Chapter Candlesticks and Things That Go Bump in the Night
CANDLESTICKS AND THINGS THAT GO BUMP IN THE NIGHT
After tucking in for the night, Hazel lit a candle and fetched the small book she’d borrowed from the hidden library.
She spent far too long fiddling with the lock, but it didn’t budge, and there wasn’t a slot for a key.
As she originally suspected, it likely opened with magic and magic alone.
Something she had no control over, as if it mattered.
It was unlikely her magic was what was needed to unlock the tome, anyway.
She ran her fingers across the runes etched into its surface. They were familiar somehow, as if she’d once known what they meant but long since forgotten. Though she supposed she shouldn’t be surprised. Witches dealt in the runic language, and considering her mother, well…
It was disconcerting that a book such as this would be left behind in a castle library, in a kingdom that looked upon magic as a sin. Considering runic language was steeped in magic, she had no doubt the book had been stolen from its original owner. Or perhaps left behind in haste.
She sighed, setting the book aside. She knew she should be sleeping with the first trial just hours away, but she couldn’t quiet her mind.
All of this was for her mother. Because of her mother.
Because of powers and Witchbane tea and people near and dear who’d decided lying was safer than the truth.
She’d only just closed her eyes when a knock sounded at her door.
Hazel jolted upright, and realizing it was still dark outside, grabbed the nearest thing she could to defend herself with: a brass candlestick.
The door handle jiggled, and the person on the other side cursed under their breath. When nothing else happened, Hazel loosed a breath in relief.
But then the door burst open, and a body landed just inside the door, still muttering curses.
Hazel raised the candlestick again, and when the intruder stood to their full height, she launched it across the room.
It hit its mark.
“Gods of fucking Caelis!” came the first in a slew of additional curses. A voice she recognized. Slurred slightly, clumsier than normal, but…
“Slaide?” she asked.
“Depends,” he groaned. “If I say yes, are you going to throw something else?”
Shit. She hopped out of bed, crouching beside where he sat on the floor. “Are you…” she caught herself, realizing the pitch of her voice made her sound far too concerned. “Are you alright?”
Slaide rubbed his head, scowling at her. “I’d be much better if I hadn’t been hit with a candlestick. But I’ll manage. Good aim, by the way.” It wasn’t lost on her that he was slurring his words.
“Wouldn’t have had to do it if you didn’t scare the shit out of me.” She crossed her arms over her body.
“Shhhh… you’re being too looouuddd,” he complained.
Hazel rolled her eyes. “Where were you, anyway? Why are you drunk?”
“I’m not drunk,” he insisted.
“Slaide.”
He sighed, hanging his head. “I don’t even know where to begin.”
“Start with why in all the gods you’re in my room in the middle of the night,” she said.
Slaide looked to the window as if wanting to confirm the hour. “Right. Well, I was at my favorite seedy pub, uh, taking the edge off, and on my way back, was jumped by two men.”
“Gods, Slaide! Why didn’t you start with that?”
He shrugged. “Because they’re both dead in the bushes. That’s not the point. When they thought they had the upper hand, the one man said something about buying the other’s time.” His eyes flitted to hers. “No one else has been here?”
“I—no? Slaide, what is going on?” she pressed, helping him stand.
“Evidently, someone wants you out of the running before this even starts,” he managed.
And maybe she should have been more surprised by that. But she wasn’t. She’d known all along she was on borrowed time, and that someone would come for her throat eventually.
“And you’re drunk because?”
“Am I not allowed to drink?” he answered, swaying a bit on his feet.
“Drinking is one thing. Coming back completely inebriated, hardly able to stand, and busting down my door? I know you don’t think I’m that stupid.”
He rolled his eyes in irritation, but relented. “Fine. If you must know, I’m… apprehensive about sending you into the competition tomorrow. I just—”
“You doubt my ability to stay alive,” she deadpanned. Though if she was honest, she doubted it too.
“No, it’s not that. Okay, well… a little. But only because we haven’t had enough time. Not because you haven’t proven yourself capable.”
Fair enough. It stung, but he wasn’t wrong. They’d had mere days for something others had used a lifetime for: honing their skills and bodies, perfecting their swordsmanship and training in combat…
But his honesty was disarming.
“And it’s not just that. I’m dealing with some personal demons I’d rather not get into right now. It’s just… sometimes it helps to drown one vice with another.”
Hazel didn’t press him but made a mental note to ask about it later.
“So,” she began. “Any idea on how I’m supposed to get some sleep without worrying about getting stabbed before morning?”
He didn’t answer. She watched as Slaide stumbled over to her bed and snatched one of the down pillows. He crossed the room, stopping before her as he tossed the pillow onto the floor, never breaking eye contact.
“Absolutely not,” Hazel exhaled, realizing what he was doing.
But Slaide ignored her as he lay down on the floor between the door and the bed.
“I don’t have any say in this, do I?” she asked, already knowing the answer.
“Not if you want to stay alive.”
Hazel sighed quietly to herself, leaving Slaide on the floor in favor of her bed. Just before she closed her eyes and tucked into the covers, she whispered, “Good night, Slaide.”
But the only response she got was the sound of him snoring.
Hazel sat up slowly, stretching her limbs and letting the shafts of early morning sunlight caress her skin. And it hit her, the alarming sensation she’d forgotten something important.
A loud, grating snore reminded her she wasn’t alone, and her conversation with Slaide the night before came flooding back.
She slid out of the enormous bed and found Slaide curled up on the hard floor. He had the pillow wrapped in a bear hug, and his wings draped over himself in place of a blanket. He looked almost innocent, if she ignored what he was capable of.
