She rose and declared, “My magic is yours.” He glanced back at her, clearly startled by the sudden proclamation. “You are a man of action, a man of power.” He so clearly craved power in all things. The more Ferro tried to look tough, the more she saw a sad little boy, begging to be noticed. Eira wondered if that was how she looked when she’d insisted on competing in the trials. Regardless, she played into that desire. “You said it yourself, you have a tool in me. Why are you acting afraid to use it?”
“I am never afraid.” He let out a low growl, prowling back to her. His hand was at her throat, fingers tightening to the point that she wheezed for air. “Would you die for me?”
“If you asked it of me,” Eira gasped.
His hand continued to constrict around her windpipe. Eira struggled to remain calm. She balled her fists into the fabric of her clothes, preventing them from reaching up and gripping his forearms. As the air thinned and her vision tunneled, the room faded into the darkness of the pit…of that night underneath the water. He had tried to steal her air then, but couldn’t.
And he couldn’t now, either.
Ferro released her with a light shove. Eira collapsed back onto the bench, gasping and massaging her throat. But when she looked up at him and saw that smug smile, she knew she’d won.
“I’ll see what I can do. You’ve given me a lot to think about, pet.” He patted the top of her head twice and left.
Eira counted to ten before collapsing on the bench, throat aching and bruised. She’d now bet the ultimate wager—her life. And all too soon she’d find out if it paid off.
16
Another day passed without word, and Eira grew more anxious by the hour. The longer they waited, the more time search parties had to look for her. The deeper the Pillars would go into hiding and the harder they might be to convince to set her free. Or, perhaps, her suggestion would look more appealing by the minute. The Pillars could agree to her plan to get the pressure off them.
That assumed people were still looking for her at all.
She wrung her fingers and paced her room, waiting for word. Waiting forsomething. When the young man who delivered her food finally arrived, Eira had to evaporate a dagger of ice quickly to prevent herself from holding it against his throat and demanding that he tell her what was going on. It likely wouldn’t have worked. The zealot would be all too happy to die for his “noble cause” and Eira’s hope of ever escaping would be lost.
“The Champion has summoned you,” the man said casually as he set down her platter of gruel. “Wash and dress in this.” He motioned to the clothes neatly folded beside the bowl on the platter and left.
Eira ate the tasteless mush dutifully. She had to keep up her strength. The Champion summoning her following her last interaction with Ferro had to meansomething. The weight of her gamble was on her shoulders and already the oats were coagulating into a brick in the pit of her stomach.
She ignored the clothes for most of her meal, afraid to find out what they would put her in. But as soon as her fingers brushed over the fabrics, she recognized them. It was the skirt and blouse she’d worn to the dinner with Cullen. The hem of her skirts was muddied and stained from the tunnels she’d traversed with Ducot. Her boots were bloodied from where they’d cut her ankles while running through the city. There were rips in the blouse that Eira didn’t recognize.
An odd sense of familiarity overtook her as she dressed. It wasn’t because she was finally back inherclothes after dressing like a Pillar for over a week. It wasn’t because those clothes were filthy and unwashed.
This feeling… She knew it from the revelation of her parentage that had followed the second trial. Yet again, the remnants of her old life didn’t quite fit as they once had. Every stitch fell in the same place;shewas what didn’t fit. Eira stared at herself in the mirror. Yes, this feeling was similar to back then.
Furrowing her brow, Eira stared at herself with intensity, feeling power simmer underneath her skin. The ocean within her was white-capped and raging, ready to be unleashed. If the Champion wasn’t summoning her to set her free, she was ready to fight her way out or die trying.
“Eira?” Ferro didn’t even knock when he entered.
The expression fell off her face instantly and Eira spun away from the mirror, sprinting over to him. She gripped his arms, frantic. “Ferro, my lord, my guide through this dark world, what have I done?” Eira blinked several times, trying to summon tears. It was harder to cry on command than she would’ve thought. A little bit of magic summoned water on her lower eyelids. “Why has the light forsaken me? I only wanted—I only wished—I—”
“Pull yourself together.” He slapped her across the face. The pain was numbed by shock. It seemed he was taking his “ownership” of her life and wellbeing to heart. “What has upset you to hysterics this morning?”
“These clothes.” Eira stepped back and held out her skirts. She didn’t fuss over the stinging in her cheek. Something told her that if she did, it’d only make things worse. “They are from before my eyes were opened—before I knew the truth. But I’m being forced to wear them again. Am I being cast out? Did I say too much? I cannot go before the Champion of Yargen in these pathetic rags of the Dark Isle! I will not—”
“Calm yourself.” Ferro grabbed her shoulders, scowling. “What will truly embarrass you is going before the Champion as a shrieking harpy.”
“All I want to do is please the Champion.” She hiccupped and composed herself at his command. An easy enough task when her “hysterics” were superficial.
“And you will.”
“What we talked about yesterday…” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Is that why he’s summoning me?”
Even though they were alone, Ferro glanced around as if someone might be listening. “Yes.” A smile snaked across his lips. “You will have a chance to prove to my father how much you love Yargen and are loyal to our cause.”
“I live to serve.”
“And you live to bring me glory.”
“Yes. So he agreed to let me go?” She hoped she didn’t sound too eager.
