Trial of Thorns (Wicked Fae Book 1)

by Stacey Trombley

  “So they don’t want you to win because of that? Or because of... what you told me last night.”

  I swallow. “Both.”

  She runs her fingertips over my shoulders absently. I shiver and then dunk my head under the water. I hold my hand out for the towel and use it to scrub my lower back and legs.

  “You made it past this one... does that mean the next will be easier?”

  I turn to face her, noticing a smudge on her nose. She’s markedly cleaner than I am but still—being a bird hasn’t done her any favors in the cleanliness department. I reach over and grab her a fresh towel. “I’m not the only dirty one,” I wink.

  She turns, but I think I notice a blush on her cheeks.

  “The next challenge will definitely not be easier. But... I suspect it’ll be less likely to result in my death.”

  She turns back, smiling faintly. “Well, I suppose that’s good news. When will be it be?”

  “Three days, I think. They’ve scheduled one day of full rest tomorrow. Then a ball the next day, which will be all posturing and annoying but whatever. It’ll probably give me a chance to recruit an ally or two.”

  “I thought everyone hated you?”

  I smirk. “Oh, they do. But some have other motives beyond destroying the lesser courts. I’m hoping I can solidify something with my dwarf friend, but maybe I can get someone else as well. Rev is my biggest enemy—or well, I’m his.”

  “You don’t hate him back?”

  I dip lower in the water until my lips just graze the surface. “No,” I whisper.

  She narrows her eyes at that response, but I don’t give any more explanation and she doesn’t pry any further.

  “But Rev is also the favorite to win this competition and to win the crown. There has to be someone else in the trials who is determined to beat him, and knowing how I affect him— “

  “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

  I smirk, my eyes shining.

  She tilts her head. “Why do your eyes grow brighter sometimes?”

  I blink and adjust my emotions, and Raven watches my eyes closely. “How do you do that?”

  “Fae eyes are a window to their souls. The color shows their element and their court, and the brightness is evidence of their strength. The strongest fae have very bright eyes.”

  “You’re pretty strong, then? Cause your eyes were like glowing just now.”

  I take in a long breath and nod. “I don’t want anyone else to see that, though. I don’t want them to know, especially if I’m to gain an ally or two. If they think I’m a threat to win the trials, they won’t align with me. If they think of me as only a tool to distract Rev—their real competition—and they can easily dispose of me later... it might work in my favor.”

  “So, how do you hide it?”

  “Pain,” I whisper. “Eyes dim, appearing dull when a fae is in pain.”

  “You hurt yourself?” Her face crumples in an adorable pout.

  “No. It’s not only physical pain that does it. Emotional pain can also dim eyes, and I’ve learned to channel it.”

  “Are you stronger than them?”

  “Yes,” I whisper.

  “Then you’re going to win this?”

  “I intend to.”

  Her soft brown eyes glisten as she studies me. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  Rev

  After a challenging trial and a night of drinking away my sorrows that the shade witch survived, my body is more than spent. I sleep almost the entire next day. I finally wake to bathe near evening and head for dinner with all of the reigning courts. Well, at least those left.

  The Cracking Court and the Frost Court, whose champions lost yesterday, have already shipped out. They sent me their support in the upcoming trials, but I suspect they’d sent the same message to the other six champions, just in case they’re the winners.

  My father frowns in disapproval at my disheveled state, but I ignore him. “Did you need to drink so heavily last night?” he asks under his breath as I sit beside him.

  “Yes.”

  My mother gives a polite laugh, but my father silently snarls. He can’t reprimand me here the way he does at home, not that I care if he does regardless. I stopped seeking my father’s approval long ago.

  I’ll never live up to my brother’s reputation—in his eyes at least—so why keep trying? I may as well live by my own expectations. By my own goals.

  He doesn’t even realize that his and mine are aligned. He only sees what he wants to see. A failure of a son. A pathetic heir.

  Why does he want to see that? Because he feels the need to continually feel sorry for himself and his loss of his true heir years ago. Poor, poor soul.

