The question echoes in my head. He’s right—where are Captain Norlan and his men? They should have flooded the room the instant the attack began. Instead we were left alone in here, allbut defenseless against these monstrosities, almost like it was…planned.
The thought no sooner crosses my mind than a sound punctuates the air behind me: a single pair of hands, clapping slowly in solemn applause. I spin in place, still too tangled in my skirts to get upright. King Alderin stands on the dais. Behind him, I glimpse the shadowy figures of the kingdom delegates along with Captain Norlan and a handful of the palace guardsmen. Their faces are pale, their weapons at the ready. But the king stands on the edge of the dais, his expression implacable as he surveys the hall before him. His gaze lingers for a moment on Rune’s broken form before turning to the rest of us.
“The second trial is complete,” he says. “My congratulations to those of you who have survived, and to our victor, of course.”
“What?” The word bursts from my lips. I struggle, kicking my legs and feet to untangle my skirts. Valtar offers a hand, and I grip it just long enough to get upright once more, then let go and stride toward the dais. Heat prickles in my veins, so warm, I begin to sweat. “What are you talking about? What do you mean?”
Alderin’s mild eyes rest on me. “Your champion, Princess Roselle, must prove himself capable of protecting you from danger at all times. Peril is always close at hand, most of all when you least expect it.”
Sickness churns my gut. I turn from the king, my gaze seeking out Rune. He lies nearby in a pool of blood, but I think he’s still breathing. I hasten to his side, kneeling without a care for how his blood soaks into my velvet skirts. My hand finds his, and to my surprise, his fingers squeeze mine back. It doesn’t take any particular healing skill to understand the extent of the damage done to him. His body has been ripped open, gore and gutsfalling out onto the floor. He struggles to breathe, choking on his own blood. There’s nothing anyone can do for him. Not now.
Tears spill onto my cheeks. I lift his hand, pressing it against my heart as I bow over him. “You saved my life,” I whisper, voice cracking.
The Learned Majestic’s strange eyes turn. His gaze is unfocused, but he seems to make an effort to look at me, to see me. “It…it was an honor,” he gasps. Blood spills from the corner of his mouth. “Princess.”
I utter a shuddering moan. I didn’t know him. I didn’t like him. In fact, the strongest emotion I ever felt for him was intimidation. But as his spirit eases from his broken body in a sigh of pain released, I weep over the Learned Majestic Rune. Sobs shake my body so hard, I fear I will collapse. A strong hand grips my shoulder and keeps me from crumbling entirely. I lean back into that hand, and when it draws me, I allow it to pull my face into a neck and shoulder, allow an arm to wrap around my shivering body.
Somewhere in the distance, Taigan’s voice protests angrily: “The princess may have been hurt or even killed!”
“If she had,” Alderin answers impassively, “that would be a sure sign that her divinely ordained champion was not present. As it is, the gods have spared her, and we are all that much nearer to discovering who her true champion is.”
“And who is the winner of this trial?” Warrick demands from somewhere behind me, his voice rough.
I peer out from the shelter of the shoulder in which I have hidden my face. Alderin stands above us, so pristine, so untouchable. Such a contrast to the rest of us in our bloodstained finery. “Lord Elis,” he declares, sweeping an arm to indicate the young Albhian lord. “He was the only champion who managed to slay any of the votyr. He is the winner of the second trial.”
“Rutt.” Elis shakes his head and wipes sweat from his brow with one arm. “I only killed them because I happened to find this sword.”
“Exactly. The sword left on purpose for one of you to claim.”
“That isn’t fair!” Fury laces Prince Taigan’s words. “The rest of us made do with what we found on hand. Out in the real world, there won’t be convenient weapons left lying around for us to discover!”
The High King fixes a cold stare on his nephew. “This isn’t the real world,” he replies. “This is a championship, a holy rite to determine the will of the gods themselves. Do you, Taigan, wish to question how the gods go about revealing their will?”
“It’s not the gods I wish to question,” Taigan growls, but not loud enough for the king to hear. He merely bows, his face red with the effort to suppress his rage.
Alderin turns from him, addressing the rest of us. “On the morrow, Lord Elis will be afforded opportunity to speak privately with the princess and perhaps win her favor.”
Elis shoots me a look. He’s got blood on his face and is panting hard, but he manages to offer a semi-apologetic smile. I cannot manage a response. I’m shaking so hard, I would sink to my knees were it not for the support of the strong arm around my shoulders.
And whose strong arm is it? I turn at last and find that I am leaning against Prince Valtar. That my hand is gripping the front of his tunic, that I’m clinging to him like some sort of fainting damsel, right here, in front of all these watching eyes. A shudder rolls down my spine. Summoning strength from somewhere deep inside, I pull myself upright and push away from him. He immediately lets me go, and I back away several paces, sniffing and blinking back the tears still streaming down my cheeks.
“Now,” says King Alderin, his gaze finally coming to rest on me, “I must speak to the princess alone. Captain Norlan, please escort her to my chambers within the half hour.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Norlan acknowledges with a nod.
I hear Valtar’s deep inhale of breath. For a moment, I wonder if he’s going to protest. It won’t go well for him if he does. I shoot him a quick glance, catching his eye, and shake my head slightly. His lips close into a hard line, and his jaw clenches. But he does not speak.
Wiping blood on my skirts, I turn to Captain Norlan, who approaches me with four other guards. They surround me in escort formation and march me from the chamber. I keep my gaze lowered, unable to bear looking back at the gore-strewn hall. At the broken corpse of Learned Majestic Rune…the third man to die in my name.
19
Rosie
The king’s private chambers are lit with warm firelight. It takes a moment for my eyes to adapt when ushered through the door. I’ve become so used to the pale glow ofscintils, but this is much brighter, a flickering dance of flame emanating from an enormous fireplace and hearth which dominate one wall. A great stone desk stands close to that hearth—dwarf craftsmanship, unless I am much mistaken. But though it is enormous and impressive, all chiseled edges and slabs of marble, it can do nothing to diminish the sheer impressiveness of the man who sits behind it.
“Ah! Princess Roselle,” Alderin says, looking up from the books and pages he has spread out before him. He motions with one hand, dismissing the two guards standing behind me in the doorway. “Leave us.”
I listen to the clink of their armor as they bow, retreat, and shut the door behind them, leaving me alone in the presence of the High King. I twist my hands in my skirts. Within the lasthalf hour, Philippa changed me hastily from the ruined blue velvet gown into a simple garment of soft gray fabric, mercifully devoid of bloodstains. But I still feel as though I am spattered with Rune’s blood. Something tells me that sensation won’t fade for a long while.
