“The mighty task of marrying me,” I murmur, but too low for him to hear above the river’s roaring voice. He discerns nothing more than my polite nod and smile. I can’t help wondering yet again whymarriageis such an important part of this whole bizarre affair. Choosing a champion to escort me on this journey seems reasonable enough insofar as it goes, but…but why must we be bound with wedding vows? Something about it has never quite added up, and the only excuse I’ve been offered is some nebulous something about “purity” and “divine ordinance” that never made sense to my mind. Everyone seems so sure about it, however, and at this point, I feel rather foolish for continuing to ask.
It’s not as though a marriage will actually take place in any case. Now that I know the secret of the air shafts, I intend to make use of them. Tonight I will begin exploring, searching for a way to the upper world. And when I escape…well, I’ll figure out then how to navigate the wilderness. I did it once, as a child of seven years. I fled into Inamaer Forest to escape the dracori, who dared not pursue me into its depths. And somehow I stumbled out again, half-feral, more than half-starved. But alive.
Surely this forest, wild and mysterious as it may be, cannot be as perilous as that one.
We come to a landing at last—man-made, by the looks of it, rather than dwarfish. The barge docks, and King Alderin takes my arm, escorting me into another cavernous space. It’s so huge, so echoing and enormous, I could almost forget we are still deep underground. Thescintillights cannot illuminate the ceiling overhead, leaving nothing but a smear of blackness and that inescapable sensation of crushing weight that follows one everywhere in this realm. I close my eyes, unwilling to see it, and try to imagine myself back up on the mountaintop, out in that crisp, cold air under a starry sky. But this is a mistake—for the minuteI do, I picture Valtar as well. It’s like he’s lurking in the back of my mind, waiting for an opportunity to spring into my thoughts. Damn him.
“Here we are,” Alderin says abruptly. I open my eyes to find we have come to another balcony overlook with a waist-high railing to protect us from a perilous drop. The delegates from the various kingdoms are already gathered here, crowding that rail, eager for the best view. But they make way for the king, offering up the prime observation spot at the center.
I cast a look back at Philippa, who has followed close to my heels. She does not meet my gaze but moves silently to a viewing spot some way down the line, between a lord of Albhia and a lady of Gorduin, judging by their courtly raiment. I have no choice but to stand alone with Alderin, my hand clasped in his, as though we were great friends.
“There, you see?” the king says, pointing into the pit below. It’s nothing like the huge arena of the first trial—this space is scarcely big enough for a man to take ten paces before he’s forced to turn around again. But what I find most interesting are the four small tunnel openings, one on each wall. I’d call them doorways, for they are roughly shaped as such. But really, they’re more like clefts into pitch darkness.
My stomach turns at the sight. Something about those openings fills me with dread.
“Champions, step forth!” Alderin calls, his voice echoing against the stones.
Three tall figures emerge from the shadows just to the right of us on the balcony. I jump, startled, having expected them to be down below already. Instead, they line up in front of us and the gathered company: Taigan, Warrick, and Elis, each carrying a singlescintilglobe in his gloved right hand. Elis’s eyes flash tomeet mine in a quick smile and that telltale wink of his. He wears my rose-hued scarf tied prominently to his right forearm.
Taigan, by contrast, doesn’t look at me. Neither does Warrick, I note with interest; his gaze is fixed somewhere over my shoulder. I cast a glance back at Philippa. She looks very pale, her hand behind her to clutch the balcony rail for support, her fingers white-knuckled with tension.
“And where is Prince Valtar?” Alderin demands, giving voice to the question I have not allowed myself to ask. “Where is our fourth champion?”
The men exchange glances, but none of them speaks. That sick feeling in my gut intensifies. But this is good, is it not? I don’t want him to be here, I don’t want him to come. I don’t want him to face whatever it is that lies on the far side of those terrible doorways. If he slipped away from Stromin Palace and out of my life, so much the better!
Only…he might have thought to say goodbye first…
And then, suddenly, there he is. Stepping out of the shadows, he takes up position on Lord Elis’s left hand. He’s wearing all black, nearly invisible even with the glow of thescintilhe carries in his hand. He could almost be his own cast shadow, not solid flesh and blood at all.
