She glanced occasionally at the empty locket, now resting on the bedside table. Her disappointment at it’s barren interior had left a sour taste in her mouth. What was the point?
A knock sounded at the door.
“Come in,” Hazel called. By now she’d come to recognize Phaedra’s knock. It was very specific to her in a way Hazel couldn’t begin to explain. She tucked the book beneath her pillow, just as the angel opened her door.
“Evening, mistress,” she spoke softly.
“Hazel, Phaedra, please. I can’t have you using honorifics to address me. Not when it lumps me in with the monsters who hurt you. Just Hazel.”
“I am terribly sorry. It’s just that… if they hear me being too informal with you, well, it could be dangerous for both of us,” the angel explained.
“They really monitor everything you do, don’t they?” Hazel didn’t mean it as a question, but Phaedra nodded in answer.
“Never mind me, then,” Hazel said. “Can’t have you getting in trouble on my account.” She smiled at Phaedra, hoping to relieve some of the tension.
“Thank you, mistress.” She set down her usual tray of tea and cakes, the aroma of baked oats and warm honey floating over Hazel in a cozy embrace. “I come bearing news.”
“Oh?” Hazel asked as she made her way to the oatcakes.
“Yes, well… There’s no easy way to tell you this, but they’ve moved the last trial up.”
Crumbles of oatcake fell into Hazel’s lap as she stopped chewing mid-bite. “Dare I ask when?”
“Tonight. In just a few hours, actually. I thought perhaps Master Elias would have informed you by now, but I didn’t know the two of you were still not on speaking terms. I came as soon as I realized.” She looked sheepish, embarrassed even.
Leave it to Slaide to let me find out on my own.Asshole.Hazel caught herself frowning.
“Right. Well, do we know anything about this trial? Did Slaide at least relay anything of importance to you?” She tried not to sound too hopeful.
“I’m sorry, mistress. He did not. Though I must stress it was not for his petty tendencies that he doesn’t relay the information. It’s because none was given.” Sweet Phaedra, always protecting those she cares about.
“A surprise trial, then?” Hazel asked. She didn’t love that.
“It seems that way. Mistress, I must insist you use caution moving forward. I sense something is amiss. Most of the slaves have been extra quiet today, even in our common spaces. Whispers in the halls indicate something insidious happening tonight. That the trial might test one’s morality and allegiance to the crown.”
Right. Because in the end, that’s what this was. A tournament designed to test the mettle, wit, and allegiance of the King’s prospective champions.
This didn’t bode well for her.
“Alright. That’s that then. How the Hel do I dress for this when I don’t know what the trial is?” Hazel wondered, her blood pressure starting to rise.
Phaedra shrugged. “I suppose you should dress for combat. Something you can move freely in. Just in case.”
Hazel eyed her wardrobe. She could almost see Sylvie’s battle leathers within, mocking her with their existence. She truly couldn’t escape Slaide’s influence, no matter how hard she tried.
She heaved a sigh. “Combat it is then, I guess.”
The competitors were roundedup just before dusk, the setting sun painting the sky in a myriad of pinks and oranges. On any other day, in any other place, Hazel would have found it beautiful.
But as they gathered in the courtyard awaiting the announcement of their fates, Hazel found it foreboding, as thought the sky was already ablaze with wildfire.
As she shifted from one foot to the other, she caught Slaide staring out over the crowd with a scowl smudging his features. He was looking for someone.
For her, probably.If he truly cared, he wouldn’t have betrayed my trust.It was an important distinction, and once she came to terms with it, moving on was easier.
When his gaze passed over her, he froze. The heat of those twin molten-amber pools flowed into her even from a distance. It caused her to reach for the locket that she’s chosen to put back on, hoping it had retained its magic. When her eyes locked with Slaide’s, Hazel forgot everything in an instant, at least until someone shoved her forward.
“Keep moving,” a gruff, unshaven man mumbled. So she did. When she stopped again, she found Slaide once more. But the man beside him sent shivers down her spine and boiled her blood equally. It was the King.
