CHAPTER 4
The dart had eyes. They glowed bright and silver as a creature stopped a hairsbreadth away from my face. Dark wings beat the air, stirring a gentle breeze.
Quick as a whip, the creature zoomed around me, flight path zigzagging along the length of my body.
It couldn’t have been bigger than my index finger and cloaked so entirely in shadow that it looked like it wore a dress.
Wings sprouted from its back, paper thin and delicate, but strong enough to carry it across the length of my body and back up to my face.
“Who are you?” Her voice was high-pitched in tenor but contained a hard edge.
“I’m Lirah,” I whispered, afraid that if I startled her, she might zoom straight back into the shadows.
I shouldn’t have been worried about scaring the creature, though. Those silver eyes narrowed menacingly at me. “I am so sick of meeting new mortals.”
I blinked. “Who are you?”
“Me?” She fluttered her wings, spreading them wide so that I could see the veins in the near translucent folds. “I am Calendula Mirau, the fourth. Descendant of the magnificent Mirau Titan, spear leader of the shadow sprites. And make no mistake, I do not answer to you, mortal.”
She was a shadow sprite.
Umma had told me bedtime stories about the sprites who mainly resided on elven soil, but I hadn’t thought they were real. She looked so dainty and fragile, but the angry glint in her eyes told me that she was not to be trifled with.
“I’m sorry,” I hedged. Keeping my tone as polite as possible, I asked, “But why are you here?”
This was the wrong thing to ask. The shadow sprite huffed angrily, wings propelling her higher and higher to the ceiling. Silver embers sparked and drifted to the ground with each movement.
“I told him I didn’t want to do it.” Each word was punctuated with a sharp flap. “Every decade it’s the same story. Every decade they all die. I’m sick of it.”
“Are you my instructor?” I asked, remembering Septimus saying that we would be introduced to our instructors the next morning.
Calendula pivoted, spiraling back to eye level.
“Of course not, silly mortal. I’m your sprite.
For however long you survive the Trials, anyway.
After that, I’ll wait another decade to accompany another stupid mortal to their death.
” She gave a long, dramatic sigh, floating to sit on the edge of the desk.
I realized the shadows were part of her actual body, shifting as she crossed one leg over the other.
“You mortals are all the same and this existence has been painfully long. I just want to go home.”
“Why can’t you?” I asked, still frozen by the door.
She propped a hand beneath her chin. “I can’t. I’m stuck here with you until you die. I’m supposed to help you pass the challenges so you can make it to the Rite. But this decade, I’ve decided not to help. And he can’t force me to.”
The casual way she spoke about my impending death was… unsettling, to say the least, but I forged on, curiosity outweighing my discomfort. “Who can’t force you?”
Calendula rolled her eyes, annoyance pursing her lips. “Your instructor. I told you, I’m only your sprite until you die. Each candidate gets an instructor, and each instructor lends their candidate a sprite for the duration of the Trials. Once you die, I’ll get to go home.”
My instructor. Who was…?
I didn’t need to voice the question though. It was evident in the darkness that clung to Calendula’s skin. Her silver eyes that shone as bright as moonlight. And the faint power thrumming with each beat of her wings. “It’s Kilian Valhan, isn’t it?”
Those silver eyes widened slightly. It was all the confirmation I needed.
“You’ll find out tomorrow,” was all she said. “In the meantime, perhaps you should take a bath. And clean that wound. There are medical supplies in the cabinet and clothes in the dresser. Once you’ve claimed a room, it’s been spelled to supply items for its resident.”
Calendula yawned wide, her mouth gaping open to reveal nothing but darkness. “I had forgotten how tiresome you mortals are.”
She stretched her arms above her head before getting to her feet.
Spreading tiny hands in front of her, the shadows rippled and undulated, branching out to form a small hammock which floated in midair a few inches above the desk.
I watched as she crawled into the hammock, made herself comfortable and promptly fell asleep.
Only when she was softly snoring did I let myself properly survey the chamber.
The walls were a pastel gray. The furniture was sparse, but there was indeed a dresser, and another cabinet above a small sink.
A few shelves were mounted on the wall, presumably for storing books, but the real highlight was the bed.
The mattress was larger than anything I’d ever slept on, including the bed I’d awoken in this morning.
