by Everly Frost
My destination is the armory. To avoid the majority of elves, we take the less busy path along the river. It doesn’t take more than a glance from my warriors for passersby to get out of the way.
Halfway along the river, an object sails over my ladies’ heads. With lightning reflexes, Jordan snatches it out of the air, crushing it. Oddly, she doesn’t look worried. We don’t stop and I trust my warriors to be on the alert, but Jordan falls back and opens her fist to show me what she caught.
Lavender petals from a gladiolus flower float to the grass.
I crane my neck to see the elf who threw it. “What does this mean?”
“The gladiolus flower symbolizes honor and strength,” Jordan says. “I’m sure she meant for me to catch it, not crush it.”
“Who?”
In response to my question, my ladies separate long enough for me to glimpse the young female running to keep up beside us. She has bare feet, wears a patched dress, clearly from a minor House. She can’t be more than eleven years old. As soon as she sees me, she cries, “Have courage, Princess. We’re with you.”
Then she veers off, racing swiftly away.
I open my palm for Jordan to drop the flower into it. It’s an incredible gift from a stranger, let alone a young female who could hardly afford it. I tuck it away in my pocket.
I jolt as another female voice cries from nearby. “Have courage, Princess!”
“We’re with you, Princess!”
“Have strength!”
“You honor us!”
“Jordan,” I whisper. “What’s going on?”
“I wish I could show you, but it’s best if we keep you protected.” She grins. “But I think it’s fair to say that you have support.”
The cries of encouragement continue all along the river, only fading once we reach the more populated trading district. We make a straight line for the armory and my ladies clear a path without any issues.
Jordan swings the doors open. “This is the Storm Command,” she announces. “Clear the building!”
The male and female workers file out around us. The head Armorer pauses to speak with Jordan for a moment, before departing without causing a problem. A flash of silver coin tells me why that went so smoothly.
“They’re used to us coming and going, but we don’t often ask them to leave,” Jordan explains, since I’ve never been here before. Something I intend to change today.
The protective circle opens to reveal walls of weapons of every kind. I head straight for the daggers, looking them over. When I point to one, Jordan gets it down and tests it for weight and balance. She shakes her head until the fourth one. It’s smaller than the others, but that’s a good thing because it can be concealed more easily.
“Now, what we need is…” She chooses from three different types of strapping that one of my Storm Command has produced and hands the chosen one to me. I shimmy up my dress and attach the soft belt around my thigh, pulling it tight and firm. A flat leather pouch is firmly attached at the side.
Another one of my Storm Command hands Jordan a pair of leather gloves. Not taking any chances, Jordan places both the gloves and the dagger on a nearby wooden table. I pull on the gloves and reach for the weapon.
If this works…
I brace for the storm’s power as I pick up the dagger.
Nothing happens and I grin. The leather provides a protective barrier between me and the metal. I slide the dagger into the pouch at my thigh. It won’t light up until I touch it with my bare hands.
Now I can carry weapons. Arrogant males like Rhydian Valor won’t get the better of me again. I spin to face my smiling Storm Command. “How many of these can I carry at once?”
When we get back to my quarters, Elise paces in the hallway. As soon as she sees me, she pounces. “The compatibility test has been announced.”
The happiness I felt at being able to protect myself dissolves. I brace for what she’s about to tell me. I’m ready for anything.
“They’re sticking with the traditional test.”
I blink at her. “Really? No tricks, no traps?”
“It looks like it.”
Jordan is cautious beside me. “That’s a good thing, isn’t it? It’s the same test we did.”
I can’t help but worry. “It should be, but it seems too straight forward.”
Elise urges me down the corridor. “The Elven Command has had a lot of backlash about the last trial. I think they’re trying to regain control. Keeping with the traditional test is the smart thing to do.”
I head to my bedroom, pull on the gloves, and unclasp the belt around my thigh. We ended up finding one with multiple pockets for my right leg, along with one for my opposite knee and one for my waist. I can’t have too many daggers. I lay them out on the table one after the other while Elise gapes.
“Princess…?”
I grit my teeth. “I won’t be defenseless again. And from now on, I carry gloves so I can punch the lights out of any male who means to harm me.”
She gasps beside me and to my surprise, tears suddenly slide down her cheeks. “I’m sorry I didn’t think of that before.”
I spin to her. “Elise, no, this isn’t your fault. We didn’t know what the Elven Command was planning. Or how far they’d go. Now we’ll be prepared.”
She gulps and nods. She pulls herself upright, smoothing down her dress. “The test is tomorrow. Before you go in, I will check the room myself. I won’t allow any tricks.”
“Thank you, Elise. I know you’ll make sure it’s safe.”
I study my new weapons. I won’t be going unprepared.
28. Marbella Mercy
I sit in a darkened room and face an empty chair. A transparent screen rests between me and the other side of the room. Elise swept both sides and tested the screen to make sure it can’t be broken. The male who sits opposite me won’t be able to get to me.
