“And what’s even better,” Magnus continued, “is that Slaide had the nerve to approach me to strike a little bargain. Did he tell you about that? No? Well, then let me fill you in?—”
“Magnus!” Slaide shouted.
“Quiet, boy, or I’ll have you thrown into the dungeons for insubordination!” the King spat. “As I was saying, Slaide wanted a deal. You’d participate in the tournament, somehow manage to win, and Slaide would be free of his service to me. Your life against his freedom. He was never your friend, my dear.”
Hazel shook her head slowly as if fighting an internal battle. She wanted to lash out. To scream. To punch something. To run away. None of them, though, were viable options. The walls were closing in, constricting. She was trapped here, in a place where people like her were dealt horrible fates and none made it out alive.
But not her. She decided then and there she would make it out. For her mother. For herself.
She backed into the doors and felt for the latch behind her. She fumbled with it unsuccessfully and then knocked instead. Three raps on the wooden door and it was pulled open by an awaiting guard. Hazel ducked under his arm and into the hallway beyond.
Hazel didn’t slow down until she’d reached her rooms, at which point she slammed the bedroom door behind her and allowed her body to slink to the floor. She pulled her legs in tight and tucked into herself, resting her head on her knees. It started with a single tear running a ragged path down her cheek, and before she knew it, she was sobbing.
At some point, she’d drifted off, exhausted by the sadness. She was awoken by a light shuffle of feet outside the door, followed by a soft knock.
“Go away!” she scolded between sobs.
There was a pause before they spoke. “I am terribly sorry, mist—Hazel. I do not mean to disturb you. I will just slide this under the door. It came for you today.”
There was a scraping at the underside of the door, and then a piece of folded parchment poked out on her side. She eyed it suspiciously before grabbing it from the floor.
The seal on the letter was already broken, indicating the contents had been reviewed prior to it being delivered. She wiped her eyes as she unfolded it, then let her eyes drift to the bottom, curious who it was from. Connall Callahan. Her father had responded to her letter.
She was on her feet immediately, throwing the door open. “Phaedra! Wait!” But the angel was already gone. Not a trace of her in the corridor, as though she’d never been there.
Instead, she came face to face with Slaide. Her rage returned in an instant, and she slammed the heavy wooden door in hisface. Or she would have, had Slaide not caught the door before it closed.
“Hazel.”
She leaned against the door, tears welling in her eyes again.
“Hazel, please,” he begged again.
“Get out of here. Leave me be, please.” Hazel choked back a sob.
“Please, just let me in. Let me explain.”
“Ididlet you in, Slaide. I trusted you, and it was the worst thing I’ve ever done in my entire life. Congratulations, asshole.”
“I deserve that. I do. But you deserve so much more. Starting with the whole story, not just the half-truth that Magnus regurgitated.”
“I’m done here, Slaide. I’m done complying. I’m done playing your games. I’m done. I’m not participating in this tournament any longer, and I’m most certainly not going to the stupid ball. You can find someone else.”
He recoiled. “Hazel, you… you have to. It’s not just because Iwantyou there, which I do. Truly. But if you don’t show up, you’ll be escorted away by knights of the Raven Blade and handed over to the Magistry. They’ll take you to the Citadel, where you’ll become another test subject. Is that what you want?”
“It’s been proven time and time again that what I want here doesn’t matter. What Iwantis to go home. And I can’t. At this point, I will go willingly into the arms of the mages, because at least I know what they’re all about. They’re not going to act like something they aren’t.” Her voice was full of vitriol and spite. “Get out of my sight, Slaide. I never want to see or talk to you again.”
He stopped pressing against the door, allowing it to slam fully in his face.
She listened closely for any sign that he was still there and was met with the sound of his retreating footfalls. She breathed deeply, sinking back to the floor and closing her eyes.
The piece of parchment crinkled in her hand, reminding her it was there waiting to be read. She unfolded it and ran her eyes across the ink, written by her father’s own hand. Parts of it were nearly illegible, marred by what were likely dried tear stains.
My dearest Hazel Grace,
I am so relieved to have received your letter, and I hope this letter still finds you well.
I assume you’ve heard the news. Jonas returned, or what was left of him. Something was wrong. He was out of his mind as though possessed. He attacked neighbors in the street like a rabid dog, and I had no choice but to intervene. I regret that I was unable to subdue him without lethal force. I will live with his blood on my hands for the rest of my days, but I wanted you to have the truth of it from me.
