Alaric’s face was one of terrible pain, and for a moment she almost lost her resolve. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. She needed to protect him from this place, this world that was so unfair to those who had no magic. It was cruel to those who sought love.
He rose to his feet, his eyes never leaving hers. “I don’t believe you.”
“I don’t care what you believe,” she said. She willed herself to wear her mask just a little longer, not to break in front of him and reveal the pain raging inside.
She turned and faced the window, unable to look at him any longer. She felt him behind her, the tips of his fingers at her shoulder in an almost-touch. Then wordlessly, he left. The door creaked shut and Alaric was gone.
Ros collapsed on the floor the second she heard the door close. Every part of her wanted to chase after him, consequences or not. But she knew she couldn’t do that, not to him. So she sat on the floor and wept, letting her feelings fill the tears that flooded down her cheeks.
When she could cry no more, she wiped her eyes and stood. She moved across the room to the bed where she’d spent many nights wrapped in Alaric’s embrace. As she crawled under the blankets, a movement in the corner of the room caught her eye. She turned towards it, studying the darkness lurking there, but in the end, it was nothing but shadows.
Chapter 7
The morning meal was more subdued than the feast from the night before. Many of the high nobles, including the King and Queen, had already eaten and left to attend the morning activities. Throughout the day there would be archery, jousting, swordplay, and feats of strength, all unaided by magic. Many of the local magicless folk would participate and claim victories in the games, earning riches and prestige for their families.
After midday, the Great Match would begin. The event would display the gifts of the mages competing, though there would be no actual battles on the first day. Tradition dictated there would be four judges in addition to Rosalinde at each event, one from each house. The judges were only permitted to vote on the participants from other houses, not from their own, in an attempt to discourage favoritism.
Rosalinde considered the judges input a matter of formality. Though they would assign a score so that the participants could be placed in a ranked order, she could choose to dismiss their votes altogether and choose the lowest scoring competitor if she so wished. It wasn’t often done that way, but it had happened in the past.
She sighed and pushed away thoughts of the Match. It would be here soon enough without her worries. Instead she tuned in to the conversations around her. There were small clumps of people here and there down the table and throughout the room, and all seemed to be talking about the sudden appearance of the Night house.
Now that she was listening, she wished she wasn’t. Every scrap of conversation that fell against her ears seemed to whisper, Cassian, Cassian. Rosalinde did her best to ignore them, or at least pretend to. She didn’t like the way they spoke of him as if he were some sort of mysterious hero, when all she could see was a villain.
The more she thought about it, she couldn’t pinpoint any specific wrongs he had done, aside from his obnoxious smirk when she’d fallen, but his very presence felt wrong. He had invaded her home, her one chance to choose her husband, and last night he’d been an uninvited guest inside her head. Not only when Alaric was there, either. She’s spent the whole night tossing and turning, running from the wielder of Darkness.
Ros bit into a slice of apple. It was tarter than she expected and her lips puckered in response.
“Princess Rosalinde, please, put those lips away while we’re in public. There’s plenty of time for that later,” a voice purred by her ear.
Rosalinde felt heat crawling up her neck as she turned to see Florian dressed all in black, the Fire house emblem sewn on his left sleeve. She didn’t acknowledge his words, instead asking, “Already dressed for the tourney?”
He flashed her a wide grin. “I’m coming off a bit too eager, aren’t I?”
She smiled. “Maybe a bit.”
Florian motioned to the seat beside her and she nodded that he could sit. He piled a plate with sausage, bacon, and a thick biscuit he coated in butter and honey. Ros watched him dig in, unabashed to be gulping down food in front of the Heir Apparent.
When half his plate was gone, he pulled back as if to take a breath and acknowledge Ros watching him. “Forgive me, Your Highness. I’m absolutely famished. I’m afraid last night I had too much wine and too little food.”
“Please, have your fill,” she said, gesturing towards the piles of food along the table.
“The food is good, to be sure, but it’s you I can’t seem to get enough of.”
Ros nearly choked on the drink she was taking. After a second, she said, “Bold words, sir.”
“I thought perhaps a bit of boldness would be refreshing.”
“Aye,” she laughed. “It can be.”
“Then let me be bold, Rosalinde.” Florian reached forward and took her hand, startling her. Boldness indeed! “I am not here to impress the judges or the other mages. Though I care for your parents’ opinions of me, it is your favor I desire. I will have your hand.”
She pulled her hand from his and moved for her cup to hide her discomfort. Over the rim she asked, “And how will you impress me, Florian of Fire house?”
He flashed a disarmingly perfect grin and said, “With feats of grandeur, my talents, skills, and prowess in the Match, if it please you.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
His brows creased for a moment. “It must. That is the way of things.”
A figure seemed to materialize from the air beside her. She looked up to find Cassian there, dark eyes smoldering down at her. His voice sounded urgent when he asked, “Your Highness, are you in need of rescue?”
“Excuse me?” she asked, looking between him and Florian.
“I saw this wild bore spouting his nonsense and thought perhaps you needed a reprieve.”
