Chapter 19 #2
‘Rettlings, welcome to the Sunken Temple. Now, it is time for a few guidelines to make sure things run smoothly.’
The voice is filled with the tone of command, but annoyingly, I can’t see the speaker because the Rettlings who got here first have crammed themselves so tightly around the person that there’s barely any room to move.
As I search out a better view, I notice an outcrop not too high up on the edge of the wall.
The stone is rough, with deep divots that will be perfect for climbing.
‘Where are you going?’ Llinos whispers as I squeeze past her.
‘To get a better view,’ I say, pointing to the wall.
She turns back towards the speaker, who is now praising Etta and the other Gods.
I’m only half listening, focused instead on choosing the quickest path to take up to the outcrop and ignoring the stinging in my left hand as I hoist myself up.
The instant I take a seat on the ledge, I know I’ve made a good decision.
I’ve got a much better view up here, and not just of the speaker, but of the Rettlings, too.
The knighted guards are still clustered together and easily identifiable by the manner in which they stand.
Still, attentive, and confident, it shows their respect for the occasion.
Respect not everyone else is displaying.
An older woman is running back and forth to the water’s edge, while a younger one tries to stop her with constant hushing noises, which only serve to elicit more attention.
As I watch, I recall what Estel said about the crazy woman from Dorain she was sharing a room with.
I suspect I’ve figured out who she was talking about.
By the looks of things, there are several more Rettlings from Dorain with the two women, many rolling their eyes at the older woman’s antics, though not as many as the group from Galreck, whose pale faces are all marked with the four vertical lines to represent their city’s famous towers.
Zara is still with her goons, Oke and Elenor, and they’re joined by Shim and a couple of others. As I take in the Rettlings, I realise I should be listening. Getting distracted during the trials could be deadly. I need to focus.
I look to the speaker and immediately recognise him as the man who tried to help Kyor sober up at the ball.
He looks around sixty, with a grey beard and bald head, yet his frame is still ripped with muscle, and he carries himself with the same sort of gravitas as the knights.
I’d bet my supply of seeds from Dinah that he’s got a dire wolf somewhere.
I allow myself a quick scan to see if it’s present, and I’m not sure if I’m relieved or disappointed when I don’t spot it. I do spot someone else, though. Kyor.
He’s leaning against one of the cavern’s jagged walls, staring blankly at the speaker.
Hungover, probably. He wears a fur stole across his shoulders and leather fighting trousers, and that’s it.
The man must not feel the cold. Either that, or his plan is to distract everyone with his physique, which I hate to admit is an annoyingly effective technique.
As he stands there, I try to make out the marks of his fealty Gods.
I’m sure it’s Yordenrin’s starburst below his Wrohelm insignia, but I can’t decipher the one above his brow bone.
What I do know is that the blue dye suits him.
The colour glistens against his olive skin, while the crispness of the lines makes his cheekbones look even sharper.
The thought barely forms before he turns and catches my eye. I shift my gaze as fast as I can, but I know I wasn’t quick enough. I die a little inside, knowing he saw me ogling him.
‘The priestesses alone know what the trials will encompass,’ the speaker is saying, ‘so while Commander Holden and I will be responsible for your training, we do not know what dangers you will face.’
Holden. The name rings a bell, but I can’t immediately place it.
‘Thank you, Commander.’ The man who must be Holden steps forward to stand beside the speaker.
A short man, Holden looks to be of a similar age to what my parents would be if they were still alive.
‘Over the course of the Retterheld, we will become better acquainted. Either Zelle or I will be in the yard from dusk till dawn each day, and I would recommend that any of you who want to succeed do the same. Although it must be said that training alone will not be enough to help you survive.’
So the first speaker was Commander Zelle. He’s rumoured to be good friends with Prince Kyor, which immediately makes me distrust his judgement.
‘After the vows, you will be transported back to the palace.’ Zelle takes over again.
‘And I would urge you to remember that while each of you here has been blessed by Etta, the Goddess can strip you of that blessing just as quickly as she gave it. So tread carefully.’ The way he enunciates his words, like he’s issuing a personal threat to us all, causes a chill to roll through the courtyard.
