Sebastian holds the heartstone in his hand.
I jolt, seeking Jordan where she stands with the Storm Command on my right. She’s frozen, pale, one hand half-raised. She clamps her mouth shut and steps back, staring at the floor, her chest visibly heaving as she drags air into her lungs.
Sebastian reaches me and I check his expression. I need to know if he wants this or not. His free hand is clenched. A muscle ticks at his jaw. His eyebrows are drawn down. He drops to his knee and holds the emerald up to me without meeting my eyes.
He pauses and whispers. “Please tell her this is not my choice.”
Then he raises his voice. “I am Sebastian of the House of Splendor. I offer you my heartstone.”
I don’t accept!
Anger rises in me for the first time, hitting me square in the heart. I seek Baelen across the room. He looks from Jordan to Sebastian and back again. He knows. He knows this is killing them both.
Then his eyes meet mine and it’s as if his presence calms me. I’ll find a way. Just like I’ll find a way to save Baelen.
I say, “I accept the House of Splendor.”
The remaining twenty-six houses present their champions. I memorize their names and faces, knowing that any one of them might meet Baelen in final battle. But as the last champion leaves the dais, I turn my focus to myself. The hardest part of the ceremony is about to begin—nominating myself.
My heartbeat picks up. The armor I’m wearing under my robe suddenly feels weighted. It’s my last chance to back out. Once I nominate, there’s no going back.
Gideon Glory returns to my side, staying at a respectful distance. “Princess, do you agree that all Houses are properly represented?”
I’m supposed to say “yes.” That one little word means the ceremony is over and the Elven Command can announce the first trial. It’s such standard protocol that Gideon almost doesn’t wait for me to speak.
“No.”
“Thank you, Princess, then we will…” He stops. Turns to me. Frowns. “What did you say?”
“I said, ‘no.’ The House of Mercy is not represented.”
He gapes at me. “Princess, you know that your own House can’t be represented in the protocols.”
“Actually the rule states: ‘No male from the House of the Princess may be a champion.’”
“Well, yes, but…”
“And there is no rule that states that only a male may be a champion. That happens by tradition only.”
He splutters. “That is also true but…”
I spin to the onlookers. The crowd is murmuring, the Houses are shuffling, and the existing champions are frowning. My brother stares at me with a questioning look on his face. Only Bae is quiet, half-turned, waiting for me to speak.
I take a deep breath and lift my voice, knowing that I have to speak clear and true. I raise my hand with my washed out old stone in it. My brother breaks into a grin. Far away from me, my parents jump to their feet; my father clutches the railing in front of him and my mother holds her hand over her heart.
For the first time, Bae looks at me with wonder.
The memory of thunder fills my voice as I say, “I am Marbella of the House of Mercy. I offer my heartstone.”
I pause, my family’s heartstone held high, as everyone in the room waits for me to say the words that will bind me to the protocols.
“And I accept it.”
Suddenly everyone’s shouting.
