Chapter 10
Arina
Acrowd is starting to gather behind us. I know because their cheerful chattering grows louder as I imagine them laying out blankets and what few snacks they may have to observe our final task. The task that determines whether I will be invited into the Queen’s Guard.
The task that threatens to turn me into a murderer.
For once, I’m grateful the heat of the sun is blocked out by the Smog. I’m already dripping sweat from the pressure. Everything hinges on today.
The other competitors and I wait at the base of the curtain wall surrounding the castle for instructions. It seems like hours have passed when a herald finally stands before us.
“Welcome to your final contest!” the herald shouts, as if he didn’t already have our undivided attention. “For today’s challenge, you will simply be required to scale the curtain wall of Her Majesty’s castle. Accomplish this, and you have earned your place in the Queen’s Guard.”
Scale the wall. I can do that.
My confidence is devoured whole when the herald adds, “There are no rules aside from this: The last person to have both feet on the wall walk, marks the end of the competition. However, should you be last, you will not be given a position.”
No rules. Don’t be last.
“You have a few minutes to prepare. The task begins when the trumpets sound,” the herald finishes, and steps off his platform with a cough into his handkerchief.
Thirty grappling hooks are set out before us. Thirty. There are definitely more than thirty of us.
A test to see how many of us are willing to do whatever it takes to earn this. They’ve just given us permission to weed out the weakest links.
My heart is already thundering in my chest as I talk myself out of panic.
You are fast. And strong. You won’t be last. Make it to the top. Don’t be last. And gods, whatever you do, do not let them kill you.
I study the wall, looking for spots where it may be weak or there could be a foothold.
It’s slanted slightly outward, making things even more difficult.
My inspection brings me to the wall walk, where I’m surprised to find Queen Daphne, her blonde hair blowing in the wind as she watches, waiting to greet the newest members of her guard.
The Smog becomes denser, as if it has gathered to observe us too. As it rolls in my head clears. My focus is fixed on this moment. Soon, the castle is a mere shadow behind the curtain of smoky grays and browns.
If I allow myself to search the crowd, I know I may lose my nerve. I can’t afford to see Phillipa’s hopeful face. Can’t risk meeting Eryk’s encouraging eyes. Refuse to look for Raiden’s hate-scorched glare.
But I can feel them watching me.
There is someone I don’t mind looking at, however.
Dolan is sharpening a small ax just a few feet away. He’s dragging the blade from base to tip across a small, oiled whetstone. When he finishes, he straps the ax to his side and begins on another blade.
Finally, he stops and looks up at me, grinning as though he knows something I’m not privy to.
I do not want to kill this man. As repulsive as he is, I do not wish to end his life.
I am a healer, for the sake of the gods! My purpose is to mend, to fix, to sustain life and end suffering. Senseless killing is not part of my repertoire.
Dolan spits at the ground next to my feet. “You ready, girly? Think you can make it to the top with those feeble little arms? You want me to carry you up?”
The men within earshot laugh, but I ignore them. I suppose if it means one less rebel threatening my queen, I can try to get past a single death. Besides, once I’m in the guard, I will have to be willing to do whatever is asked of me.
It’s just good practice, really. At least, that’s what I tell myself over and over again when we line up, and I wipe my damp palms on my pants just before the trumpets blare.
I sprint for the hooks, pumping my arms as hard as I can, and surprising myself with how quickly I reach them. My lungs burn from the effort.
I’m hinging on most of my competitors assuming I’m not a threat and taking each other out. My peripheral vision is blurred, but I can tell a handful of them are doing just that based on the grunting and crashing of weapons around me.
As much as it angers me, my best advantage is that they see me as weak, and I’m not going to draw attention to myself by proving them wrong right now.
Instead, I make myself small. I slide the rolled-up rope around my arm and make for the wall, slowing my pace to catch my breath and watch my back. I have no intentions of dying today.
Dolan reaches the wall before me. He swings the hook over his head and hurls it, clearing the wall on the first shot. As do many of the others.
Great.
There’s no way I can climb the entire wall using just my arms, and my legs can only help so much. Even though I know it’s going to slow me down, I have to stop and tie knots in my rope as quickly as I can.
When I finish the final knot, I look up. Dolan and a few others have made it a quarter of the way up, and a fire lights within me.
I scan the length of the wall, and dread falls like an anchor in my stomach. I don’t know if any of these men can be trusted. I don’t know who is a true Lukasian and who is a rebel.
An image of Queen Daphne being skewered with a grappling hook flashes in my mind.
I have to do whatever I can to stop them. I line up on Dolan’s right.
When I throw my own hook, it surprises even me that it clears on the first try. The knots have stolen some length, which means I have to get a running start and use the momentum to kick myself off the wall.
My fingers barely brush the end of the rope.
I go again and miss.
On my third attempt, I kick off the wall with both feet as hard as I can, and my hands finally grip the rope just above the first knot.
I swing my legs and pull hard, flinging myself up to the next knot, and praying to every god that my hook has found a steady hold and Dolan doesn’t see me coming.
The gods must not be listening, though. Dolan looks down at me in the next breath, and his lip curls. I can do nothing aside from climb higher and faster as he pulls his ax from his waist, fumbling a little with how to stay on his rope while simultaneously ending my life.
He swings in my direction, and the edge of his ax barely grazes my rope. It’s enough to have me scurrying higher. I pull my rope as far as I can away from Dolan, but not so far that the competitor on my right can reach me.
“What’s the matter, girly?” Dolan shouts, and I bristle. “Scared of heights?”
I am not scared of heights, but I don’t bother telling him that. He’s just given me more fuel for the blaze burning wild within me.
He swings at my rope again, but loses his grip on the ax. I attempt to press myself flat to the wall, but the handle catches my temple. Pain radiates across my skull. Darkness threatens to swallow my vision, but I refuse to allow it.
My rope unravels a little more, and I drop a few inches with a jolt.
Determination overpowers everything. Fuck this piece of trash. Fuck the rebels. And fuck the gods for not giving a shit about my home and my people enough to stop this fucking curse.
The rage propels me higher until I’m just below Dolan. I pull my dagger from the sheath at my thigh, and I run along the wall, rope in hand, until the last moment when I leap, suspended in the air for one terrifying moment. Aiming for his stomach.
The blade sinks deep into his abdomen and continues to tear through him as my weight pulls me lower.
Dolan lets out a bellow that sounds like a creature possessed, but it barely registers. He’s going to die. I’ve stabbed him. Slaughtered him. I’m trying not to panic, because I have to grab the rope.
My body doesn’t cooperate, and I lose my dagger as Dolan topples to the ground with it still embedded in his gut.
My fucking dagger.
I tell myself it’s fine. I can retrieve it later. After. But my head is swimming, and my hands are burning. And I think I’m falling.
My final thought before everything goes black is hazy.
I’m going to die a murderer.