Chapter 38
The night before the trials, Audra chose to forego Cersha’s sleeping draught. If pressed, she couldn’t say why. She needed rest this night, more than most others.
Her skin felt hot from the stress, one eye had begun to twitch the day before and didn’t seem to be slowing down, and she’d picked up Lottie’s fucking habit—she’d gnawed her nails to the quick.
She’d turned Holyvere Academy upside down, searching for any information about the rite—nothing.
So now, it was official. She had to win the Arcane trial, had to secure the prize trip to Green Barrow …
And yet, the entire debacle was hours away and she was no closer to finding a secret weapon to secure the win.
She was going in just as ignorant as any other initiate, only they had the ability to not murder every plant they tried to enchant.
Audra turned onto her side. The moon was bright; it cast silver tendrils of light, illuminating the room.
Wilder slept, her face peaceful, her breathing even.
The silk scarf tied around her freshly twisted locs gleamed in the moonlight.
Today, they’d focused on their hair, not knowing what the trials held tomorrow; they figured they might as well look good just in case they died or something.
Audra had never retwisted locs before Wilder had asked her to one day on the ship.
The process had been much faster this time, especially because the academy, while not allowing free will or providing basic safety, did provide hair necessities for the initiates.
Including archemical scalp oil and loc gel.
Wilder’s braiding had improved too. And with Lottie’s help, the braiding hadn’t taken long at all.
It had even been a good time. Wilder had convinced Audra to stop studying, for forgotten gods’ sakes, and spend the day with them.
They’d bathed, scrubbed, washed their hair.
And Lottie had joined them; though her hair didn’t thrive in protective styles, she knew how to braid from spending most of her life surrounded by women in the brothel.
They were sisters, community, saving whisps by taking care of each other’s hair.
Audra rolled onto her back, eyes on the stretch of moonlight on the ceiling.
What would Zhaire think of her fresh braids? Would he notice? What a stupid thought; who cared if he noticed or not—he was a demon who maybe wanted to eat her.
But what if none of that was true?
What if she was safer with him than she was here?
But her friends were here. And she had made a promise to keep them safe. And they wouldn’t be if they went to the underworld. Not that they would go anyway.
Or would they? If Audra asked them to … would they leave with her, would they trust her enough to go?
Audra shut her eyes tight, a single tear escaping before she could dam the tide.
She was doing them a disservice by not being honest with them.
She was a selfish coward who refused to let her friends help her.
If things had been reversed, if Wilder, Callum, Cersha, or Lottie had suspected they were the Heir, Audra would be right there with them, helping them navigate what to do—whether they wanted to hide it until they knew what it truly entailed, as she did, or confess right away.
Audra would do anything for them.
Except, apparently, stop lying to them, or confess her secrets, which were piling up.
She imagined telling them everything at breakfast.
Hello everyone! Guess what? I can see spirits—no, even worse, I can talk to them.
No, you can’t see or hear them, just me!
Also, I sort of know a demon, and he sort of claims that the Zenaidans are lying about, well, everything!
No, you can’t see or hear him either, because I only see him in my dreams or when I’m alone!
Actually, one time he did come, Wilder, you were there—but you just didn’t notice him, and then he put a protective shield around both of us, and we had a little chat!
Yup, right there on the sparring field! Oh, and guess what?
No no no, you must guess. Yes, I am the Heir that everyone is looking for!
Me! Only I don’t think the Zenaidans wish to give me lots of riches and fame, I suspect they may want to sacrifice me to their gods …
Mist take her. She gasped out a laugh, a dark chuckle, in between sobs. They would think she’d lost her mind.
Back home in Khaveah, there were places for people who claimed to see specters, ghosts, and ghouls. Who claimed that the watch or the king himself was after them. Those people were locked away. Given herbs and tonics to ease their suffering.
Maybe that’s what Audra needed. Maybe she was no different from them.
But then again, she wasn’t wealthy; she could never afford a care facility.
She would’ve just been locked away in the attic, hoping not to disturb the patrons too much.
No, she was probably being too hard on her parents.
They would’ve been good to Audra, tried to help as much as they were able.
They would surely let her roam the property, while she babbled to herself and claimed to be chatting with the dead.
Mist take her, gods of fucking old! She was depressing herself again.
She really was terrible company on her own. That might be the worst thing of all. She used to love her solitude; her thoughts were once a refuge … The fae took even that from her when they forced her on that ship.
She felt like her sanity was cracking. More so, she felt as though she herself was splintering, fissuring into tiny granules like sand slipping through the hourglass of time that encaged her.
No matter how much she tried to hold herself together, she split, tumbling through the neck, piling up in the bottom glass bulb.
She rolled onto her side and sobbed into her pillow as quietly as she could.
Finally, she succumbed to sleep.
He was there.
Sitting on the throne, his eyes closed, but he wasn’t sleeping—his fingers drummed along the arm of the throne.
She looked around. This was the same temple as before, only, as if the gods listened for once, knew that she couldn’t abide being surrounded by ghosts, there weren’t any. They were alone.
Her bare feet made no sound on the black marble floor as she walked toward him. “Wow, you really do look bored without me, Zhaire.”
His eyes flew open and homed in on her, drinking her in.
“I tried to tell you.” He smiled.
