Chapter 5
Ican count the number of times my sister has sworn on two hands, and even then, I can’t remember any time she’s used that particular expletive, but I sense there’s a lot more vitriol coming my way. Her eyes are dark as she glowers at me, and a guilt-inducing sheen of tears appears.
‘I don’t understand. Why, Rose? Why would you do this?’
‘We’re not doing this here, Kay,’ I say, missing the next name announced as we hiss at each other.
‘You should have said something to me!’
As I take a step closer to Kay to tell her that we’ll talk more when we’re alone, in private, the silence of the market is suddenly replaced by rushed, bubbling whispers.
‘Whose name did they just say?’ I ask.
Jaw tight, Ruben replies, ‘Kyor Knavin.’
My stomach drops.
Prince Kyor. The king’s only son. The heir to the throne. The prince who lied and condemned my sister and me to this cursed life.
A loud question cuts across the mutters.
‘The king let him enter?’
‘It must be rigged. The king will not let him die.’
‘Surely he’s the strongest fighter? He’s the high commander of the army.’
Kay’s eyes bore into me. I can literally feel the fear radiating from her and I get it. If the Retterheld wasn’t dangerous before, it sure as hell is now.
‘He will kill you, Rose.’ Her voice trembles as she spins our mother’s ring on her finger. ‘He would rather murder every person in the kingdom than let you be gifted by Etta. Not after Mother—’
‘Don’t!’ I snap as I turn to face her. ‘He doesn’t get a say in my fate. Not anymore.’
Winning the Retterheld was previously my only aim, but now I’ve added another goal to my list: kill Prince Kyor.
Half a dozen names I don’t recognise are called before the guards leave with an announcement that all fifty who have been chosen will meet at the High Hold the following night for their presentation to the king.
Heat burns through me. Tomorrow, I will face them. Face the people who cast us out, who caused my parents to suffer undeservedly in every moment until their deaths. And in turn, they will finally face what they have done.
I’ve not got enough money to go to the third ring and buy a weapon, which means I need help, and there’s only one person I can go to for it.
Unlike the previous nights, when I walked through the outer rings to reach the temple, time is an issue today.
As such, I stow away on the back of a carriage.
From the fabric that’s stacked inside, I suspect it’s heading to the second ring, though I can’t know for sure as I silently drop down from the back before we reach the third.
Then, trying to pretend I don’t look completely out of place in torn clothes and with scraped elbows, I keep my head high as I approach the gate where three knights stand with their bonded dire wolves, one of which is currently sniffing the carriage I hitched a ride on.
I’ve heard from some people that you should acknowledge the wolves first, rather than the men-at-arms, as the wolves are the ones that hold the greater power.
So, though the thought of facing an enormous pair of jaws is more than a little terrifying, I manage a split second of eye contact with the smallest of the beasts.
It’s long enough to see the white ring gleaming between the animal’s pupils and irises – the sign that it is bonded.
As my ribs squeeze my breath, I hurriedly offer a dip of my chin before looking away. Hopefully that’s enough deference.
‘You! What business do you have here?’ The pompousness of the guard’s tone immediately causes a twist of irritation to rise within me.
I know for a fact that my parents never spoke to anyone like that.
Even when my father was so drunk he could barely remember our names, he remembered his manners.
Though such a nature likely arose for the same reason that several members of the court refused to accept him as their equal.
Given that his mother had worked the taverns of the fifth ring and his lordly father already had a legitimate heir by his wife, my father would never have set foot in the High Hold were it not for a twist of fate.
‘My name is Rose Kultavaris.’
The guard’s jaw drops slightly as his eyes flicker to my white-blonde hair.
‘I’ve been selected for the Retterheld, and I wish to visit the temple of Etta.’
‘You’re filthy,’ the second one interjects.
‘And?’
‘And the Retterheld is for the nobles and knights of Morathka, and you ain’t either of them anymore.’
I tip my head to the side and stifle a sigh, wishing I had scaled the wall instead. ‘I have been selected for the Retterheld,’ I repeat, ‘and considering my attire was good enough for Etta, it should be good enough for you.’
They exchange uneasy glances, but step aside.
‘Thank you,’ I say politely. As I start to move past them, one of the dire wolves takes a step towards me.
The great beast is covered in rust-red fur that’s greyed around the muzzle, while one of its eyes has a milky whiteness to it, as if it’s losing its sight.
‘I am who I say I am,’ I murmur to the wolf, trying to steady the drumming in my chest. ‘You can let me pass.’
His black nose twitches as he sniffs, and then he nonchalantly turns around and lets me through. My legs tremble as I continue forward. Dire wolves are scary as fuck.
Although the temple is straight in front of me, I don’t go towards it.
Instead, I veer to the left, staying wide of the frozen moat as I pass the great marble building and head along a strip of frosted grass that crunches beneath my feet.
My pace slows as I glance upwards to the small clerestories that sit fifty feet off the ground.
From what I can tell, there are no better footholds on the outside of the building than there were on the inside, and once again, my mind flits to those icy-blue eyes and the delicious body that possesses them. Shame about the soul.
Would Etta choose someone like him for the Retterheld? It’s difficult to tell. He certainly has the strength to succeed in the more physical trials. But that arrogance? Would she really want to gift someone like that his heart’s desire? Surely he wants for nothing.
Maybe Etta simply chooses some people as sacrifices – although if that is true, I pray that’s not the reason she chose me.
Behind the temple is a long wall that bisects almost the entire third ring.
Beyond are the living quarters of the handful of Etta’s priestesses who reside within Wrohelm.
A frisson of nerves ripples through me as I make my way over to the ivy-covered wall.
It’s been a long time since I’ve been to the priestesses’ quarters, and I worry that she won’t see me.
Unlike the grass, there is not a hint of frost on the deep green ivy leaves, and the moment my fingers brush against them, it is clear why.
Magic fizzes through my palm, biting not only my skin but also the tears behind my eyes.
There is something about this magic that calls to the surface the pain of everything that was taken from me, but without any magic of my own to rise to the harsh summoning, all I feel is hollow.
That’s what hurts the most about being stripped: knowing you will never be complete.
Knowing however much you try, however good you are, there will always be holes within you. Kay and I deserve better.
‘Priestess Dinah Poltick,’ I murmur to the ivy, and my stomach clenches as I pray she will answer my request.
The heat on my palm remains for a moment longer before it disappears into nothing.
All I can do now is wait and hope that Dinah is even present in the temple. If she’s not, then I’m going to have to come up with another plan, and quickly. But rather than focusing on what my next actions should be, I can’t help but think of the Retterheld.
Like the people in the slums, I assumed the king would have forbidden his only heir to enter, but I find I am absurdly glad that he didn’t. The Retterheld has already given me one gift: the chance at revenge. And maybe the fact that the Goddess deems me worthy is a sign that the royals should too.
Of course, I’m not oblivious to the whispers that flitted around the market when his name was called.
About his skills as a fighter. About the fact that people think he will win.
But Etta knows the truth of what happened between us.
She knows what he did to us. If the Goddess accepts anyone into the tournament purely as a sacrifice, it should be him.
‘Rose.’ Just the sound of my name spoken in Dinah’s soft tone is enough to stir memories.
I turn to find her framed by ivy, and her smile holds me immobile for a breath. It is so joyous, so full of love, that some cold part of me thaws just a little. Her eyes, though, have shadows of hurt and regret.
It pains her to see me. I knew it would. But I had no other choice.
Dinah steps forward wordlessly, cups my cheek, and then whispers in my ear, ‘My darling Rose. You’re the very image of your mother.’