His wings were captivating now that she had the chance to see them up close. Feathers an oily black, their sheen in the sun catching deep purple and blue hues.
Watching as Slaide’s chest rose and fell, Hazel had the urge to touch his wing. Maybe if she was careful, if she was gentle…
She leaned in, arm outstretched.
“I don’t recommend that,” Slaide mumbled, eyes still closed.
Hazel startled, stumbling backwards and falling hard on the floor beside him.
Slaide laughed, peeking through one eye.
“That wasn’t necessary.” She frowned.
“Neither was you deciding to touch my wings without asking. Not just without asking but while I slept? I didn’t know you had it in you.”
“I wasn’t trying to do anything nefarious. I’ve never seen wings like yours up close.”
“And I’ve never seen hair like yours up close. Would you be happy about me caressing it while you sleep?” He tilted his head to the side.
“No,” she conceded. She hadn’t thought of it that way.
“Plus,” he continued, “wings are, by nature, only the second most sensitive part of our bodies. So much so that I will not be held responsible for my actions if you try that shit again.” She heard it in the tone of his voice; it was a promise, not a threat.
“Fine. Point taken. I’m sorry,” she resigned. “So, what’s the plan for today?”
The “festivities” weren’t set to begin until later, starting with a commencement ceremony and dinner. Then, the real fun would begin.
“I figured we would take it easy. I want you to save your energy for the trial tonight, so beyond making sure you eat and drink enough today to keep your energy up, I have nothing planned.”
Great. Looking forward to twiddling my thumbs in boredom awaiting my death.
“In the meantime, I have a few meetings today. If I learn anything else about tonight, I’ll relay that information.” He stood and stretched before opening the door to leave.
“I know I don’t have to tell you this, but do lay low for once. And if anyone tries to get to you… blow this place to Hel.”
And with that, he closed the door behind him, leaving Hazel alone in deafening silence.
Phaedra came and left a few times throughout the day, offering Hazel various foods and refreshments at Slaide’s insistence, books to cure her boredom—though nothing of great interest outside of an old romance novel—even offering her company at one point, which Hazel gratefully accepted.
Later, Phaedra drew her a magically-warmed bath filled to the brim with fragrant suds.
The bath included a tantalizing massage from her scalp to her toes.
If nothing else, Hazel figured this was the best last bath she could have asked for.
But she quickly shrugged off the thought.
She had to start thinking positive, or her thoughts might become reality.
As Hazel finished dressing for the evening’s event and Phaedra put the final touches on her long braid, a knock sounded at the door.
“Come in,” Hazel called.
Slaide let himself in, dressed in his signature black-dyed leather armor. His hair was pulled back into a half-ponytail with his daggers sheathed on either hip and a long sword strapped across his back.
Hazel addressed him over her shoulder from where she sat in the writing chair as Phaedra fastened some loose ends.
“Here I thought I was the one fighting for my life tonight. Any reason you’re dressed for battle?”
“Because it pays to be overprepared rather than underprepared and I don’t trust anyone. Any more questions?”
Hazel was jarred by his edgier-than-normal response, but shook her head.
“Good,” Slaide remarked as he walked a circle around her, looking her over from head to toe. “You know, you don’t look completely useless today. Some might even think twice about the target they’ve put on your back.” He turned to the angel. “Good work, Phaedra.”
She bowed deeply in response.
Slaide paused in front of Hazel and unsheathed one of his daggers from his belt. He offered it to her hilt first, just as he had during their training. But this time, it’s real.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Take good care of that,” he countered, voice low. “These were Sylvie’s.” He patted the dagger’s twin on his other hip. “But they’re still sharp as shit and deathly accurate when thrown. Which we didn’t work on, but considering how you tossed that candlestick, you’ll probably be fine.”
Probably.
“So, we’re ready then?” Slaide asked.
“As ready as I’ll ever be.” To face death.
With that, Slaide led Hazel from the room, the beginning of a long, silent walk to the dining halls.
To Hazel’s dismay, the competitors were separated from their trainers—if they had them—for dinner.
Slaide had warned her this might be the case, but as she was one of the last to arrive, all eyes fell on her as she entered the space.
She would have done anything to have him at her side as she walked to one of the last open chairs at the long table, especially as her pendant warmed angrily.
Not that she was surprised. She’d known there would be men here who wished her harm.
Without Slaide, though, she was wholly exposed. And this is just dinner…
Their meal was meager and uninspiring. Nearly-stale bread was served with a communal dish of liquid that looked to be somewhere between a broth and a gravy.
The men squabbled over it, though whether that was because it was a delicacy or simply because it softened the bread into an edible state, she couldn’t be sure.
Whatever it was, she chose not to partake, instead breaking off tiny pieces to spare her teeth.
Apples were provided, and Hazel managed to find one without marred flesh or signs of rot. Even so, it tasted off. She sighed, waiting for something more substantial.
A few of the competitors of noble houses complained about being seated and fed amongst the rabble, but they were quickly reminded that their participation was voluntary—if they didn’t like it, they could leave.
Without warning, a behemoth of a man, still in chains, rose from the table and turned on his handler. The heavy iron cuff struck the man upside his head, rendering him unconscious. The beast in chains roared at the onlookers, daring anyone to move.
One knight thought to approach from behind, slinking beneath the table for stealth.
To Hazel’s surprise, he leapt for the giant’s shoulders, but he was too slow.
In an unnatural burst of speed, he whirled on the knight, catching him in midair and spiking him to the ground with little effort. The knight didn’t move.
But all it took was a well-placed arrow—several well-placed arrows—and the angry man-beast was put down. A collective sigh of relief spread through the dining hall when it became clear he would not rise again.
And just like that, dinner was over.