Chapter Seventeen #4
The king crouches down next to the faerie, placing a hand on his shoulder.
He murmurs something soft, calm. I hold my breath, waiting for the faerie to strike or scream or spit, even if it means death.
Instead, the faerie and King Maxian rise together, arm in arm, the dozens of tattoos of one clashing against the untouched skin of the other.
The king holds up the debtor like he would any friend, gentle and patient. My jaw drops.
When they stride past me, the king is saying, “…but it wouldn’t be fair to the others. However, I appreciate your participation and for that, I can offer you this silver.”
The faerie holds it to his chest. “Thank you, my king. Thank you.”
“Thank you for your service.”
“He should be whipped for his insolence.” Dominik stalks up to them. His white tunic is askew, strands of hair falling from the ribbon that holds it up.
The faerie trembles.
“He will not be,” the king says, moving beyond his friend and toward the tent.
“He broke the most important rule!”
“Rules can change.”
“Then what’s the point, Max?” Dominik yells.
“Of what?”
“The game!” he snaps. “If you can change the rules whenever you want?”
“The point is that I am your king,” Maxian bellows. Energy crackles in the air, the plane flooding with the power of his genius. “I am your king and can do what I please.”
My knees quiver, body aching to drop to the shuddering grass in primal submission.
Dominik steps back, bowing, lowering his gaze. “Of course, my king.”
“Now,” the royal says, patting the Unluckie. “Todd is going to work as a Reign Base from here on out.”
The Heir of Illusion raises glinting black eyes.
“Yes, Your Magnificence.” Dominik retreats as the king brings the Unluckie over to Carter, doling out instructions. Carter leads the faerie off the garden lawn and toward the servants’ entrance into the building.
The plane settles, but my nerves do not.
Kassandra is tight-lipped as her brother bends over her, snarling something. She steps away from him, joining Maxian and Eli by the executioner. The Illusion heir grabs another drink. Dominik rolls and Benji steps forward, landing on a silver near the start.
Something shoves me to the ground. The force grips my hair, yanking, and I stumble to my feet, eyes stinging, as Dominik uses his magic to swap us.
Benji takes my spot in third place, and I his, in last place. My supervisor strides to her spot in second place. I think of the family that awaits in her future, her joy put on hold for decades. Misery washes through me.
The last round begins with Lila in the lead, Briar only a few squares behind her, then Benji, covering his sunburned face, as I remain at the starting line.
Lila enters the inner spiral, only a few paces away from winning. Briar strides forward, landing on Lila’s square.
“A match-up!”
A bucket of water appears.
I squint, trying to read Lila’s body language from this distance. I’ve rarely seen her magic outside of lacing and inventing. I don’t know which element she excels in or how quick she is.
But she gazes between her arms and Briar’s, and although Briar has so few for an Illusion Crest, Lila has even fewer. When Briar forms an ice needle, Lila only holds up an arm in a flimsy attempt, and the older faerie pricks her palm.
Briar steps back, astonished. Lila nods her way, then she—and the House of Reign—leave the game.
The plane does not react. Instead, the king watches his future bride, a lopsided smile gracing his lips, and I think that even if Kassandra loses to Dominik today, she may be winning the war.
Dominik rolls and Benji steps onto a silver square, one spot behind Briar, both of them only a handful of spots away from the coin.
“Illusion will need to move backward on their next round!” the executioner declares.
Kassandra rolls. The king whispers something to her. She shakes her head, not looking his way. A small pull on my dress moves me back two spaces until I am once again at the starting line. Dominik leans into Death.
“Illusion’s turn has yet to finish,” the executioner booms.
The lord glowers.
She’s going with Briar, I realize, heart sinking. The sun hurts my eyes. He needed this. Benji needed this—does she not see?
But can I blame her? She must choose between Briar, a servant she’s cared for her whole life, who has raised her—or a child she doesn’t know.
So I watch Briar and wait for any sign of Kassandra’s magic urging her forward. But my supervisor does not move at all.
Murmurs under the tent.
A thought sinks through me like a river stone. Kassandra is delaying because moving back means that Briar will need to match up with Benji.
Benji spins around, facing me, confused. It’ll be okay, I try to convey. My only hope is that Briar will pity him.
But then he takes a step back, moving closer to the Pith.
Dominik lets out a laugh. “What are you—”
The boy moves backward again, landing on Briar’s spot. He moves back again and again and again, spiraling inward, closer to the center.
I understand. The rules say the faerie must move backward. But they never specified that they had to be facing forward when they did it.
Benji retreats backward into the Pith. The boy clenches his fist, trembling as realization dawns. He bends down and wraps his small fist around the prize. He holds it up—the golden coin glinting in the sun.
He won.
Kassandra won.
We won.
But under the tent, the males do not stir, even if the plane does. Maxian and Dominik stare at the board with tight jaws, though the king tries to laugh his off.
Kassandra strolls to congratulate Benji—the least-titled among them winning with the weakest of faeries. For even with crowns and callings like head of House, they are not a worthy opponent of hers.
Then the plane floods with furious energy, like a raging river, and I sink to my knees beneath its surface.