  I loved my brother, flaws and all. He was arrogant and powerful and charming when he felt the need for it. Those could be extremely worthwhile attributes in an ambitious fae heir. His short temper also made him a force to reckon with if things didn’t go just right.

  In fact, he was a hell of a lot like my father.

  My mother loved me, but my father, most of the time, despised me. He’s put on a good face in front of the other courts, if only to avoid weakening our reputation. One day, I will rule. He has no other heirs aside from a set of bastard twins he bore before he married my mother. According to fae law, they can’t inherit unless there are no other options.

  They are trained and educated like all other heirs, just in case.

  Over time, my father has shown his preference for them a bit too heavy handedly, and I am all but certain this attitude has played a role in why I haven’t yet been named heir to the High Court.

  “It really is in your best interest to keep your body as healthy and fit as possible,” my mother says, agreeing with my father in a more reasonable manner. “You know how those hallucinogens affect your body with so little time between trials.” My mother speaks low and smooth, quiet and calm enough the other courts don’t stop to listen. When my father badgers me they all turn to watch and snigger under their breaths.

  I’m over it, and I’ve learned to ignore it entirely.

  “There are emotional and social aspects to these trials far beyond physical. I’m prepared. I am strong. One night of drunken debauchery will not cost me the title. That much, I promise you.”

  My mother gives a low nod, almost a bow, and her black hair falls forward. “As long as you keep it to one night.” She studies me.

  “Of course.”

  And that’s the truth. I had intended to eat and head immediately back to sleep for the night. Tomorrow, I’ll wake for a workout and a long hot bath and take it easy until the ball.

  “No more drinking until at least after the next trial.” I hold my fist over my chest in promise.

  My mother smiles, and my father sneers. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

  I roll my eyes. It’s in two days. I’m pretty sure I can withhold drinking until then. Even the ball won’t be that much of a temptation. As a champion, I’ll be expected to show up for an hour or so then allowed to come and go as I please. I fully intend to take advantage of that.

  After a polite meal, the room packed with only reigning courts, Brielle comes to sit beside me. “Have you heard about the next challenge?” she whispers.

  “Not a word. Have you?”

  “Yes. Meet me in the common room in an hour, and we’ll talk about it.”

  I nod, and she laughs giddily like I’ve just told the funniest joke. She places her hands on my forearm—a fairly intimate gesture in such company. I eye it suspiciously.

  My mother notices, her stare settles on the delicate hand resting on my arm. My father glares at me.

  Brielle winks, then shuffles off to socialize elsewhere.

  My father approaches, leaning low to whisper. “Well played,” he says with enough acid that I wince.

  Brielle is strong—though she could use more courage out on the field—and influential in her court. If she doesn’t marry another heir, she very we
ll may end up queen of her own court. Her mated pair is dead, which means she is open and free for anyone. Whomever she marries will have quite a bit of power.

  If she were to marry me, my father would have no choice but to concede some of his ruling power or risk alienating a massively powerful court.

  That’s not something I’ve ever considered. Something about a romantic relationship with my dead brother’s betrothed seems... unnatural. But politically, it makes a lot of sense. Brielle is smart enough to know what she’s doing, so I should be grateful, but I worry that isn’t her only motive. I’ve seen the looks she gives me. Of course, she gives the same to Rook, so maybe it’s just her positioning herself, but even so, I can’t help but entertain the unnerving idea that she desires me.

  I WANDER UP TO THE champion’s common room on the fifth floor of the Flicker estate around the time Brielle said to meet. The hall is quiet except for a small human female in strange clothing that freezes when she sees me.

  I smile awkwardly, and she scampers off. Weird creatures.

  The fire flickers softly as I enter the common room. Both Rook and Brielle are waiting for me, drinks in hand.

  “There you are!” Brielle says dramatically, and I raise my eyebrows. “I wasn’t sure if something had kept you behind.”