‘You will be called one by one today to give your blood in the manner chosen by the priestesses. You do not speak. Not before, not during, not after. Not a single word.’
He pauses again, and tension swells through me. ‘Does anybody know the punishment for speaking in the Sunken Temple?’
As the hair rises on the back of my neck, I don’t doubt that every single person here knows exactly what he’s talking about. The Sunken Temple is not just a temple of Etta. It is sacred to all the Gods, and only the priestesses may converse in this sacred space.
‘We’re not in the temple itself yet,’ Zelle reassures when he realises volunteers aren’t forthcoming. Even the young woman from Dorain has ceased hushing her older companion. ‘You can bet my life I wouldn’t be speaking if we were. Now, someone tell me, what’s the punishment?’
Slowly, a shaking hand rises into the air. Coulter.
‘You have your lips bound together?’ His voice trembles.
‘Yes,’ Zelle replies. ‘For how long?’
‘One stitch and twelve moons of imprisonment for every word spoken.’ It’s a knight who answers this time, and I’m pretty sure it’s Grenda, the one Jonas told us was a serious contender.
‘Good.’ Zelle scans the crowd, nodding. ‘A stitch and a year for every word you speak. So keep your mouths shut in there. Or if you must say something, you’d better make it good, because those words may well be your last.’
I can feel the nerves ripple through the space.
Coulter is physically trembling, and it’s not the kind of clenched-fist tremble you can keep to yourself.
His knees are jerking up and down, and from where I’m perched, it looks like his skin has taken on a greenish hue.
Llinos places her hand on his arm and whispers something comforting in his ear.
‘Any questions?’ Holden barks.
I assume the question is rhetorical, and yet one hand shoots into the air: Zara’s.
‘Why aren’t you two in the Retterheld?’ she says. ‘You’d be eligible. Did she turn down your offering?’
A collective gasp echoes at her gall, but while Holden’s face flashes with fury, Zelle offers a smile in response.
‘From my experience,’ he says, ‘one who cannot find happiness within the gifts they have already been given will struggle to be satisfied by more. Now, unless there’s a question that actually has a purpose, let’s get that blood drawn.’
A couple of hushed whispers pass between a few of the Rettlings as my mind ponders what Zelle said. By his reasoning, I’m the only one this gifting will truly benefit. Maybe I should trust his judgement after all.
As silence takes hold of the group, I twist around and carefully make my way back down the cave wall. When I reach the ground, I immediately look for the group from my carriage, wanting their moral support. Excluding Estel, that is.
After spotting Llinos in the crowd, I make a beeline for her, only to find my path blocked. Not by a Rettling, but by Commander Holden himself, the scowl still very much in place. Seeing him up close, I realise he’s not quite as short as I originally assumed; Zelle must just be exceptionally tall.
‘Of course, I should’ve known a Kultavaris wouldn’t be able to just stand and listen like everybody else.’
‘You knew my parents?’ I ask, surprised by my own forthrightness.
Holden scoffs and his features contort as though he’s swallowed something impossibly bitter. ‘To think, the Goddess chose the offspring of the bastard lord and his witch wife over, over …’
‘Over you?’ I suggest.
A snarl rattles from his lips. Animosity from the other Rettlings I expected, but from one of the people in charge of training us?
That’s something I wasn’t prepared for. Jonas’s words about the only people having problems with my father being those who were jealous of his powers swim around my head.
Well, I can’t say for certain, but I’m pretty sure this interaction is telling me that Holden was seriously jealous.
‘Holden.’ Zelle’s voice echoes in the cave. ‘Time to move.’
Holden bites down on his lip as he stares at me.
‘Plenty of Rettlings don’t make it out of the trials,’ he finally says, his voice almost a hiss. ‘I’ve even heard of one or two not making it through the vowing. I’ll be keeping my fingers crossed for you.’
What a delightful human, I think sarcastically as he turns on the ball of his foot and strides away.
‘What was that about?’ Jonas asks, appearing at my side.
‘Oh, nothing at all,’ I say, watching Holden march away. ‘Just another person who wants to see me dead, that’s all. Come on, we should go.’