Florian flew to his feet and closed the distance between himself and Cassian. “You dare speak that way to me? Do you know who I am?”
The amusement on Cassian’s face was so pure, Ros found herself smiling at the exchange despite the seriousness.
Cassian said, “I’m certain every person in the vicinity knows who you are, Fire lordling. And if anyone forgets, you’ll be more than happy to remind them with your empty words.”
Florian rested his index finger against Cassian’s chest. “Don’t challenge me, boy, or you won’t live to regret it.”
“Why? Will you harangue me with your useless talk until I beg for death?”
Florian pushed against Cassian and growled. “You’ve been warned.” He started to storm away, but caught himself before he’d made it too far. He turned back to Rosalinde and dipped his head. “Your Highness, I look forward to speaking with you again later, once the rats have been removed from the room.”
Cassian laughed as Florian stomped away. He turned to Ros and said, “That was really the best he could come up with?”
“He’d spent so much time preparing his words for me, he likely didn’t have time to rehearse a witty response to your banter.”
“Good point, my lady.” Cassian bowed low to her and said, “Forgive my intrusion into your conversation. If you wish it, I will apologize to the halfwit and give my oath never to rescue you again.”
Ros laughed. This was a completely different man than the one she’d met the night before. The Cassian from the banquet was mysterious and dark, wearing either a scowl or a smirk. This man who told jokes and laughed so freely, he was incompatible with the man who had haunted her dreams.
“I’m always grateful to the kind soul who saves me from whatever disaster I’ve landed in.”
“Ah, but this one isn’t entirely your fault. Men make disasters of themselves in the presence of great beauties. You just have the bad fortune of being lovely.”
Ros was grateful the Night mage chose that time to
fill his plate rather than look at the burning in her cheeks. After he’d gathered a vast array of food, he bowed again, though not as deeply as before, and said, “Forgive me, Princess, but now I must take my leave.”
“You won’t join me to break fast?”
“I have much to do before the tournament this afternoon. Best I am on my way.”
“Practicing for the event?” she asked. She wasn’t sure why she was postponing his departure, but something about his desire to leave made her want him to stay.
“No, nothing like that,” he chuckled. “I must care for my horses before I attend to business in town.”
“We have grooms to assist with your horses.”
“That’s kind, thank you. But I prefer to handle them myself. I care for them daily, so it would be easier for them if I’m there. They know me.”
“Six horses?” she asked, remembering the simple carriage from the night before. “Each a different color.”
He smiled as he bit into the apple in his hand. With a nod of farewell, he left without another word.
Chapter 8
Rosalinde stood behind the curtain in the arena’s royal booth. She watched the seats fill as nobles and commonfolk filed into the rows side-by-side. There were no specialty seats, no preferential treatment, just open air and the best view for whomever reached the stadium first.
As her eyes wandered the quickly filling seats, she saw Larkin climbing the steps towards her. She wore a plain green dress and tall brown boots, a far cry from the extravagant red gown she had worn the night before. Still, she was lovely in her house colors.
“Good day, Ros,” Larkin said, slipping behind the curtain to join Ros after the guards waved her through. “Nervous?”
“More than I should be.”
Larkin took her hand and squeezed. “You’re going to have to spend years with one of these idiots. Nervous is probably in line with where you should be. I’d be more worried if you were excited.”
Ros laughed. “You know, one of those idiots is your brother.”
“Oh, I know. He’s probably the worst of them all.”
“You don’t mean that,” Ros said. “Zandor is a good fellow.”
Larkin nodded. “Aye, he is. He’s smart and kind, generous. And he’s got a good head on his shoulders. If you chose him, he would do his best to make you happy. But that doesn’t mean he would be a good king.”
Rosalinde’s eyes widened at her words. “What are you saying?”
Larkin sighed. “You have to pick someone you can live with, someone you can work with through the years to make Talabrih the best it can be. I love my brother and I would be delighted to have you as my family, but there’s more at stake here than what would make us happy. You’re not just picking a husband this week—you’re picking our king.”
Ros swallowed. It was something she already knew, but hearing the words spoken by someone else made everything feel more real. This wasn’t just a match for a high noble’s hand. She had to make a match for her whole kingdom.
“Are there any you would pick, if you were in my position?”
She surveyed the men lining up below them. “I honestly don’t know what I would do. But I’m glad I’m not you.”
“Not helpful.”
Larkin smiled. “You’ll make the right choice. I believe in you.”
“Are you two having a moment?” Elsabet asked as she stepped into the royal box.
Larkin said, “That’s basically all we do. I’m surprised you don’t already know that, little spy.”
Elsa grinned. “You say that like it’s an insult.”
“What do you want, Els?” Ros asked, trying to stop them from taking their squabble too far.
“I don’t want anything, sister. I came to support you. But I can leave, if you don’t want me here.”
Rosalinde’s features softened. “Of course I want you here.”
Larkin’s face registered surprise for a moment before she muttered, “Right. I’m related to a competitor.”
“Yeah, too bad,” Elsa said, mock sincere. “Guess you’ll have to watch from somewhere else. Might I suggest as far from here as possible?”
