Chapter 9 #2
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The banquet hall gleams with golden light from the chandeliers burning overhead. Voices murmur in a hush that only deepens when Queen Zephyra rises to speak. Her gown shimmers like starlight, her gold crown gleaming.
“You have survived your first trial,” she says, her voice calm but edged with something that makes the room still further. “However, not all returned. Five of you remain. Aleric fell within the catacombs.”
The words hit hard . Even Lioran, smiling a moment ago, lowers his eyes. Aren mutters a prayer under his breath. Only Osric seems unfazed.
“You will have two weeks,” the queen continues, “to train, recover, or do whatever you believe is necessary to prepare for the next trial. However, its nature will not be revealed until the appointed day. Use your time well, as the trials do not grow easier.”
She lets her gaze sweep across each of us. “Eat, drink, and learn who you fight beside…and against. That, too, may save your lives.” She sits, lifting her goblet as though nothing weighty has been spoken at all.
When she finally dismisses us to our meal, the clatter of dishes and the low hum of conversation fill the space again. Silver trays of roasted pheasant and goblets of wine parade past. I eat, but my thoughts keep drifting to the empty chair at the head of the table. Serenya didn’t come.
I tell myself it doesn’t matter. Yet, I find myself wondering why.
Torin slides into the seat beside me, tossing a hunk of bread onto my plate. “Eat more. You still look half-dead.”
I smirk faintly. “That’s generous. I’d say about three-quarters.”
He chuckles, tearing into his own portion like he hasn’t eaten in days. When the plates are cleared and the queen has long since retired, he leans close and says, “You want to get out of here? Elarion’s taverns are livelier than this graveyard. Ale that actually tastes good. Music. Dice games.”
I hesitate. “I don’t know…”
“Come on,” he presses, grinning. “One drink. It won’t kill you.” He tilts his head. “Probably.”
I almost refuse, but the thought of sitting alone in the palace with nothing but my own bruises and silence makes me push up from my chair. “Fine. One drink.”
The walk to the tavern is quiet until we reach the city streets. They are alive with lanterns lit by magic, the smell of spiced bread drifting from a bakery still open, and children weaving through alleys despite the hour.
“You know,” Torin says eventually, “when you stumbled out of that portal after the Trial, I thought you were done for. There was blood everywhere. You looked like hell.”
I snort. “Thanks.”
“I mean it,” he says, shooting me a sidelong glance. “ You doing all right? For real?”
“I’ll live. It’s nothing I can’t handle.”
He hums skeptically but lets it drop.
The tavern he takes me to is tucked into a crooked street corner, lanterns swaying in the night breeze. Inside, warmth and noise hit like a wave. There’s music from a lute in the corner, fae and human voices shouting over each other, and the smell of sweat and roasted meat.
We choose a corner booth. A server appears, a sharp-eyed woman with ink curling up her arms.
“Two ales,” Torin says without hesitation. “And food. Anything. Whatever’s hot.”
I lift a brow. “We just left a feast.”
He leans back with a grin. “I can still eat. Besides, the food here tastes better.”
The woman leaves, returning a few minutes later with the drinks.
“So,” Torin says after a swig of ale, “training with Serenya. How’d that go?”
I bark a laugh. “Terrifying. She’s deadly with a blade, but scarier when you screw up. It’s like she’s got a personal vendetta against mistakes.”
Torin chuckles, nodding. “Always been that way. But if she’s hard on you, it’s because she wants you to survive. She doesn’t want anyone else dying on her watch.”
“Yeah, right. She hates me. Pretty sure that rule doesn’t apply to me.”
His smile fades. “She might not like you, but she still wants you to succeed. She’s not as awful as you might think.”
I lift a brow. “I don’t know about that.”
Something in his face hardens. Not against me exactly, but turning protective, like a brother ready to bare his teeth.
“She cares. She’s just…” He looks down at his cup, hesitating as if he doesn't know if he should keep going. “She’s lived through too much tragedy. What she’s been through… ” He sighs. “It’s changed her.”
The words hit deeper than I want to admit. I stay quiet, the ale bitter on my tongue.
“She’s not awful, Koen,” he repeats softly. “She’s a ghost of herself trying to find her way back. She just needs help. So go easy on her. Even if she won’t go easy on you…and she won’t.”
I blow out a slow breath. “She’s kinda mean, though.”
That earns me a laugh, sharp and real. “That she is.”
I smirk despite myself.
The moment passes as the server returns with the food and another round of drinks.
We let the conversation shift to lighter topics—training mishaps, old stories from his childhood with Serenya and Alira, small jokes that don’t carry the heaviness of before.
Oddly, it feels normal, like we’ve done this a million times before.
Eventually, we rise to leave. I’m relaxed enough to think the night has been a good one, until a shoulder slams into mine, hard.
“Oi!” a slurred voice barks.
Already bristling, I turn to find a broad-shouldered fae glaring at me with unfocused eyes. His cheeks are flushed from too much ale, his breath sour.