It sent a little thrill through her that her appearance should make him smile.
He wore jewelry again today; it winked icy and gold on his canines, shone alongside the linked, golden chain resting along the smooth expanse of skin at the base of his muscular throat, sapphires on fingers that stilled their drumming at her approach.
Did he wear the jewelry for her?
Meanwhile, she was once again wearing nothing but a nightgown. Could she conjure up jewelry? She focused for a second but gave up when none appeared.
“Heiress,” he purred. “Your hair looks exquisite.”
She reached up, feeling her braids, suddenly self-conscious, though she knew they looked good.
Her lashes lowered and she was glad for it because she was suddenly thinking of his hand gripping a fistful of her braids.
Would he be gentle, or tug her back for unbridled access to her lips, her throat, her?
What would he do next, if he had her in his grip?
What would it feel like to be flipped around, bent over his throne, and taken from behind?
Her skin flushed with heat at the thought and her core clenched, aching for something she had no business wanting.
She cleared her throat, hoping she didn’t sound breathy. “Figured I should look my best.” Time for a subject change. “Since the trials are tomorrow.” She hoped she didn’t sound as flustered as she felt. Pull yourself together.
“I heard about those. You shouldn’t go. Say the word, and I’ll come get you right now.”
Her heart tripped and flipped up to her throat at the thought of him coming for her, whisking her away.
Distance. She needed distance between them. She climbed up on the empty throne, perched on the arm, her feet on the seat, facing him. “Don’t you dare. You’ll wake my friend.”
When had she stopped being afraid of him?
Furrowed brow, though he kept his teasing tone. “Right, better to let you risk your life than wake your roommate.”
“I had a question about that, actually.”
He leaned back in his throne and surveyed her under heavy-lidded eyes.
“Ask.”
“My friends, would they be able to come to the Veiled Realm?” She rushed. “If they needed to, if they were in danger.”
“If you put them in danger, you mean.”
“If they find out that I’m the …” She still couldn’t say it out loud. “… and don’t turn me in, then Zenaida would view them as traitors. Their lives would be at risk.”
“If the price I must pay to bring you home is housing a few humans, I think we can make that work.”
Audra bit her lip. “It would have to be their choice. I’ll talk to them.”
He exhaled a slow breath. “Is this what hope feels like?”
She cut her eyes at him. “Don’t. I’m not making any promises, just weighing my options. I still don’t believe you entirely … And if I win my trial tomorrow, I may be able to find out what exactly the rite entails.”
He shifted. “I may not know the details, but I know it always ends with the death of the Cycle Heir.”
“Of course you would say that, though; you see my problem?”
He sighed, rubbing a tired hand across his face.
“I’ve been avoiding going to the archives for …
reasons. But I could go tomorrow. I’ll bring you back as many scrolls and books as you need, firsthand accounts from my ancestors, who will confirm what I say.
” He swallowed. “I’m actually pretty pissed that I didn’t think of this before. ”
She twirled a braid. “Don’t beat yourself up. If you had thought of it earlier and brought them to me, I would’ve just assumed they were fakes. I might not even believe them now.”
His hands tightened on the arm of his throne. “Don’t enter the trial tomorrow. I have a bad feeling about it.”
She ignored him. “I have a question.”
“Another?”
“You’ll find I’m often full of them. But yes, another.”
“Ask.”
“Did you go to sleep dressed in fine silks and every piece of jewelry that you own? Just to look good? Or was it to impress me?”
He laughed, a deep, wild sound. “So, you think I look good?”
Her cheeks heated. “You can’t answer the question with a question!”
“Heiress, if I intended to impress you, I would have gone to sleep wearing nothing at all.”
Her jaw fell open. She snapped it shut. “Don’t skirt the main question; why are you sleeping completely dressed?”
He looked down at his clothes as if he had to be reminded of what he was wearing. “I’m dressed because I’m currently sleeping in a carriage on the way home from a very painful state dinner with my father.”
“Painful how?”
“He and his court are getting anxious, wondering why I haven’t succeeded in bringing you home. They know it must be your choice, and yet, I am still to be blamed for your stubbornness.”
She ignored the insult, leaping on this new bit of knowledge. “It must be my choice?”
He sighed. “Ah, I suppose I hadn’t meant to tell you that. Yes, for our prophecy to come true, the Cycle Heir must choose to join us.”
Her heart fluttered in her throat. “Why keep this from me?”
“I thought I might convince you faster if you thought I could just take you anyway.”
“Is it the same for the Zenaidans? That I must choose them?”
“The Zenaidans would prefer you not have a choice at all. They will take what they want from you, regardless of your wishes.”
She felt cold then. “I see.”
“That’s why we must get you away. The moment they find out it’s you, they will not give you a choice.”
“I suspect that they will know soon. I suspect the trials may be designed to weed out the Heir.” She swallowed, a knot thick in her throat.
His voice dipped low, concerned. “Then why risk it?”
She glanced up, met his gaze. “I have to be there, with my friends. I won’t let them go through this alone.”
She studied him, drinking in his rich mahogany skin, the way his full lips shimmered. He seemed truly concerned. Was it for her safety, or just that he might lose the piece he needed to fulfill his realm’s prophecy? “I will not give myself away, I’ll be careful.”