“You just want to watch me walk away,” Larkin said. She blew Elsa a kiss as she started to leave.
Elsa rolled her eyes. “In your dreams, Zolto.”
Ros smirked, unable to hide her amusement. Elsa had never told Ros her preferences one way or another, but as she did indeed watch Larkin walk away, it seemed possible that Larkin might’ve been more accurate than she realized. The tension between the two was palpable, and something about it felt different than their normal bickering. Elsa’s skin was flushed, her lips pressed tight, in a rare peek under her mask.
She wished her sister would confide in her more. The idea that they might someday be close was a hope Ros held dear. But she would never force Elsa to confess something she wasn’t ready to talk about. Her sister was welcome to love whoever she wanted and Ros would always support her. Hopefully Elsa knew that.
After a few minutes, Elsa’s calm exterior was back in place. Ros didn’t bother asking her about the encounter, afraid it would cause her to clam up. Instead, she gestured down to the men receiving their instructions and asked, “Do you have a favorite?”
Elsa surveyed them with detached interest. Finally, she said, “I’ll have a better idea after they show their skills today. Right now, I’m leaning towards William Delaney.”
“Really? Another Water mage?”
Elsa nodded. “He specializes in Hurricanes. It would be a good mix with your Tsunamis if we ever went to war.”
“War?” Ros asked. “Good grief, Elsa. Why would you even say that?”
Elsa didn’t look up at her sister, but kept her eyes on the men below as she said, “Take it from someone who spends a great deal of time lurking and listening to things she isn’t supposed to: we aren’t that far from the possibility of war. A misstep here, a misunderstanding there. The Air house is already growing bolder than Father would like. That’s why he wants you to marry from Fire. It would establish his allegiance from three houses and make it less likely they would attack.”
“You know about that?”
“Of course,” Elsa said, rolling her eyes. “And I know Mother wants to secure a stronghold for Earth house. The problem is that the houses are so loyal to themselves, they have no room in their hearts for the throne. Father needs to disband the houses and make them all pledge loyalty to Talabrih, but he won’t.”
“Why not?”
“A lot of reasons. Too many to go into here. But the basics are that it would be hard, he would have to start fights with the house lords in the hopes of stopping an all-out war, but might end up with one anyway. And you know how he is. He’d rather try diplomacy and believe the lies these people spout at him rather than make a decision that would require bloodshed.”
“I had no idea you were so interested in politics.”
“I’m not,” Elsa said. “I just figure you’ll end up with some schmuck of a husband and you’ll need my help running the country.”
“Except you’re only three years from being married off and living with a schmuck of your own.”
Elsa shrugged. “I don’t plan on getting married.”
“No?” Ros asked with a soft chuckle. “How are you going to manage that?”
“We’ll see. A lot can happen in three years.”
The four house judges sat in the row ahead of the royal box, signaling the start of the Great Match. Ros and Elsa moved to their seats, but Ros found herself leaning forward with nervous excitement. She looked down at the empty lowered pit where the contestants would compete. The arena’s seats formed a circle around it and she saw clumps of red, green, silver, and blue throughout the stadium denoting groups from each house. For the most part, the full stands looked like a beautiful kaleidoscope of color.
In addition to the house members cheering on their participants, there were townsfolk from near and far f
illing the arena, waving flags of different colors, and cheering on their favorites. From her time out in the local towns and villages during previous festivals, Ros knew the competitor’s families often paid people to walk the towns and gather supporters for them by telling wild, heroic stories. Sometimes they even made promises of payment for the person who cheered the loudest.
Though the challenges through the week would be surprises for the contestants, the opening ceremony was a chance to display their power. The men would’ve prepared something spectacular for their individual events, often practicing for months at a time before performing at the Great Match. It was always one of Rosalinde’s favorite times, showing a glimpse into the men’s creativity as well as their ingenuity.
Queen Sariyah slipped into the royal box and sat down with her daughters. Ros looked for her father to follow, and when he didn’t, worry crashed into her gut. She couldn’t recall a single time he’d missed the opening of the Great Match.
“Where’s Father?” Elsa asked, seemingly feeling the same sense of dread.
“I don’t know,” the Queen said, barely able to be heard among the rumbling of the cheers.
Ros said, “But the Match—”
“I know,” Sariyah cut her off. “He disappeared shortly after breakfast. I’ve sent a squad of guards to find him, but we must keep this quiet in the meantime. Smile, perform, and let no one know something is amiss.”
Ros and Elsa both opened their mouths to protest, but the Queen held up her hand and mouthed, “Trust me.”
There was nothing else to do. Queen Sariyah was a wise woman, and if she said this was the best course of action, the girls believed her.
A herald’s voice broke into Rosalinde’s thoughts as they called, “Esteemed guests from near and far, it is with great honor that I present your heroes.”
The men paraded in a circle through the ring. All wore the same black clothes, the only color the emblem on their arm denoting their house. As they marched to the clapping and cheers, the chanting of their names, Ros noticed a current of murmuring running under their excitement. Her eyes trailed the voices, trying to pinpoint their source.
Water House Page 4
