Nights such as this were common. Especially in the south sector, which was known for its acceptance of provincers. People who “didn’t belong” in the capital.
And every night, I had to remind myself what we were working toward. What this was allfor. A better future. A different world. The hope was in our hands—we just had to take it.
13
Rose
Isplashed cold water on my face then gripped the edge of the granite countertop in my personal washroom, watching the water drip, drip, drip from my skin and onto the porcelain bowl. Gazing at my reflection in the gold-lined mirror, it was hard not to notice the shadows under my green eyes, the pale sheen to my skin.
My attention snagged on the locket hanging around my neck, the one my aunt and uncle had given me when I turned thirteen. The gilded oval face had a single rose delicately etched into it, and it opened to reveal two small charcoal portraits of my parents, Hamilton and Ayla Wolff. I fingered the locket, wedging my nail between the divide and cracking it open to stare at their miniscule likeness.
I briefly wondered how they would feel about this turn of events, with me taking Ragnar’s place as the Feywood challenger to uncover secrets of the emperor. Would they be proud that I was working toward something I believed in? For something larger than myself? Would they be worried for my safety, insistent like Morgana that this wasn’t my burden to bear?
I closed the necklace with a quietsnapand kissed the back of it, the metal cold against my lips, before tucking it into my shirt.Quickly running my fingers through my hair, I braided it down my back and secured it with a leather strap.
A knock sounded at the door to my bedchamber. I paused, peering around at the door. I figured it was Aunt Morgana and Beau coming to say goodnight. After the briefing, I’d been shown to my private chambers on the third floor—accompanied by a stern talking-to from Horace on attacking fellow challengers in the palace. I’d immediately sent word to learn where my family would be staying. They were in a separate wing, closer to the infirmary, and had wanted to see me one last time before the first trial began in the morning.
I crossed the room and pulled the door open, expecting to see the familiar dark hair of my aunt and lanky form of my cousin.
Neither one stood in the doorway.
Instead, Nox leaned against the frame, his arms crossed over his chest, silver rings shining in the firelight. “Well, you sure made an impression today.”
“Why am I not surprised you’re here?” I asked with a sigh.
He grinned, his dark blue eyes flaring with mischief. “Are you going to let me inside?”
“Wasn’t planning on it, no.”
Shrugging, he said, “Probably wise. Don’t let anyone in without first knowing who it is and what they want. That breaks the wards.”
I pursed my lips, mirroring his stance and crossing my arms. “What do you mean?”
“All of our chambers are warded against intruders, but if you give someone permission to enter, the wards are disabled against them for the rest of your stay.”
Raising an eyebrow, I hummed in response. Horace had mentioned the rooms being warded, but not whether other areas of the palace were, as well.
Nox continued to stare at me, and I shook my head. “I’m still not letting you in, Nox. Not after findingout you’ll be able to enter whenever you please. I don’t need to wake up one morning with a knife pressed to my throat.”
He lifted a hand to his chest in feigned offense. “After all we’ve been through, this is how I’m treated?”
I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help the snort that escaped me. “What do you want?”
“Just to make sure you’re still alive. Callum is pissed, as you can imagine. He’s practically calling for your head on a platter.”
“Who?”
“The Iluze prick you tried to kill.”
Oh,him. I scoffed. “I didn’t try tokillhim. He had plenty of time before that happened.”
“Ah, so this is a common enough occurrence for you, viper?” Nox asked, a smirk crossing his tan features. “You almost took out the competition before this tournament even began. That was, if I recall, breaking one of the only rules we were given.”
“First of all, that’s a bit dramatic,” I said. “Second of all, he deserved it.”
“Be that as it may, you’re putting a target on your back. You need to be careful.”
I knew he was right—I’d been too reactive. Too volatile. I often let my anger get the best of me, the simmering rage that sat so close to the surface easily goaded when pushed just abitover the edge. And that Illusionist—Callum, Nox called him—had practically shoved me off the cliff with his mind tricks and hateful words.