  “You said an hour. It’s been fifty-five minutes.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Well we’ve been waiting fifteen minutes.”

  “If you meant forty-five minutes, then next time, tell me forty-five.”

  She grimaces, and I wink in her direction—if only to deflect her annoyance. In truth, I waited as long as I could to come up, just in case she was alone when I entered. I still have a lot to wrap my mind around.

  If her spectacle at dinner today was more than just trolling my father, I need to figure out how I feel about it.

  Logically, it’s a win-win. She’s beautiful, certainly. And being with her would greatly strengthen my resume in the fae world, but there is still something about it that causes my skin to crawl. Could I love her? Could I be with her? I don’t know.

  I wonder if that’s the real reason she is upset at my on-time-ness. She thinks I’m avoiding her. I was, but I don’t want her to be suspicious of my motives.

  “I’m sorry if I crossed a line,” she says, sitting in the cushioned chair, her shoulders slumped. The crackling fire beneath the stone chimney dims to a dull, low flame.

  “Not at all,” I say quickly. “No... Well, it took me by surprise, but I recognize how... advantageous it would be.”

  She smiles, though her eyes remain dim. Light amber, pretty but without its usual luster.

  Don’t alienate your best ally, Rev. “What would you think about accompanying me to the ball tomorrow?” I spit out.

  Her smile turns wicked, and of all the reactions she could have, I like that one the best. The mischievous expression twists my belly in a way her usual sweet demeanor never could.

  Maybe I could get over my aversion to her after all.

  She nods in acceptance.

  “Now, about this challenge,” I say, changing the subject. “What have you heard and from whom?”

  “My pix friend overheard the queen speaking with her advisors about the lack of physical exertion the second challenge will hold.”

  She has a pixie playing spy for her, does she?

  I nod. “Some of the courts have expressed worry that two physically intense challenges so close together could spell disaster. Of course, I say that would simply test our resolve and endurance thoroughly. It still doesn’t surprise me that they would vary the intensity of the trials. But the question remains—what? Will it be mental? Emotional?”

  “Fear,” Rook says with a low voice as he stares at the fire. I examine his stance, tense muscles, arms crossed, averting his attention from us. Is he bothered by Brielle’s new affection towards me? That I asked her to the ball?

  “That’s what they’re going to test?” I ask.

  He nods, finally turning to towards us. “My father’s spies have reliable information on this. They will be testing our fears.”

  I swallow. “Well, that will prove unpleasant.”

  Brielle nods. “We can’t lose.”

  “We won’t,” I say, though I mean myself more than anything. Brielle hasn’t always proven to be in full control of her emotions. “If we fail, and she doesn’t...” I say it only to motivate Brielle. Her golden red eyes meet mine as her lips curl.

  “She will not beat me.”

  I stand and take a step towards her, towering over her thin frame. “Good. You’re better than her. Stronger. One of us—one of us is going to win.” I turn my intense stare to Rook, who finally meets my eye.

  “We will.”

  I hate that the betrayer made it past the first challenge in spite of us, but she got through on nerve more than anything else. She’s still not proven to have any of the strength I worried she’d have.

  “Do you think we’ll be able to get to her during this challenge?” I ask.

  “It’s possible we won’t,” Rook says. “Unless we each have to face each other’s fears? It’s unclear how it will be done, but I imagine it will be a less dangerous challenge based on the spy’s information, so that makes me think it will be individual. But we’ll take whatever opportunity that arises. There will certainly be more challenges with plenty of opportunity. We will get to her, one way or another.”

  This time, it’s my turn to give the wicked smile.

  Caelynn

  “Take me with you, pleeeease!!”

  I roll my eyes at Raven, literally on her knees begging me. “I’ll go as a bird, even!”

  “A bird at a ball? Come on.” I hold my hands on my hips as she crawls closer. I scooch back. “Stop it! You can sit on the terrace as a bird. You’ll be able to see inside from there, and all the best drama happens outside anyway. I’m not even going to stay long. I’ll come back and hang out with you later.”