“Ah! Welcome, Prince Valtar,” Alderin says, though with some coolness in his voice. Then he raises both arms, the long sleeves of his robes wafting like feast-day banners. “You four have already proven yourselves worthy champions,” he declares, his words booming deep against the stone walls. “You have shown your strength, agility, and teamwork in the first trial. In the second, you proved your ability to think quickly in the face of sudden danger. Now, it is time to know how your mighty hearts will hold up under the most extreme pressure. Only a man with a willof iron is fit enough to guard the princess on her journey to the Dracor Flame.”
He swings his arms to indicate the four different openings in the walls of the pit below. “See you there these entrances to the deeps of the world. Mineshafts from ages past, back when the dwarves who dwelt under this mountain still mined formeoriseand made themselves rich beyond the dreams of men. These mines are since depleted, the dwarves who made them long gone. But at the end of each shaft, there remains a treasure still. A treasure which must be fetched back by he who is brave enough to venture in for it.”
The champions exchange glances again, all except Valtar. His face remains focused straight ahead, not even acknowledging the king. I can’t tell if he’s listening to a word being spoken.
“And what are these tokens, exactly?” Prince Warrick asks, while Taigan and Elis nod in mutual curiosity.
“It does not matter,” Alderin replies. “You will know it when you see it. That is, if you have the will to venture so far.” His eyes gleam with an eager, unsettling light. “This is your task, brave champions: Descend into the heart of the mountain. Into the dark, into the heat. Into the pressure. Find the token and, if you are worthy, return with it here and lay it at the feet of your princess. Do you accept your challenge?”
Warrick and Taigan both clasp fists to their hearts and bow. Elis does the same, but only after flashing another glance and a grin at me. He looks quite chipper about things, as though he squeezes himself down dwarf mining tunnels every day of the week. Taigan looks rather green by the glow of hisscintil, and the lines of Warrick’s face are deeper than ever.
Valtar, by contrast, simply looks…absent. As thoughsomething in him has gone away, leaving behind a shuttered house. I wish I could catch his eye, but he will not look my way.
“May the gods shine their holy light upon your hearts,” Alderin cries, his sonorous voice filling that space with portent, “even as you venture into the depths of darkness. Carry with you my blessing and my love, brave men of Belanor.”
I wince. After all, Valtar is not of Belanor…does he not get to benefit from the king’s blessing as well? He doesn’t seem to care, however. As the other three champions fall into line to salute me, he moves to the back of them, his gaze still focused anywhere but on me.
Taigan approaches me first, raising my fingers to his lips. I swear, his hand is trembling, but he plants a firm kiss on my knuckles and lifts his gaze to me. There’s courage in his eye, underscored by no little fear. For possibly the first time since I met him, my heart goes out to him, and I wish I could find the courage to urge him not to go down into that pit, not to risk his life. But when I open my mouth, no words will come. So he releases my hand and strides swiftly to the narrow staircase off to the right, which leads down into the pit below.
Warrick advances next. He kisses my hand as well, but when he straightens, his gaze is not on me but fixed over my shoulder at Philippa, standing behind me. I give his hand an extra squeeze, and his eyes flash to meet mine. I smile a little, knowingly, and murmur, “Come back to her in one piece, Prince Warrick.”
He swallows, nods. And moves away to follow Taigan.
Elis leaps forward, a spring in his step, a smile on his face. “Who doesn’t enjoy a little game of fetch and carry?” he asks brightly, just before kissing my hand like the others before him. When he straightens, he draws a step closer, ducking his head alittle to meet my eyes. “Say a prayer for me, Princess. I hope to return promptly, and then perhaps we may renew our…conversationof yesterday?”
A blush stains my cheeks, but to my surprise, it’s accompanied by a prickling of tears. I’m suddenly afraid. Much more afraid than I should be, considering I’m not the one who is venturing down one of those holes. “Do please be quick about it, Lord Elis,” I manage, trying to match his brightness. “Only, one doesn’t like to be kept waiting long when there are tokens to be laid at one’s feet.”
He chuckles. “Your wish is my command, dear princess. One foot-token, coming right up!”
