Time stops.
The stars above us spin in their distant orbits, whirling in the dance of eons.
Under my feet, the mountain itself seems to rise up from its ancient roots, spinning to keep pace with the spheres.
And, in the center of it all, there stand the two of us. Alone and apart. A pillar of stone and a living flame, opposites and equals in conjoined counterpoint. But I feel the mighty heat at his core, the furnace which roars with equal force to my own, alive and ready to consume all in either blistering destruction or terrifying renewal. It only remains to be seen which it might be, if the stone which contains it will break apart and let it free.
But in this moment, his stone does not crack. I kiss him, but he does not kiss me in return. Neither does he move, not even to breathe. Only the hand holding the knife to my abdomen turns,the blade angled away, and I lean in more closely, pressing my hips against him, filling the little space between us.
It cannot last forever though. Even a timeless moment must end.
With a little gasp, I break away and peer up into his eyes. Eyes which are wide, fixed. Staring down at me in an expression of absolute shock.
“Well, Valtar?” I whisper against his frozen lips. “Did that take your breath away?”
He steps back. The movement is so abrupt, he breaks my hold on the back of his head, and I stagger to catch my balance. He stares at me still, the lines around his eyes tensing, as though he’s trying to blink but forgotten how. His mouth, still parted, his lips still swollen, he looks for a moment as though he will speak.
Then he turns and marches for the tunnel.
“Wait!” I cry out after him. “Will you practice with me tomorrow?”
He does not answer. I watch his massive shoulders hunch as he ducks to pass through the low entrance and vanish into the dark.
“Valtar!” I call again.
But he is gone. Distantly, I hear the lift door shut, the gears clank and whir.
I am alone out here on the mountaintop. More alone, perhaps, than I have ever been.
24
Rosie
Will Valtar be at the trial today?
Not that I care. In fact, it would probably be best if he didn’t show up at all, if he finally abandoned this foolish championship and set out for home. I’ve already told him in no uncertain terms that I will not be marrying anyone at the end of all this nonsense. And, if I’m honest, it was unreasonable of me to ask him to help keep the other champions safe. Unreasonable and ultimately fruitless, considering poor Rune’s fate. No, no. It’s best if he goes. And I will not spare him any tears. I certainly will not ask myself unhelpful questions like…
Why?
Why was he so angry last night? Is he jealous of Lord Elis? Do I want him to be jealous? Maybe…maybe that’s why I let Elis kiss me. Maybe I’ve gone and caused a world of trouble, just because I wanted to provoke him. Unfair to him and to Elis. And to me as well. I don’t deserve to give up on my own hopes for lifeand freedom just because some fellow with highly kissable lips is going around brooding and looming and making my heart do stupid things.
I don’t want to think about any of this. Especially not now, with the third trial imminent. My gut tells me King Alderin has something singularly unpleasant planned. When I consider how two champions have already died such brutal deaths…fear shudders down my spine. And not just for Valtar. I don’t want anything to happen to Elis or Warrick or even gods-damned Prince Taigan either.
Philippa seems more tight-lipped than usual, and her hands are shaking as they prepare me for display. Is she worried for Prince Warrick? A little smile pulls at my lips, and I half consider teasing her about it. But no, that would be cruel. If something did happen to him, if she were to lose him because of me…I don’t know if I could forgive myself.
So Philippa finishes her work in near silence, speaking only when she requires me to turn or tilt my head or lift an arm. But when the guards come to escort me away, to my surprise, Philippa threads her arm in mine. “I will join you today, Princess,” she says coolly, her expression carefully masked. “If it pleases you, of course.”
“Oh! Yes,” I blurt, surprised. She has never shown interest in observing the trials before. Things must have progressed rather quickly between her and Prince Warrick since last night. Though her eyes remain fixed forward as we march through thescintil-lit halls, I can feel the tremble in her arm. Part of me wishes she wouldn’t come. She hasn’t seen what I have seen; she doesn’t know how bad it can get. But I haven’t the courage to warn her. I merely grip her hand and squeeze now and then.
I half expect to be brought to the same pulley carts and, eventually, the same arena as the first trial. Instead, we are takendown to the river, which I have not seen since my arrival in Stromin Palace. All over again, I am struck by how treacherous that black flow is, running swiftly on its blind, underground course. Even the large, enhancedscintilshung from the boughs of the barges cannot illuminate more than a few feet ahead at a time. I don’t care to ride on one of those barges again, but it’s not as though anyone’s giving me a choice.
King Alderin stands at the onboarding plank right at the bank’s sheer edge. He turns to smile at me, and my blood runs cold. I’ve not seen him since he burned me. My fingers curl into a tight fist around the blisters on my left palm. And yet, though I hate myself for doing so, I cannot seem to help but smile in return.
“Dear princess,” he says, extending a hand to me. Philippa releases my arm so that I may take it, and he helps me across the plank onto the flat floor of the barge. It bobs underfoot, making my stomach knot with tension. “You are looking quite remarkably lovely today.”
He seats me in a chair, and I grip the arms tight. Philippa, Captain Norlan, and two members of my guard join us on this barge. The king takes a seat beside me, then gives a signal for the bargemen to push off. The river’s current carries us, and though it feels wild and threatening, the strong men with their stout steering poles keep us off the rocky sides of the tunnel and in the center of that flow. I cannot bear to look ahead, straining my eyes into the dark. I stare down at my burnt palm instead.
“Today’s trial is going to be exceptionally interesting,” Alderin says, making conversation just as though nothing unusual happened between us. Just as though he hadn’t tortured me at our last meeting…as though he didn’t intend to torture me again at his next opportunity. “It should give a solid indication of who is truly ordained for the mighty task ahead.”
