But then…who is innocent in this world? I certainly cannot claim such a banner. After all, if I had been braver, cleverer, stronger, faster…if I had not wanted to see Valtar again…I might have escaped before my brothers were dragged into this dark place and made to be sacrifices on the altar of this gods-ordained championship.
Through poking, prodding, and gentle insistence, Philippa gets me upright at last, leaning against the headboard and propped on pillows. When she brings me a drink, however, I shoot her such a dark look, she backs up a step. “Don’t worry,” she says, her voice quavering a little. “It’s notholabella.”
I allow her to hold the brew under my nose and sniff delicately. There’s no telltale scent of the sedative, but even so, I’m not willing to try. “If I don’t drink,” I ask, shooting her a sharp look, “will you force it down my throat?”
Philippa turns away, chagrined. She doesn’t look like herself—I’ve certainly never seen her so disheveled. Her hair is partiallyundone, her eyes sunken and hollow, her skin a ghastly gray. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say the strain of this last week was getting to her.
“Princess,” she says, setting the cup down on the side table, “I hope you know that I only did that because you were in pain.” She bites her lip and shoots me a sideways glance but cannot hold my gaze. “Please believe me. I only want what’s best for you. I only want to help you.”
My throat burns with bile so thick, I cannot speak. How many times has she repeated those same words to me? Over and over, like a spell to cloud my reason. I’ve heard it so often, I’ve begun to believe it, begun to trust Philippa, forgetting the truth: that she is just one more of my prison keepers.
Unable to look at her, I shift my gaze into the low-lit room. Immediately, my vision is overwhelmed by a dressing dummy, standing before the tall mirror so that the gown it displays dominates the space in reflected glory. A wedding gown. White and gold and dazzling, the massive skirts unfurled to take up almost the entirety of the floor space in this chamber. It could never have fit inside the wardrobe but must have been brought in while I was sleeping.
I stare at it. Like an apparition of horror suddenly manifest before my view.
Philippa, seeing the direction of my fixed gaze, bites her lip. Then, in a whisper: “Prince Taigan was declared the winner.”
A bitter smile curls my lips. “So, though he lost every other challenge, the only one that mattered in the end was this one.” I shake my head at the bitter irony. “Kill a dragon—wed a dragon.”
“He is the only surviving winner of any trial,” Philippa sayssoftly. “Prince Warrick has not won, and the others are all…all…”
Ice shoots through my veins. I turn sharply to Philippa again. “Dead?” I spit the word out in a cold blast. “Are they all dead?” I cannot bear to voice my next question. I cannot bear to demand,Including Valtar?
Tears shimmer in Philippa’s eyes. She presses her lips tightly and exhales through her nostrils. “I don’t know,” she admits at last. “There are rumors—”
“What rumors?”
“It is said hellfire was seen erupting in one of the side passages. Last night. By the river.”
“Hellfire?” I echo.
She nods. “It proves he was dracori all along.” She meets my eyes then and this time manages to hold my gaze. “He’s not been seen since. He’s certainly not being held prisoner in the dungeons. I fear he is…”
She can’t finish her sentence; she doesn’t have to. My mind fills in the rest for her:He is…a liar. A treacherous liar. A dracori bastard, bent on my destruction.
My head shakes as though it doesn’t belong to me, as though some rebellious alternate self rears up in protest against this hideous reality. None of it makes any sense! Tears stream from my eyes, but I don’t bother to wipe them away. How can Valtar have been the villain all along? How can he be one of Mhoryga’s minions? I cannot reconcile the idea with the man I know. The man who climbed a wall to rescue a gremler kit just because it mattered to me. The man who taught me how to wield a knife in self-defense, sparring with me under moonlight far from any protective eyes.
The man who kissed me the way he kissed me last night.
It isn’t true. It can’t be true. These two realities cannot exist in the same space, which means that one must be an illusion. But…but which?
Philippa reaches for me, her hands offering comfort. I smack her away. “Don’t touch me!” My voice is a harsh snarl, almost dragonish.
She leaps back several paces, her eyes wide. I’ve never seen her look like that. Like she’s afraid of me. “Princess, please,” she says, “try to see the truth. Try to accept that all has happened as it was meant to. Mere mortals can neither thwart nor shape the will of the gods. We must simply discern as best we can, and—”
“Rutt that.”
Philippa gasps at the harshness of my tone, one hand flying to her lips. I glare at her furiously—or as furiously as I can muster while still lying half-propped on a pile of pillows. “Rutt that,” I say again with venom. “What has this whole debacle of a championship been other than one big attempt to manipulate the will of the gods? Even now Taigan is named the victor, despite his inability to successfully doanythingother than slay dragons. And I’m to marry him? Based on that singular qualification? The dragon and the dragon slayer—what a perfect couple!”
“You must remember what all this is for,” Philippa persists. “It’s not about you or Taigan. It’s about the fate of the world.”
“And the fate of the world required the brutal deaths of those two young men today?”
Her face goes hard. “They were dragons.”
“So am I.”
Thescintilglobes rattle on their chains, their lights dimming. The air is suddenly hot, steaming, and shadows deepen in every corner. Philippa backs away from me, her eyes white ringed intheir shadowy sockets. She trips over her own skirts and goes down hard to the ground, crouched there, her hands wringing. I sit up in the bed, feeling simultaneously powerful and sick to the very pit of my stomach. My teeth are clenched, my lips rolled back, and for some moments, I feel if I dare to open my mouth, all that pent-up fire in my soul which has been seeking opportunity to rise will burst out of me, consuming everything in this chamber, leaving behind nothing but charred ash.
