Chapter 5 #2
All day, I’ve watched people prostrate themselves before the divine beings, their backs bent, their faces flushed with wanting. Wringing their hands as they approach, their expressions almost lustful for relief.
But not this one.
No, this woman walks into the room with her head held high. She’s a lady, surely. Someone of standing, with land and means. That much is immediately clear from the way she carries herself.
This is a woman who clearly enjoyed a gilded, pampered childhood. The sort filled with warm kitchens, fresh baked bread, and laughter echoing through sprawling halls.
And yet there is nothing soft about her.
Her beauty is cut sharp, all clean edges and quiet defiance, like a jewel carved too precisely to ever be mistaken for ornamental.
Even her hazel eyes hold that same hard clarity, their amber green depths catching the torchlight and throwing it back altered somehow, fractured into something sharper than warmth ought to allow.
I’m intrigued.
And, to my disgust, so is Valtor, leaning forward in his throne, his attention narrowing fully upon her.
This is exactly the sort of woman he favors.
Not the simpering, eager ones who practically throw themselves at his feet, but the proud ones.
The women with enough steel in them to make the pursuit interesting.
Valtor doesn’t want worshipers, he wants indifferent women to bend and break, to whittle down to their core, until the only thing they have left to do is either revere him or curse his name.
“Lady Nyx Nocturne,” the woman introduces herself, and I can’t tear my eyes from her.
Her dark hair is pulled back so simply, revealing the sharp line of a jaw.
Even from here, I can glean the look in her eye, can see the way she stares up at the gods defiantly.
“And I’ve come for an audience with the gods. ”
“And so you have,” Soryn says, shifting forward in her seat, clearly interested in this woman.
Even Eryndor has lifted his head, those intelligent eyes drinking in the scene. His hand moves quickly over his tablet, and I wonder if he’s noting down this very interaction.
Slowly, without a hitch in the movement, Lady Nocturne kneels before them. Her dress is pretty, but not hindered by the metal hoops and underthings that might otherwise stifle her grace. She sinks all the way to the floor, her head dipping down, revealing the long, smooth expanse of her pale neck.
I swallow, willing my anger to come back.
Willing myself to shake off the way my eyes catch on her, unable to look away.
The gods will not grant a thing to her, no matter her beauty or grace.
Valtor and the others are neglectful parents, abusive caretakers.
Even Eryndor is a failure, too weak to stop the others from wreaking havoc on us.
“And what have you come to say?” Valtor asks, undeniable interest in his voice. There is more than desire in the way he watches her. There is... almost familiarity.
“My sister, Lady Lyra Nocturne, has been selected as this year’s Courted Prize. While our family is more than grateful for the honor, I’ve come to beg your mercy. My sister is not a suitable candidate.”
“You doubt the decisions of the gods?” Valtor asks, amused like an adult might be, hearing the protestations of a toddler who doesn’t want to go to bed.
In fact, Valtor and the others likely have no idea which fine lady has been pulled from the higher families this year as the Courted Prize.
It’s meant to be their decision, but no doubt they tasked a random clerk with the job.
And likely, they rushed to complete it, leaving the actual selection to random.
“No,” Lady Nyx says, her voice cool. “Of course not, your divine. But you see, my sister is ill. It is the fault of our family, for not making that fact widely known.”
“I see. Surely, you’re aware that we know all, Lady Nocturne?”
Her face flushes slightly. “I am, but—”
“Then you would know that doubting our decision is foolish.”
“My sister will not survive a marriage. She certainly will not survive childbirth. Perhaps it’s not a lack of knowledge, but a lack of familiarity. I know her, know her limitations, and I am begging you to grant her your mercy.”
There’s a brief silence in which all the gods stare at this girl. Finally, Eryndor lowers his head back down to his scribblings, shaking his head ever so slightly.
“Perhaps you should re-focus your worship,” Valtor says finally, sitting back in his seat, apparently growing bored of this interaction. Waving his hand dismissively, he says, “Your sister will remain the Courted Prize. It would be cruel of me to strip her of such honor.”
The armed gods move, taking a step toward the woman, and she turns to them, her lips moving, saying something I can’t quite make out. To my shock, the soldiers stop in their movement, nodding their heads slightly.
“There must be some trade you’re willing to make!” Lady Nyx says, and Valtor blinks, looking away from the woman on his lap and back to her, clearly surprised that she’s still standing before him.
“A trade?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.
“Take me instead.” Her voice breaks only slightly. “Take me instead of my sister, as the Courted Prize.”
“How heartless,” Valtor says, laughing and shaking his head. “I’ve heard of sibling rivalry, but never thought I’d see a sister claiming to love coming here and begging for the shame of the other.”
“I do not—”
“Our decision is final,” Valtor booms, waving his hand wildly. The movement silences everything in the room, even the clinks of glasses and silverware going quiet. An eerie chill settles, all the attention in the massive space finally focused in on the exchange.
Lady Nyx tips up her chin, nods once, and turns to go. But her exit is halted by the god, who speaks again.
“Well, I suppose there is one way you could regain control of your sister, should your intentions be pure.” Which he does not believe, clearly.
Lady Nyx turns, raising a single sculpted eyebrow in his direction. “And what is that, your divine?”
“Why,” Valtor says, an evil laughter curling his words, “you could enter the competition yourself! Win the Courted Prize to keep as your own!”
With that, the silence breaks, and laughter roils through the room, ricocheting off the walls and glasses, like so many tiny mouths creating tiny splinters of laughter. It’s cruel, and builds exponentially, each person in the room hurrying to chortle at her expense, to stare and point at her.
The idea of this fair, fine woman entering the Trials is not laughable. It’s chilling, for she wouldn’t last a single minute. She would sacrifice herself in the suicide mission of rescuing her sister.
When the laughter dies down, Lady Nyx stands in the center of the room as though she’s survived a fire and is erect in the middle of the soot.
“Fine,” she says, not an ounce of fear in her voice. “Then I will.”
“You will what?” Soryn asks, her voice twinkling like wind chimes.
“Please consider this my official bid to enter the competition.”
Valtor barks out a long, loud laugh, then raises his hand to wipe a fake tear from his eye. “I’m tempted to grant your wish for the hilarity of this alone,” he says, then shakes his head, tilting his head condescendingly at her. “But what kind of example would that set?”
“You must have a partner to enter the competition,” Eryndor says, his voice soothing.
Valtor barks another laugh, and Terranis, who has looked mostly bored, also laughs now. “That should be a challenge,” he says, his deep voice rough from disuse. “Finding a partner willing to enter with you.”
Anybody else might have collapsed under the weight of their scrutiny, of their cruel delight in tearing her down, but Lady Nyx stands tall. “I am no stranger to challenges,” she says, her eyes settling on Valtor. “If I find a partner, you’ll allow me entrance into the trials?”
The other gods turn to Eryndor, who nods. “The rules do not bar a lady, even one with no experience and training, from entering. With a partner, it’s completely legal.”
Valtor is bored again, already waving his hand, “Yes. Now, guards, bring in the next.” Idly, he toys with the woman sitting in his lap, pushing the sleeve of her dress down over her shoulder, seeming to drink in her sigh. “I have other places to be tonight, and don’t wish to sit here forever.”
The guards turn to take her out, but Lady Nyx is already gone.
Just on the other end of the hall, I catch the swing of one of the massive gold doors.
And, before I can stop myself, before I can talk sense into my jelly-thing of a brain, I set down the rest of my ale and turn, following after her.