Trial of Thorns (Wicked Fae Book 1)

by Stacey Trombley

  I curl my lip, not taking my eyes off of my sworn enemy. She does not even glance towards us. It makes me hate her even more.

  A snowy owl soars through the open hall and its squawking covers the silence in the room. “What is she doing here?” my mother whispers.

  “She’s been invited to the trials,” my father says calmly, though he still stands, watching her intently as she finds her place at the Shadow Court table. “I didn’t think she’d have the gall to actually show up.”

  I clench my jaw. “I can’t believe they would have the gall to invite her,” I say. “Or the other High Lords to allow it.”

  “She is their champion?” my mother asks, her voice a mere whisper.

  If I could kill this betrayer from here, I would. In fact, what would be the punishment? Banishment to the human world like she got for murdering a High Court heir? Worth it.

  Whispers sound through the hall. Some of the most infamous fae in modern history have piled into this room, and yet it’s her that holds the attention. Her, because she’s the root of a feud. She’s no one. Meaningless. Except that my family has sworn to kill her.

  And I fully intend to fulfill that vow.

  “SILENCE!” WE ALL TURN to face the source of the booming voice at the podium in the front of the room. The queen of all fae stands, facing every important faery in the world. Fae of every kind, from every court, have packed into the Flicker Court estate to witness these historic games.

  The queen’s auburn hair glimmers as she scans the room. Her face is harsh, sharp cheek bones and sunken eyes. Not a wrinkle in sight, but there are other signs of age. She was over one hundred when she was chosen as High Court Queen. Her hundred years of ruling is nearly passed. She’s not anywhere near to death, but her energy runs low. Her retirement will be well met, I assume. Ten more years and still no new heir has been chosen.

  “Tomorrow, we will begin the first Trial of Thorns in one thousand years,” she announces. The room cheers. This is quite a historic event, indeed.

  The Trial of Thorns is legendary. No one alive has witnessed one.

  Every one hundred years we choose a new ruler of the High Court—that is about the only thing that remains the same today. How we chose our rulers was quite different a millennia ago.

  In the past, all twelve original courts would compete, sending their most elite young people. The winner would become the next high ruler.

  This barbaric ritual not only resulted in killing off some of the strongest fae, it often resulted in a very violent king or queen. One who lusted for power and had been willing to rip and steal their way to the top.

  Things have changed significantly in the last few thousand years. The courts have changed, and the way we choose our ruler is entirely different—more civilized.

  After many wars and splits and betrayals, there are now fifteen courts, instead of twelve, but only eight of those are “ruling” courts. The others are lesser. Weaker. The High Court ruler still changes every hundred years, but they are chosen politically and only from the eight strongest courts.

  “Instead of choosing a ruler, we will be choosing a hero. A savior of our entire realm.”

  I clench my teeth. It doesn’t matter what the queen tells us, because she still has not chosen a replacement heir—those of the lesser courts think this is their chance to reclaim their power. They think if a lesser court wins, they’ll stand a chance at having a High Court ruler again.

  “Our champions have been chosen and will compete to become the savior of our world. Most of you have witnessed the plague known as the scourge. Our forests are decaying, our precious children dying, our cities crumbling.”

  Much of our infrastructure is based on magic, so not only are fae dying but our very way of life—clean water and crops, transportation and communication—has dissolved where the scourge has hit.

  “As the scourge grows, so shrinks our hope to outlive it. But today, I am here to tell you that there is a cure.”

  The room breaks into applause.

  “The High Court, the council, and every ruling court has spent the last several years seeking a way to save our world, our people. We have found the source and learned how to stop it.”

  The room hushes. Even as heir to one of the ruling courts, this is information I know little of. We’ve been told of a cure, but not the details of how it was found.

  “Deep inside the Schorchedlands, the cure has been hidden. We require a savior to retrieve it. Since the cursed walls of our hell will only allow one living soul to return every year, we will choose only one. The strongest. The most cunning. A champion that will not fail us. Each court has been given the opportunity to choose their champion. The Trial of Thorns will decide only one victor to become our world’s savior.”

  The crowd claps politely, eyes darting to examine the fifteen courts and their supposed champions. Many are well-known and unsurprising.

  My brother was the previous High Court heir. Until that no-one betrayer from the Shadow Court murdered him in cold blood.

  After his death, most expected I’d be chosen in his stead. But after ten years, the queen has still made no such announcement. Now, the rumors of my weakness grow daily.

  I am not weak, and I intend to prove it. The other courts have propelled the rumors that I am lacking to promote their own agendas. Why else would the Queen refuse me? They ask. Truthfully, that’s a question I’d like answered myself.

  “Tomorrow, we will begin, but there is one provision I must make clear here and now. No champion is to be harmed. If any champion dies by another fae’s hand—any fae—outside of the trials, the punishment will be steep. The killer will be put to death immediately. Without trial.”

  I twist away from the queen to watch my sworn enemy. Thin and beautiful. Aloof. Her face fill of disdain. I’m going to kill her at my first opportunity. Though I am not the only one who will try. The queen knows this, which I assume is why she’s set this rule so clearly and forcefully.