Still, I carry as many weapons as I can. From now on, the weapons belts will be the first thing I put on in the morning and the last thing I take off at night. I’m wearing a flowing silk dress with multiple folds to hide the bulk underneath. My gloves are tucked into a pocket at the side.
I suppose I look demure, waiting primly in the chair, my hair in a single braid resting across my shoulder.
The Elven Command watches from the side, also behind a transparent screen. Elise sits with them but her seat is moved to the side. They can hear everything but they can’t control the outcome. Each champion will bring his heartstone to this test and after completing it, the Heartstone Chest will either accept his stone back or refuse it. There’s no tricking it.
The only thing the Elven Command can control is the order in which the champions enter the room. The door opens at the side and I hold my breath, waiting to see who’s first.
Jasper Grace strides into the room. He’s leaner than Baelen but has a bearing that somehow fits with his House. I wouldn’t call it graceful, but he carries himself with an efficiency of movement that makes it clear he can move fast if he wants to. He takes a knee beside the empty chair, head bowed. “Princess.”
“Hello, Jasper.”
He sits without hesitation and I have to admire the fact that he didn’t pause. His head shoots up as the magic takes hold, his brown eyes widening ever so slightly at the strange, compelling sensation he’s now feeling.
The compatibility test is as much about truth as personality. The spells cast over the champion’s chair force him to tell the truth and speak his mind even if he doesn’t want to.
It’s also incredibly unfair, because my chair isn’t spellcast at all. I can tell as many lies and ask as many questions as I want.
He speaks first, compelled to say what he’s thinking. “Are you okay?” he asks. “Are you still hurt?”
“I’m fine now, thank you Jasper.”
“I can’t stop seeing the arena, replaying it in my head. I couldn’t get to Commander Rath. I couldn’t get to you. I can still hear you scream.” He gr
ips the handles on the chair, one fist clenched over his heartstone. His jaw flexes and I know he doesn’t want to tell me any of this.
I interrupt him so he doesn’t have to continue. “I have a question for you, Jasper.”
He looks relieved and grateful, but his grip on the heartstone remains strong.
I lean forward and try not to smile. “Did you peek?”
His forehead crinkles, but his frown quickly clears. He remembers the night on the mountains when I had to remove the top of my suit to patch my back.
He says, “No.”
“Good.” Let the Elven Command puzzle over that one. “Do you have any family?”
“I have a sister. Younger.”
I ask him other questions about his family, his favorite things, his childhood. He slowly relaxes. He tells me about his grandmother who used to sing stories to him as a boy. He tells me about his sister who sews roses out of silk for the major Houses. He tells me about military training and meeting my brother there. He doesn’t smile. He never does.
I avoid any questions that really matter. Until the last one. It could be dangerous, but I set my features into a pleasant expression and keep it glued to my face. No matter what he says, I can’t react.
I say, “I’m sorry to push you on this, but I need to know… which story you believed about the night I became the Storm Princess.”
“I don’t want to tell you that.”
“Why not?”
“Because you don’t want to think about it. Not really.”
My composure slips. Somehow this male reads me too well. And all without giving anything about his own emotions away.
I tense. Breathe. Relax. “You’re right. I hate remembering it. But it’s just a story. It can’t hurt me.”
He nods. “Some people say that you deliberately climbed the mountain during the storm because you wanted to be the Princess. Other people say you were in the right place at the right time. Some people say that you climbed the mountain because you intended to jump off and kill yourself but the Storm got to you first.”
I blink. That’s one I hadn’t heard before.
“But the story I believe…” He doesn’t grip the sides of the chair anymore. He leans forward, watching me watching him. His brown eyes soften as his lips part.
“The only story that holds truth for me is the one where you took the lightning strike for someone else. You did it to protect someone.”
The blood drains from my face. Despite all my efforts not to show any emotion, I can’t find my voice. I whisper. “Thank you, Jasper. For telling me the truth.”
He jumps out of the chair. He glares at it. But he quickly buries his discomfort and turns to me with military precision. “Princess.”
Then he takes a knee, bowing to me again before striding out of the room. I fix my eyes on a point in the distance and force my face into an expression of nothingness, serenity, anything other than the storm of emotions I actually feel.
The door opens again.
Sebastian Splendor enters the room, bows beside the chair, but pauses, frowning at it. He slides into it but he’s already gripping the armrests, his knuckles white around his heartstone.
He doesn’t want to be here. I don’t want him here either. I want him out of the trials and with Jordan where he belongs. That’s okay because I’m going to make sure that happens.
I lean forward, raising my voice, shooting fire straight at him. “Who do you love, Sebastian Splendor?”
“Jordan. Always.”
“Could you ever, in a million years, love me?”
He shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Princess. My heart is hers.”
“Thank you, Sebastian. For telling me the truth.”
He leaps out of the chair and spins to me, his face pale. He glimpses his grandfather through the transparent shield at the side and instantly Sebastian becomes wooden and emotionless. He drops to a knee. “Princess.”
Three champions remain and Baelen is one of them. I hold my breath, but the next to appear is Pedr Bounty’s grandson. He was the one who held Jasper back.