  “Seriously,” she says, still crawling forward. “It’ll make my LIFE if you make me into a raven and let me sit on your shoulder as you enter. Please, please, please. I promise once you get to the crowd, I’ll fly out the window and then sit at the gazebo to watch all the hookups.”

  I sigh and narrow my eyes at her. I could make her into a raven easily enough. She’s done a good job of keeping her distance from the other contestants in public so I doubt anyone has any suspicions yet.

  She notices my consideration, and she inches forward, gripping my hands in hers. “Please, please, please, please, please.”

  I pull my hand back and point in her face. “You stay on my shoulder, completely still—stoic, even—and the moment I’m at the bottom of the stairs, you fly off.” She’s nodding eagerly already. “You’ll be a flashy stunt in their eyes, a magical accessory. NOT a pet. Not a friend. Not anything significant in any way. Anything that brings more attention to you than necessary is dangerous. Do you understand?”

  “Yes!” she whispers desperately.

  I take in a long breath. “Fine.”

  She tosses her arms up dramatically, like she just won a championship game, her head hanging back in pure bliss. “Yessssss.”

  “Okay, Napoleon Dynamite.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing,” I murmur.

  “I can’t believe I get to go to a FAE BALL. OMG.” She spins around the room; her arms open wide. This is what I get for bringing a human teenager to the fae realm.

  “Now, help me get ready. The dress my queen sent is... intense.”

  I could magically create a different dress, but it would be impolite to ignore a gift from my court’s queen. As much as I dislike my role as symbol of rebellion, I am still proud of my homeland and the Queen of the Whisperwood.

  “I wouldn’t put that thing on until you’re about to walk out the door. You won’t even be able to sit.”

  I sigh. “I hope I can sit. I have to for the procession.”

  “Worry about your hair
and makeup first. Dress last.”

  I shake my head. “I’m not trying that hard, Raven.”

  “What are you talking about? It’s a BALL.”

  I roll my eyes. “And I’m only going because I have to. They made it part of the trials. Stupid fools, just looking for a chance to showcase us like prized cows. How much do you think the crown is making off all that betting?”

  “Millions of dollars?”

  “We don’t use dollars.”

  “Oh.” She stops to ponder. “What do you use?”

  “Gem stones. It’s a complicated system. Either way, I’m sure the High Court is profiting well from this show they’re putting on.”

  “You were quite dramatic in your last trial. If they want a show, you’re doing a good job of it, right?”

  I nod. “I’ll always be the villain. But then again, everyone loves a villain.”

  Rev

  My whole body is tight as I descend the stairs with Brielle on my arm. The crowd watches with wide eyes and soft murmuring. She and I together make a massive point, but I can’t stop the pit in my stomach.

  I have never cared for Brielle in this way, so isn’t this wrong?

  I don’t think I’m leading her on. I’m confident she knows my feelings are not true, but she’s using the situation to shift herself close to me. Sometimes, it feels as though she’s taking advantage of me.

  But I can’t deny how even the hint of an implication of our union would boost my status among the courts. I can’t not use it to my advantage, right?

  I sigh. Win the trials and none of this will matter. I’m already well on my way to winning. Brielle and Rook are my allies. Rook could be a contender, but we’ve sparred enough for me to know his weaknesses inside and out. I’m confident I can beat him. My only real competition is Drake, the Whirling Court heir. He also has two high court allies, Caspian and Kari, Glistening and Crystal Court respectively. His allies are possible contenders, but only if the trials work to their advantage. It’ll take pure luck.

  Still, at the end of the day, it’s Drake who I have my eye on. And he clearly has his eye on me. Literally. He’s watching as I walk down the stairs, arm in arm with Brielle. Regardless of our relationship status, she is my ally and will remain so, as long as she continues in the competition. Honestly, this fear contest has me concerned for her, especially if it’s independent. And if I go into the next trial with only one ally while Drake has two... that might do me in right there.