  I can’t kill her yet. But I noticed the wording in the queen’s warning.

  Any champion that is killed outside of the trials will incur a steep punishment. But if they happen during the trials?

  My lips turn up into a bitter smile and acidic joy fills my heart. I have my plan.

  She’ll see it coming, of course. But that will only make the hunt that much more fun.

  Caelynn

  I keep my attention tight on the queen of the fae. Her amber eyes find mine, and I find no solace. She turns away quickly. Of course, she hates me as much as the others—I killed her chosen heir—but her position prompts her to at least hide it.

  I can feel their heated gazes on me. Fae from all over the realm who hate me.

  Reveln’s eyes pierce me, so dull they appear more gray than silver.

  I hold my gaze steady on the queen as she addresses the crowd, avoiding meeting Reveln’s harsh stare. Even so, I can’t help but register several things about him in the precious instants my eyes dart his way then back.

  He’s filled out a lot since the last time I saw him, his body sharper, harder than as an adolescent. That’s the thing about coming back here like this—I have a lot of history with the other contestants, even if I haven’t interacted with them very much.

  Rev— well, Rev more than anyone else.

  His hair is dark, his shoulders broad, his eyes a dimmer silver than I remember—though I suspect I can blame myself for that. Seeing me causes him pain. That’s a fact I’ve got to live with.

  I may never see the full beauty of his eyes, so very much like his brother’s. Eyes I darkened forever.

  Finally, he turns his attention away from me and towards his queen, political favor winning out over his hatred. Now that I know he isn’t watching my every move; I dare a glace up to the agitated bird perched in the rafter above. Her clucking has calmed into a dull murmur.

  Then, I very carefully examine the fae prince I haven’t seen in over a decade.

  My gaze flic
ks to his hands first, thick fingers gripped in a tight fist, then up his muscled forearm covered in tattoos. Those are new. Black lines twist and curve like a maze of roots and thorns and disappear under the rolled sleeves of his grey tunic.

  I continue my search over his body—my competition. My enemy.

  I pass over his broad chest and shoulders, covered in a thick leather vest, quickly. Those only tell me what I already know—he is battle ready.

  Past his long neck and sharp chin, my eyes linger on his plump lips, soft and delicate unlike every other part of his body. The brutal lines of his cheeks, the anger in his eyes.

  Reveln is harsh and brutal and eager to kill.

  Me. He’s eager to kill me.

  I didn’t need to examine him so closely to come to this conclusion, but I could use the reminder. I’m sure he’ll give me plenty of those in the coming days.

  “Tomorrow we will begin,” the queen says with her smooth, eerie tone, “by introducing each of our chosen champions. A representative of each and every court. Fifteen of our strongest fae will compete in this severe competition. At noon, our first challenge will begin. By the end of this month, our savior will be chosen.”

  The room begins a frantic whispering. I keep silent, focused straight ahead. Usually the trials would last for a minimum of three months. So this expedited version will prove to be intense.

  “We will not cut from the number of trials or their severity. There will simply be less time to recuperate between challenges, which will be a realistic representation of what you will face if you are chosen for this important quest.

  “As you all know, we do not have time to waste. We must choose our champion as quickly as is feasible. But even more importantly, we must ensure we choose the right one. Politics cannot play a role. Not in this. We must choose the fae that is the most powerful, resourceful, brave, and brutal. Only the strongest fae can survive the Schorchedlands, and so, only the strongest fae will with these trials.”

  Failure is indeed not an option. I’ve not yet seen the devastation with my own eyes, but I don’t need to in order to understand the fate of faery in all forms is at risk. If they’d told me ten fae children have died from the scourge, I’d justify the trials. The number they’ve told me—three hundred—is inconceivable. That’s nearly a quarter of all faerie children in our world. Because we age so slowly, children are rare. Children are precious.

  I had considered leaving this world to their fate—I do not intend to take my place back in the Shadow Court, savior or not. But there are a few reasons I’ve decided to take the risk.

  Firstly—pure pride. I am able to win this, and I will prove it.

  Second, because I too believe every court should have the opportunity to rule, not only the most prosperous.

  Three, for all the cruelty in this world of wicked fae, their love of children will always remain. And it remains in me.

  I might be bad deep down. But I will fight for those that can’t fight for themselves. And maybe, just maybe, if I save them, I’ll redeem myself from my own condemnation. Maybe I’ll be able to live with myself one day.

  Caelynn

  The lights twinkle above my head as I stand over the railing of the Flicker Court balcony, looking out upon the land I lost when I was still an adolescent. The rolling hills flow with magic and talking trees. Lights and power and beauty the human world could never even comprehend.

  The trials are being held in the Flicker Court—home of fire fae—because this is the home of the current High Queen. Soon, the power of the High Court will shift to a new home. A new century, a new ruler, a new ruling court. The Luminescent Court should have been next, they still may be if Reveln is chosen as heir. But the Glistening Court, the Whirling Court, and the Crackling Court are all also in the running, from what I’ve heard. And the trials have the power to turn everything on its head.