He pauses beside the chair, twisting his heartstone in his hands, glancing between where I sit and the Elven Command watching from the side. Like all the champions, he’s big and brawny, the perfect choice for the job of blocking another male.
I won’t go easy on this male.
I say, “They can’t help you. This is the part where you have to face yourself.”
He slides into the chair, staring at a point past my ear.
I remain silent until his gaze finally flicks to mine. I say, “What do you see when you look at me?”
He struggles, shifting in the chair, refusing to answer.
I don’t smile. I don’t feel anything. “You can’t get out until I say the words that will release you. Does that make you feel helpless?”
“Yes.”
“Do you think that’s how I felt when Rhydian Valor’s body pressed on top of mine? When he stabbed me over and over again?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want to shout? Fight back? Escape?”
“N-no.”
I lift my eyebrows. “Why not?”
“Because I deserve to feel this way.”
“Hmm. I’m going to ask you again: what do you see when you look at me?”
“I see a…” He frowns, looking over me from my head to my toes, from my braid down the lines of my dress to my ankles. Sweat breaks out on his forehead. “I don’t have the words.”
I narrow my eyes and spit the order. “Try!”
He jolts like I punched him. “I see a storm of power and light. I see burning and chaos. I see a girl on a mountain. The wind’s beating her, lightning’s striking, claws are ripping, but she’s fighting back. I see death and life. The only safe place is beside her. Beside you.”
He thumps the armrest. Shakes his head. Grips his heartstone so hard I’m concerned he might break it. He’s breathing way too hard. “I see my death. And I don’t know if you’re the one killing me or saving me.”
My lips part. I almost fly out of my chair. I itch for the steel so close to my thigh. “I should kill you for what you did.”
“Yes.” He wipes the sweat from his eyes, but doesn’t say anything else.
I stare at the floor for a long time. “I’m going to tell you what to do but it’s up to you whether you do it.”
He waits.
“Leave this place and never look back. Leave your House and all its trappings. Find a female who can bear to love you, build her a house, and give her children who will miss you when you die. But whatever you do…” I lift my eyes to his. “Do not cross paths with me again.”
He nods.
“Thank you, Gwynn. For telling me the truth.”
He’s the slowest to get up. He takes a knee, bows, and pauses on the floor. “You won’t see me again, Princess.”
Then he rises and strides from the room.
The second-last male enters the room. This time it’s the one who cornered Sebastian. If Rhydian Valor is a gorilla, this male is an ox, thick and bullish. Unlike the male before him, he saunters into the room, his heartstone held casually in his hand. He drops into the chair.
Ice drips from my tongue. “You forgot to bow.”
“Why should I bow to—”
The magic takes hold. His head snaps up so fast it sounds like a breaking log. “I should have bowed.”
“Hmm.”
He’s from a major House but not one that’s represented on the Elven Command, which means it’s likely he’s been raised with all the privilege and none of the responsibility.
I tap my fingers across my knee. “Explain to me why you didn’t bow.”
“The Princess’s job is to serve. She’s the one who should be bowing.”
“Who taught you that rubbish?”
“My father.”
“And who is your father?”
“Phillip of the House of Faith.”
I file
that name away. “Is he a good father?”
“No, he’s a drunk. He beats the servants and treats my mother badly.” His eyes widen. Shame turns his face red.
“Then why do you believe a word he says?”
“I…” Now he’s fighting the magic. His knee bounces up and down, jiggling. He fidgets with the heartstone. “Because he’s my father.”
“Not good enough! You made enemies in that arena. Males I would never want as my enemies. But worst of all, you made an enemy of the Storm. What is your next move?”
“I thought I’d win. I beat Sebastian Splendor. That means I’m good enough.”
I swallow a laugh. “Look around you and have another think about that.”
His gaze darts around the empty room and meets the Elven Command. As much as I’ve lost all respect for them, they present a picture of regal power. Sebastian’s grandfather, in particular, doesn’t look impressed.
The male says, “I only did what they wanted.”
“Yes, but do you think they’re going to protect you? Is your father going to protect you? Is anyone going to protect you… from me?”
Let this sniveling idiot make it through the trials. I’ll be happy to kill him. Without realizing, my hand has moved to my thigh, seeking the steel resting there and the power that comes with it. I wonder if an electrified dagger could break through the shield…
He shakes his head, compelled to answer. “No. They won’t.”
I lean forward. “Then what is your next move?”
“I… don’t know.” He presses his lips together, visibly fighting the impulse to speak. His fingernails dig into the heartstone so hard they’re bleeding. “I don’t like this. I can’t stop saying what I’m thinking.”
“It’s called the truth.”
“I don’t like it.” He tugs at the chair, breathing hard. He’s panicking but I have no sympathy for him.
He says, “Am I going to die?”
I want to scream at him, but I swallow it down. “Yes.”
“I don’t want to die here.”
“Then don’t. It’s your choice.”
His hands quake against the armrests, banging against them. “I don’t want to go home. I hate it there.”
