Chapter 4
‘You’re very quiet,’ Kay says as we elbow our way through the market the following morning. The smell of smoke and roasted nuts is thick in the air as we weave our way through the hordes of people.
‘Death to Korvane!’ someone screams, and a jostle from the side makes me lose sight of Kay.
My heart lurches, and the moment I spot her again, I grab her hand.
Despite the shoving and sharp elbows – not to mention the angry tirades against our bastard of a king – the market’s usually a safe place to be.
Usually. But there are always exceptions, and experience has taught me to remain vigilant.
‘You should be excited,’ Kay continues. ‘They’re announcing the Rettlings today.’
‘They are?’ I feign surprise even though my heart has been thundering since the moment I woke. Several times it crossed my mind to tell her what I’ve done, but with the possibility that my name won’t be called, there is no need for Kay to ever know I attempted to enter.
‘There are likely to be some names we recognise, don’t you think? People from the court?’ Excitement rises in her voice. ‘Perhaps some of our parents’ friends. Your friends, even.’
‘Acquaintances, Kay,’ I correct her. ‘Friends stand by you.’
Kay tuts as if my statement is unreasonable. The fact that she remembers less about our time in the High Hold means she doesn’t understand just how deep the betrayal was. We were an integral part of the court. We should have been above reproach.
‘Well, talking of acquaintances, look who’s walking this way.
’ Kay gestures ahead. A group of people are bartering with raised voices for a jar of something or other, but my eyes are immediately drawn behind them to a broad figure wearing a knitted beanie hat and an ever-present grin.
Warmth spreads through me at the sight of him, a subconscious echo of the magic he wields.
Next to him is his friend, Peter, who scowls at me.
I ignore him with practised ease. He may be Ruben’s friend, but he’s never been mine.
It’s difficult to place a finger on exactly what it is that I don’t like about Peter.
Perhaps it’s the way he walks around with his sleeves rolled up, his swirling tattoo of a coil of smoke on display, as if he needs to prove his manhood by unnecessarily exposing himself to the cold.
The last thing we need is more people dying of hyperthermia.
‘Hey Ruben.’ Kay beams when he finally squeezes his way across to us.
‘Kay!’ He opens his arms wide, offering a quite literally warming hug.
Rather than respond to him, Kay glances at me, as if she’s asking permission.
It’s one hundred percent not necessary, but I nod anyway.
A moment later, his arms are wrapped tightly around her, and I watch Kay’s body relax as his warmth seeps into her.
The gentleness of Ruben’s ability to crank up his body temperature would have been laughed at in the High Hold.
Sure, it would be impressive if he could convert that heat into fireballs that he could throw at the Issen and Torailian when they attack our borders, but down in the slums, his gentle warmth keeps people alive.
Korvane and his generals don’t seem to understand that battles aren’t the only thing that kills people at war. Cold does too.
As Kay steps back from Ruben’s embrace, her face flushed with heat, he looks at me, an eyebrow quirked in question. I go in next. The warmth rushes to my extremities, and the relief from the cold is welcome. I didn’t realise how freezing I was.
Unsurprisingly, Ruben pulls me in far closer than he did with Kay, then lowers his head so it’s next to the shell of my ear, his breath teasing my skin in the way he knows I like. ‘I haven’t seen you for a couple of nights,’ he whispers.
‘I’ve been busy,’ I mutter evasively. The last thing I need is for Kay to overhear our conversation, given that I told her I was spending time with Ruben when I was actually monitoring the guards at the temple.
‘Well, my bed’s been cold.’ His brown eyes look down at me as he speaks. Soft, warm brown eyes. Friendly. Straightforward. Nothing like the icy-blue gaze that held mine last night.
Not that I was thinking about that asshole again.
I laugh in response. ‘Your bed’s never cold,’ I say, trying to sound casual as I inwardly curse myself for thinking about another man’s eyes when a perfectly good pair is staring right into mine.
‘Okay, you’re right,’ he concedes with a smirk. ‘But it would still be more comfortable with you in it.’
‘Also untrue. Your bed is always tiny and rock hard, regardless of the company.’
His answering laugh is deep and throaty.
It’s incredibly tempting to press myself into his heat again and take his offer of spending more nights with him.
It’s not as if I don’t like him. He’s a good guy, the kind who puts others first – the way people with nothing always seem to.
And I know he likes me – even with my lack of magic – but would I weep for weeks if he suddenly told me he’d found someone else to spend his evenings with?
I don’t think so. For all his easy smiles, he has a detachedness to him.
Like he’s not ready to let himself really be in front of me.
Like he needs to keep part of himself hidden.
Not that I’m one to talk. For the first six months of us sleeping together, he didn’t even know my surname, and when he finally heard the Kultavaris name – the Queenkiller’s name – I expected it to provoke some sort of reaction.
But no, just a slight shrug. Sometimes I think that’s the reason he likes to spend time with me.
The lack of commitment. The screw you to the court. And the screw itself.
‘Maybe later in the week,’ I suggest loosely.
‘It would have to be the very end. I’m busy the next couple of nights.’
I raise an eyebrow. ‘Busy?’
‘Jealous?’ He smirks.
‘No, just intrigued.’ The comment is genuine. Ruben and my get-togethers are normally so late at night that they verge on early morning, and generally speaking, no good deeds are happening at that hour. Not out in the slums, that’s for sure. So yes, I’m definitely intrigued as to what he’s doing.
