. Right now, her knife was in the bed with her, and she gripped it hard as she peeled the heavy blankets away from her body. She tried to stand but had to support herself on the bottom post of the bed when her head immediately started to spin.
“You won’t be able to truly move around for another hour or so. Lamonte thought it prudent to give you three times the recommended dose; you’ve been out for a few hours.”
Rorax gritted her teeth together. “Where is Jia, and where are my weapons?”
The woman pulled up the sleeve of her dress, showing Rorax the inside of her elbow where one little white horizontal scar was raised against her flesh.
“Before I came to your rooms, I stopped for a visit with your friend.” The Guardian looked up at Rorax with a wicked smile. “I now have a Blood Oath with Jia that means you are not allowed to leave the Choosing, or the grounds of the Northern Castle without permission from me. If you do try to leave the Choosing, Jia will die.”
Rorax felt heat and adrenaline burn the panic and fear away from her system as she pushed out of bed and staggered to stand over the Guardian.
Rorax stared hard at the thin line on her skin, fighting the bile rising in her throat.
“Take a seat, Roraxiva.” The Guardian pointed to the chair next to her.
Rorax moved slowly to do as she was told. She was still covered in dried blood, still in her Heilstorm leathers, and she cringed.
She pointed a finger at the Guardian. “You will release Jia from the blood oath immediately. I will take an oath, I will promise to stay, but she will not be forced into this.” Jia needed to return home, to her brother and mother to grieve the loss of her mate.
“I have a small matter of business I must attend to outside the castle but after I return, I would be happy to make the switch.” The Guardian gave her a feline smirk as she leaned farther back into the chair before giving Rorax a once over. “I assume you know why you’re here.”
Rorax nodded.
“Good. Then I wanted to welcome you to the Choosing. You are the last Contestar to arrive.” The Guardian’s smirk stayed firmly on her lips, but her eyes grew fractionally colder. “Though, you surprised me. Considering your position, and how readily you sacrifice everything else for your country, I find it difficult to understand why I needed to go to such lengths to find you and ensure your cooperation.”
Rorax’s brow furrowed together. She didn’t understand how her being a Heilstorm had anything to do with her being a Contestar. “I don’t understand.”
“It is the God”s Law that as soon as I complete the ritual to release my position, I begin to age. I begin to die. Rapidly.” She held her hand out to see the marks of age on the back of it. “From what I have compared from the lives of the Ungifted, my body is 80 summers old. Maybe 90. At the rate at which I am aging, I would estimate that my body has roughly a year left before it deteriorates completely back into the earth.”
Rorax couldn’t do anything but stare.
The Guardian’s smile turned bitter as she lowered her hand back to her lap. “This power requires very careful management, Roraxiva. If I were to die while the Guardian’s power hasn’t been properly transferred, my power would either be split between the two remaining Guardians, and everything would be thrown out of balance or the power I hold would return to the earth. Both options would be devastating. Especially considering one of the Guardians is closely allied with House of Alloy. If the power returned to the earth, there would be a massive increase of monster spawnings, and the Realms would become even more dangerous than they already are.”
Rorax’s mouth went dry.
“Vadik, the Guardian of the West is . . . enthralled by King M??r, and we believe that King M??r has been helping the Lyondrean Queen open the Pits and will continue to help her fight in her war if she starts one, make no mistake. If we let the Guardian of the West gain more power, thousands will die in that war. Or thousands will die from the monsters that spawn if the magick is released into the earth. Either way, we are going to complete the Choosing and transfer it properly. We have six months to avoid that fate, and if you do not comply, I will kill you. There is too much to lose.”
Rorax gaped at the Guardian. She’d had no idea, no idea, that the Guardian would be deteriorating.
Rorax snapped her mouth shut. “Is there a way that I can break free of the Choosing?”
The Guardian shook her head, her glossy gray hair reflecting some of the fireplace light. “No. Even if you die and are resuscitated, the power is tied to your very soul. You are a conduit for it until you truly pass onto the next life.”
Rorax stared at her.
“The people will have their Tournament and their parties, but then the Choosing will begin, and it will need to swiftly come to an end. We have six months before I project myself to die.” The Guardian assessed Rorax, running her eyes over Rorax’s armor, and over her face.
Rorax tried her best not to fidget. Her armor was absolutely filthy, and the scent of blood and her sweat permeated the air.
“I have been in contact with the Ice King and Queen. They have agreed to send some of your equipment over, and they are also sending funds for you to have a new wardrobe made, along with any other supplies that you might need. Hella, the tailor in town will be coming today to collect your measurements.”
Rorax frowned a little.
“Three more things, and I will leave you to get acclimated. The first is I would like to keep your . . . occupation a secret. I believe that the knowledge that you are a Heilstorm would cause a disturbance among the other Contestars.” The Guardian pinned her with intense yellow eyes. “Two, I want to remind you that you cannot harm the other Contestars. If you kill, or even aide in the death of the other Contestars, the magick will leave you, and you will die; your body will disintegrate into ash. The other Contestars must die during the trials or by natural causes.”
Rorax had to lean against the chair, as the magnitude, the truth of her situation hit her. She was trapped, between the Guardianship and her death; there was nowhere for her to go.
“Three,” the Guardian continued. “In order for the Hunter to find your magick signature, we had to build it up, make it stronger. To do that we had to sacrifice one of the other Contestars. Roo Abebe, from the House of Life, was killed so we could find you. Many in the castle believe your unwillingness to follow orders is the reason that she is dead. They blame you. Tread carefully.”
Rorax felt the breath whoosh out of her lungs like she had been punched in the stomach. The Abebes were the ruling family in the House of Life. If their princess had been sacrificed to find her . . . the whole house was probably calling for her head.
Every minute that passed made the Choosing more and more foreboding. She would do anything to be safe in the walls of Koppar right now.
“Do . . . do they know yet if the House of Weather has betrayed the Realms? Captain Crax . . . she used to work for the King of Weather.”
“No, we still don’t know who betrayed your unit. If your house has any inclination yet, they have not shared it with me or the other Guardians. House of Weather had reported Crax missing months ago when she initially went into Lyondrea. It is believed that she went rogue while she was there . . . bought out by the Lyondrean Queen, but we still don’t know the truth of it, and there is a possibility that knowledge died with her.”
Rorax’s teeth ground together as the Guardian finally stood from her armchair and crossed the room to the door. She paused in the door frame and looked at Rorax from over her shoulder. “The Contestars are gathering at seven tonight in the Great Hall. I expect you to be in attendance to meet your competition.”
She gave Rorax one last triumphant smile before closing the door behind her.