“We begin tomorrow, given that your aides told me you are in a hurry,” she raises an eyebrow, daring me to say I am not ready. The panic boils in my stomach, but I swallow it. I need to be.
“Will the Sword Trial be all right? Or do you need more time, given your reputation?” She sips more wine.
“No concern needed,” I say dryly, locking my emotions tight.
I am alright.
Instead of dreading the terrible trials, I fix my gaze at Baba Yaga and, assisted by the Fae wine, I say, “I want your army beside me.”
“Bold,” Aidon mutters, while Jestin spits his drink, which in turn makes Wisla pat him on the back, and land herself on my death list.
“And why would we do that?” asks Margorate, slowly.
“I can offer you something that you long for.”
She takes ages to reply. “What exactly is that?”
“Access to the skies,” my smile is full of menace.
“Dragthralls won’t fly with the traitors!” Riven snaps, but I raise my hand, silencing him. Fortunately, it works. Have I betrayed him? Why else do I feel like a thrash?
“How?” Margorate’s eyes are full of longing, which makes me think I hit the jackpot.
“I am an architect, am I not?” I look at her as if she were stupid and wave my hand, “I can architect something.”
“Right. If you deliver, we will fight for you,” she states, and I feel the hope spreading inside me like a parasite.
“If I deliver, you will make an oath to fight my battles as long as I live, and my Heir’s battles if you want to continue accessing the skies.”
“Let’s discuss it after you manage your trials, Seleste.” My name on her lips tastes like a curse word.
“Why should I let you test me?” I ask, agitated.
She arches a brow, the movement edged with sarcasm. “Those tests are a measure of character. They send a message across the continent that you’re a good-hearted Queen, not a spineless wimp.”
“Isn’t it enough?” asks Wisla, smirking.
“I don’t see it,” replies Bogda, rolling her eyes.
“You have invaded our land, forbidden us from seeking revenge and demanded peace. It is only fair that you show us you’re worth our compliance,” Margorate states.
“I am,” I stare her down.
“I hope you are, Seleste Berigander.” She licks her lips. “Too much is on the line.” Her teal orbs drill into mine, searching, assessing. Then she lowers her voice, so only the closest to us hear. “How are you planning on facing that challenge if you are afraid of what’s inside you? You will doom us all.”
“I am not afraid,” I lie.
“The Mirror test will tell.”
???
Riven decides to take me to their training ground immediately after the dreadful dinner. The Fae wine leaves a light buzz humming in my head, but he insists, “No time like the present.”
I don’t argue, even though I’m more than unhappy about the practice. I haven’t seen Karo since yesterday afternoon and the hunger for my balm grows sharper with every heartbeat—along with the guilt of offering his sworn enemies exactly what they wanted.
I look up. The arena crowns one of the highest peaks of the left mountain, looming above like a silent sentinel. From here, just outside the grand dining hall, it feels impossibly far, a distant monument of stone and power against the sky.
“I’m not walking,” I inform him, folding my arms.
