I put a hand against the dirt floor, but my head is still spinning. I touch my lip, and when my fingers pull away, they’re stained with red. I can’t breathe through my nose at all.
My breath hitches.
Verin’s voice calls to me, but it’s from a distance, as if she’s walking away. “Come back tomorrow,” she says, the same thing she said to my sister, but now her voice is taunting. “We’ll do a little more each day.”
She leaves me alone in the arena, surrounded by the weight of pressing silence.
My entire body hurts, but my face is the worst. I don’t want to touch it again, in case it’s worse than I’m imagining. I get to my knees, but I brace a hand in the dirt. A drop of blood appears beside my fingers, then another, falling from my face. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying not to cry.
Footsteps crunch through the dirt of the arena, and my eyes snap open to discover a pair of boots coming to a stop in front of me. Another drop of blood falls from my face to land on the toe.
A hand backed by armored bracers appears in my vision. “Take my hand. Can you stand?”
I’m too dazed to process this, but my body is responding, my hand weakly slipping into his. Just as I’m thinking his voice can’t be General Solt, I’m strongly pulled to my feet.
I find myself facing the king instead.
A needle of ice pierces my spine as shame piles onto the rest of my emotions. Did he just watch that? Everything she said was so awful. Did hehearit?
The king lifts a hand, reaching for my face, and I suck in a breath, thinking of his magic. I stumble back a step, and my hands are up before I realize it.
His expression doesn’t change, but he goes still. “I think your nose is broken.” He gestures a little. “Come here. Let me see.”
That note of command is in his tone. I steel my spine and try to force my hands to lower, but it takes longer than it should. My eyes feel like they’re in danger of spilling a new round of tears, but the king holds my gaze, and something about that is steadying. I don’t want to cry in front of him. Especially not if he heard Verin say all those things.
After a moment, I step forward.
His fingers land on my chin, and he tilts my face up gently. My heart is pounding wildly, but I feel no flare of magic, no indication of power.
“Definitely broken,” he says. “A black eye, too. Possibly both.”
I swallow. My eyes feel hot again, but I beg the tears not to fall. “Maybe I deserve it.”
“No. That’s why I stopped her.” His fingers haven’t left my chin. “I can fix it.” He pauses. “Or not. I know you’re afraid, Callyn.”
Maybe it’s the sound of my name, or maybe it’s the acknowledgment of the emotion, but either way, that does it. My eyes spill over. I pull away and duck my head so he won’t see the tears. Being afraid feels ungrateful. “I’m sorry.” I swipe at my cheek and ithurts, and my breath shudders again.
“Don’t apologize for fear.”
“She was so kind to Nora. But she hates me.”
He scoffs. “She hates everyone.”
The casual disdain in his tone is so unexpected that it startles a laugh out of me, but that hurts, too, and I swallow a whimper. “Your Majesty,” I begin quietly. “If . . . ?if you think I’m a risk to the princess—I don’t . . . ? I don’t have to be here—”
“If I thought you were a risk to the princess, youwouldn’tbe here.”
Oh.Right. I nod.
“Verin’s actions are born of fear as well,” he continues. “And possibly some self-doubt.”
I look up at him in surprise.
He lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “She was unable to protect the queen herself. For that matter, neither was I.” Without waiting for a response to that, he lifts a hand again. “Broken nose for weeks on end, or have you found the courage for magic?”
He’s issuing a challenge, but he’s leaving me with the choice. Under my vest, Mother’s pendant is a heavy weight against my heart. I think of the way I pricked my finger with a knife and wonder if this pendant has already given me the ability to heal myself. Maybe it did the same for my mother—or maybe it didn’t. She didn’t survive the battle.
If she were standing in front of King Grey, I wish I knew what she would choose.