I ran my fingers across the duvet, relishing the feel of the soft, luxurious fabric.
I examined the dresser next, pulling open the first drawer to find more cuirasses, long-sleeves and tunics for layering on top.
The second had an array of pants, ranging from soft linen sleepwear to sturdy leather.
Underwear and socks graced the third drawer, and beneath it, two pairs of flat boots with rubber soles sat on the floor.
I pulled out the medical kit from the cabinet next, finding it well stocked.
I chose the gauze, a bottle of liquid whose label read Antiseptic, and a roll of tape, setting them neatly on the desk, careful not to disturb Calendula.
Although, the shadow sprite seemed fast asleep, her mouth slightly agape as she snored.
Rolling my torn sleeve up, I assessed the damage to my wrist. The cut wasn’t as deep as I initially thought, I noted with relief, running my wrist under cool water from the sink to clean the dried blood from around the wound.
The water felt so good against my clammy skin that I found myself splashing it onto my neck and face.
Succumbing to the overwhelming need to scrub my skin clean, I grabbed a set of pajamas before heading to the bathroom.
Twenty minutes later, I was clean and nestled beneath the duvet.
For the first time in my entire life, I had gone to bed without reciting my nightly prayer to the gods.
After everything that had happened to me, I no longer felt them deserving of worship.
It was treasonous to even think that, but I didn’t care.
What worse could the gods do to me now? The sound of Calendula’s breathing was soft and steady as I replayed the day’s events.
I twisted over the rules Septimus had laid out, and the fact that I could never leave Lortan as a mortal.
Anger festered in me as I recalled the hard set of Kilian’s jaw, the glare he had given me when I had asked about the motive behind the Mortal Trials.
He had done nothing to prevent his friend from cursing Umma. He had simply watched, then ripped me away to a land I could never leave.
I tossed and turned throughout the night, considering all the ways I might escape the Mortal Trials, and coming to the same end result each time.
Death.
Even if I managed to make it to the edge of Lortan, I would not be able to leave. I was imprisoned here, and no one was coming to save me.
That was fine, I decided with a huff, flipping onto my back and staring furiously at the ceiling. I would just have to save my own godsdamned self.
I fell asleep, restless and annoyed, and awoke to a shrill ringing in the morning. “What is that godsawful noise?” I groaned, rolling onto my side to pull my pillow over my head.
Calendula seemed chirpier this morning as she flitted to perch on the corner of my bed. “It’s the breakfast bell.”
Breakfast? It felt like I had just shut my eyes ten minutes ago.
“You’d better get ready if you want to eat before the day’s activities. The first week is always the hardest for you mortals.”
“You don’t know me,” I snapped. The anger that had been simmering last night threatened to boil over. “I don’t know what you’ve got against me, but I’m not like the others.”
Sure, I may not be experienced on a sparring mat or as worldly as Lana, but I was no stranger to hard work. I had worked every single day of my life, perhaps twice as hard as others, to earn my keep as an abandoned stray in the governor’s house.
Calendula’s silver eyes widened for a fraction of a second before narrowing with hostility. “Fine, mighty mortal. If you think you know better than I do, I won’t burden you with useless information.” She shook a tiny fist at me before turning tail and zooming off into the shadows.
I sighed. Grabbing some toiletries and a new set of clothes for the day, I got ready and made my way outside, stopping to knock on Lana’s door. When she didn’t answer, I traced our steps from yesterday down the hallway to the doorway beside the sparring room. A set of staircases curled up and down.
The mess hall, one floor above our dormitories and the sparring room, was full. Four rectangular wooden tables filled the length of the space, one of which was occupied by mortals, separated into our groups from yesterday. Elven crowded the other tables, keeping a wide berth from the rest.
I approached my group. Lana and Moric were opposite Anama, their plates piled high with scrambled eggs and bacon, slices of toast and fruit.
All untouched. Jars of pale, creamy butter and glossy jams were placed in the middle of the table, with sets of shiny cutlery.
Perched atop Moric’s shoulder sat a curvy sprite, her figure the perfect hourglass shape.
She was made of vine and green moss. Brown branches snaked along her legs.
Her wings were lime green and looked as delicate as Calendula’s.
Lana shot me a look of relief as I slid into the seat beside Anama. “I was worried when you didn’t answer your door this morning.”