His face twists. “Did you—” He jabs a finger into my chest, nearly toppling from the motion. “You just bumped into me, human .”
Torin steps forward, palms raised. “Easy, friend. No harm done.”
Another man appears beside the first, equally drunk and unsteady. His gaze sweeps over us, narrowing when it catches on Torin’s clothes. “Palace boys. Think you’re better than us, don’t you?”
I mutter under my breath, “Here we go.”
The first one shoves me, and my patience snaps. I catch his wrist, twist, and shove him back into a table. The tavern goes still, every eye on us.
“Shouldn’t have done that,” the second drunk snarls and swings at Torin.
Torin ducks, grinning like a lunatic. “Finally,” he chuckles, before slamming his fist into the man’s jaw.
Chaos erupts.
The first drunk comes at me wild, fists swinging. I dodge one blow, but the second cracks across my jaw, causing stars to burst behind my eyes. Anger surges through me. I drive my fist into his gut, then hook him hard across the cheek. He staggers back, wheezing.
“Not bad,” Torin shouts, his arm locked around the other man’s neck. “When you said you didn’t know how to use a weapon, I assumed you didn’t know how to fight at all. But clearly, you do.”
“You forget I work in a tavern? Now, shut up and fight,” I snap, ducking another swing.
The tavern erupts in shouts of encouragement, insults, and laughter. The barkeep bellows something about taking it outside, but no one listens.
I catch another fist to the ribs and snarl, slamming my opponent into the edge of our booth. Tankards topple. Ale spills across the floor.
The man comes again, heavier this time, and we collide. My back slams into the wood, pain flaring through my side. Shit. That had just healed. I snap my fist upward, catching him under the chin. His head jerks back, but before I can finish it, his friend breaks free of Torin and barrels into us.
The three of us go crashing to the floor.
I grunt, half-pinned under dead weight. Torin swears and yanks the second drunk off, tossing him aside like a sack of grain.
“Stay down!” Torin barks.
I roll to my feet, spitting blood onto the floor. My opponent lunges again. I catch him with a wild swing that sends him sprawling.
Breathless, bruised, and aching, I glance at Torin. His tunic is torn, his hair a mess, his eye already swelling purple, but his grin is wide.
“You’re enjoying this,” I accuse him.
“Maybe a little.”
That’s when the barkeep storms toward us, red-faced. “OUT!” he roars. “All of you! Before I toss you out myself!”
“Gladly,” I mutter, wincing as I rub my jaw.
Torin hauls me toward the door. Behind us, the two drunks are still cursing as the barkeep throws them out, too.
The cool night air feels good as it hits my bruised skin. We look at each other, then erupt into laughter. I can’t stop grinning, even as blood drips from my lip and my raw knuckles. For the first time in years, despite the bruises, despite the pain, I feel lighter.
We limp through the cobbled streets, both of us laughing under our breath. The pain in my jaw deepens with every step, but it’s easier to bear with Torin stumbling beside me, still grinning like a fool.
“You’ve got blood all over your teeth,” he says, pointing.
I spit again and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “You’ve got half a tavern bench in your hair.”
He reaches up, pulls out a splinter, and winces. “Worth it.”
By the time we reach the outer gates of the palace, we’ve sobered just enough to realize the state we’re in. My knuckles are raw, my ribs throb with each breath, and Torin’s eye is swelling shut.
“Brilliant,” I mutter. “How do we explain this?”
Torin’s grin dims. “We don’t. We can’t go to the healers; they’ll ask questions. If they figure out I dragged you out during the trials, I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“Then we go back to our rooms and hope no one notices.”
He shakes his head. “Not a chance. You’ll never train tomorrow looking like you got trampled by a mule.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not.” His tone is sharp for once. “You need mending.”
I give him a flat look. “And where exactly do you suggest we go?”
He hesitates, then says, “Well…there is someone...”
I narrow my eyes. “No.”
“Yes.”
“Nope. I’m not asking for her to heal me again.”
“Koen.” His voice drops, serious now. “If you want to survive these trials, you can’t afford to be stubborn.”
I grind my teeth. The last thing I want is to owe Princess Serenya any favors. Though, unfortunately for me, he’s right.
We slip through the shadowed halls of the palace, doing our best to avoid the guards on patrol. My boots are quieter than his, but he waves off my irritation. “Some of the guards are friends. If they see us, they’ll look the other way.”
The palace stretches endlessly, its corridors hushed in the late hour. My bruises throb with each step, the echo of fists still fresh in my bones.
Finally, we climb a narrow stairwell that winds higher than I expect . At the landing, a tall wooden door stands before us, carved with curling patterns of vines and stars.
I frown. “Isn’t a princess supposed to have a guard posted outside her chambers?”
Torin rubs the back of his neck. “Um…yeah. It’s supposed to be me tonight.”
I give him a look, and he grimaces before knocking on the door.