  A soft wind tickles over my skin like a caress. Magic I’d thought lost fills my lungs in the most glorious way. I’m hundreds of miles from my homelands in the Shadow Court, but I am in the faery realm, and that alone makes me feel whole. For just one quick passage of time, I am home. A blink, and soon it will be gone, like it barely existed at all.

  I intend to make the most of it.

  Most of the Flicker Court lands are desert, but the western edge of the territory collides with the black sea, which allows for a surprising amount of lush vegetation—all red and orange in hue. To the west is a golden forest and black sea beyond, to the east and for many miles north is barren desert.

  I don’t recognize the swirl of pathways and the swaying amber trees—bright and glistening. But I do recognize the whisper of wild magic, unwieldy and raw.

  A sizzle of heat brushes my neck, and I shiver as his shadow falls over me. I blink quickly, surprised I hadn’t heard anyone approach, but I feel his presence now—thick and heavy. His anger ripples off of him in waves.

  “You came,” is all he says, his voice low and somber.

  I close my eyes and suppress a shiver. For a moment, I could pretend there wasn’t animosity in his tone. I can pretend that he is glad to be near me. I can pretend my presence doesn’t cause him pain.

  “It was too tempting an offer,” I say smoothly.

  “To see your homeland one more time before you suffer a violent death?” His words are as sharp as his obsidian blades.

  “Something like that.” It will be fitting for him to end my miserable life. “I intend to win,” I admit. Because I do. This competition was created to form ruthlessness. It was made to breed violence and sate the most power hungry of all faery.

  I am the worst of them all.

  And they don’t know it yet, but I am also the strongest of them all. The cost of this power was higher than it’s worth but since that price is long paid—I may as well use it for something important.

  Not that I expect the competition to be easy. No, I am sure I’ll face the brink of death a time or two before I end them all.

  But I will win.

  “Intention and completion are two very different things. The odds are stacked against you, betrayer.” He spits the last word, and I wince. A new pet name for me. Lovely.

  “And I just want you to know,” he continues slowly. He takes another step so close now I can feel his warmth. His rage. His power. The Luminescent Court is light and raw power. “When you fail, it will be me laughing over your cold corpse.”

  “Perhaps.”

  His warm breath tickles my ear, and I shiver in sick delight.

  “I’m going to make your every moment torture. You will lament the day you allowed me to lay eyes on you again.”

  His stomping feet echo away, and I let out a long breath. “I expect nothing less,” I say to the empty place he left behind.

  Rev

  “I cannot believe she is here. What is Zanter-Leisha thinking?” Brielle tosses her arms up in frustration, her red hair a strangled mess from all the times she’s run her fingers through it. “Allowing a fae murderer into her court?”

  “Especially that fae murderer,” Nante adds.

  I cross my arms and sink deeper into the cushioned chair by the flickering fire. I don’t blame their anger—Brielle hates the betrayer as much as anyone, and the High Queen is her great aunt. To her, this is a betrayal of very different kind.

  “They announced pardon for any fae who enters and wins, long before the Shadow Court chose a champion,” Rook says in a flat voice. Always logical.

  “Absurd!” Brielle says. “They knew. They knew the first moment they could get that girl back through the fae land gates, they’d do it. It fuels their damn rebellion.”

  I blink at her insight. “True.” Although, it’s only the beginning of a rebellion, the whisper of discontent. No violent action has been taken. Yet. Part of me wonders if allowing the lesser courts to enter—with the expectation they’ll lose quickly—was in an effort to quiet the rebellion, rather than fuel it.

  See, we’re gracious enough to g
ive you a chance.

  My emotions have been so strong for the last several hours that now I am simply exhausted. She is here. She will die. That’s all I need to know.

  I care about winning. I care about solidifying my place as heir to the High Court.

  Today is the final day before the trials begin, and I am already in a good place. I have friends in several of the highest-ranking courts, and we will all work together. Brielle is from the Flicker Court and has been close to our family since before my brother’s death. Rook is an old friend from the Twisted Court, which neighbors my own. Both powerful allies. Prickanante is Brielle’s tagalong friend from the Frost Court. She’s not very strong, but she’s a number, and I’ll take it.

  “How are you so calm?” Brielle huffs, the flames behind her blazing, twisting and then settling back down.

  “I’m focused. Winning is what matters now.” The sparks flutter through the air before fading into nothing.

  “So, you’ve... accepted it? Your sworn enemy. Your brother’s murderer has the chance to become a hero in our world and... you don’t care?”

  I clench my jaw and sit forward, pressing my forefinger to my temple. “Of course I care,” I say with a sharp anger. “I’m simply focusing my rage into something more productive than grumbling.”

  She rolls her eyes and snarls.

  Brielle hates the witch as much as any of us, so I cannot blame her for her passionate reaction. She’d barely known my brother, but they were fated mates. She would have been his bride. His lover. His queen. Together, they’d been destined to have an important child.

  That future is gone now, all because of the Shadow Court witch.

  “Fine. Whatever. Be all zen about it. But why? Tell me why they’d do this, to you, your family, your court, to me?”