‘If you two can stop sucking face for one second, I think something’s happening,’ Peter interrupts. He has the manners of a wounded dire wolf.
With my jaw clenched, I draw myself away from Ruben and offer a scowl to the man with the shock of red hair who’s currently smirking at me.
‘We were not sucking face. We were hugging. For warmth,’ I tell him. ‘And who even says “sucking face”?’
‘Oh, I’ve definitely seen you two suck faces before.’
When he grins, it takes more than a fraction of my willpower not to hit him.
The short, stocky illusionist, whose face is painted with a seemingly endless array of freckles, has more powers than anyone else I know in the slums. With magic like his, I’m sure he could have found himself a place inside one of the higher rings.
But his powers aren’t the problem. His mouth is.
He’s pissed off pretty much everyone at some time or another, except perhaps Ruben.
But then again, maybe Ruben’s too laid back to ever get really annoyed.
With his attitude, he could be from Dorain.
‘Rose!’ Kay exclaims excitedly as she taps me on the arm and points across the square. ‘I think they’re announcing the Rettlings!’
The noise cranks up around us as stalls are shifted and bartering is cut short.
Six guards are approaching the market square, all of them dressed in the deep maroon that signifies King Korvane’s personal soldiers and security.
He likes to brag that the enemy starts running the moment they see the colour against the ice, but we all know the truth: it’s so the blood is less visible when the bodies are returned.
‘Why’s the announcement so soon?’ I ask, trying to hide my panic. On the very slim chance that I actually get chosen, I wanted Kay nowhere near me when the announcement happened. ‘I thought they didn’t read out the list of Rettlings until noon?’
In the slums, time is told by stone. The great column of the High Hold towers at the rings’ centre, its shadow marking the hours as it crawls across the dirt. The market lies untouched by it still, which means the day is young – likely not yet even ten.
‘My grandfather said they announced the last one at dawn to give everyone more time to lay bets,’ Ruben says, oblivious to the way my hands are now trembling. He shrugs. ‘But then, his grandfather said they announced the previous one at sunset.’
‘So basically they do it whenever the hell they like,’ I hiss through gritted teeth.
My heart is hammering beneath my sternum with such force I’m surprised it hasn’t broken free.
I turn and look at Kay and try to steady my voice as much as possible.
‘Don’t you have to go?’ I say to her. ‘You don’t want to be late. ’
She looks at me like I’ve grown two heads. ‘They are announcing Etta’s choice for Rettlings, for what is likely to be the only Retterheld I will ever see in my lifetime. I’m not going anywhere! Besides, like I said, I want to see if we recognise any names.’
The lump in my throat is cutting off the air to my lungs, and I’m certain I’m going to faint.
The slum residents scatter to the sides of the square, making room for the imposing guards, and I’m surprised by the tension that ripples through my body at the sight of them.
I’ve seen guards plenty of times since we were thrown out of the High Hold – I was dodging them for the last three nights, for crying out loud – but something about the way they’re standing reminds me of the moment they dragged my mother away that night, the prince’s cold eyes fixed on us.
‘The Great Goddess Etta has made her choice for the nineteenth Retterheld.’ The lead guard’s voice pulls me out of the memory and sends the rest of the slum into heart-racing silence. ‘The following nobles and knights have been selected to fight for the gifting—’
As the silence holds fast, I know most of the people around me are thinking the same thing: why the hell would a noble need a gifting? What does one who has it all need more for?
I’m fighting the urge not to reach out and take Ruben’s arm for support, but I don’t want to give him the wrong impression.
Besides, if I can’t stand on my own two feet now, I’m going to be screwed if I do actually get into the trials.
The churning in my stomach is so strong that I swear I’m about to start seeing stars when the first name pulls me back into the moment.
‘Sir Jonas Lorathin.’
Kay swivels to look at me. ‘Jonas. Isn’t that—’
‘Artur’s son,’ I reply. That’s all she will know of Jonas. His father found us the house in the fifth ring when we were cast out of the High Hold. He also used to visit occasionally, all the way until my mother’s death. He was the only one.
Unlike Kay, I remember Jonas himself. I remember the days before we were cast out, when we sparred with one another, sword against sword, hand against hand.
I recall his sandy hair – golden and warm, unlike my stripped white-blonde – and his amber eyes, and the way he would throw his head back when he laughed.
Not to mention the awe he displayed whenever I showed him the first inkling of my magic, his own having not yet manifested.
I can’t deny that I’m more than a little intrigued to learn about the man he has grown into. Yet before I have time to fix my thoughts of him, the next name is called.
‘Rose Kultavaris.’
The air is stolen from my lungs and all the strength washes from my knees.
Me.
Etta chose me.
A gasp rattles around the market as every pair of eyes turns to look at me.
‘I’m in.’ The words come out as barely a whisper, and I find my lips still moving. ‘I’m in.’
I did it. I’m in the Retterheld.
The overwhelm that rushes through me is enough to have me reaching out a hand to balance myself, and it’s only when my fingers touch the rough edge of hewn fabric that I realise I did not find Ruben as I intended.
Instead, I turn to find myself looking at a pair of eyes the exact same shade of green as my own.
And right now, they harbour a hardness I didn’t know they could possess.
Kay’s jaw is tight. ‘What the fuck have you done, Rose?’
This is only the beginning.
Join Rose as she enters the Retterheld – her one chance to change her fate forever.