Thousands of people live within those walls, hidden from view. They’re the king’s court. Dozens of noble families with their own houses – mansions, really – each filled with their own servants.
Then there’s the barracks, which are occupied by those who train to be guards, bound to fight and die for the king. As well as the soldiers, the walls are bursting with priestesses, wardens, and emissaries. Sellers, scholars, physicians, and healers. There are stables crowded with horses, as well as all the stablehands needed to tend to and groom the animals. Scribes and chefs. Craftsmen and acolytes. The High Hold is filled with the most powerful, respected, and richest of all in Morathka, and now I’m to join them yet again.
I don’t want to feel nervous. I want to feel as confident as I did when I scaled the third wall and monitored the guards at the temple. As confident as I pretended to be when I told Kay everything would be fine. But it’s hard.
As I step out of the carriage, I clutch the satchel Dinah gave me, wishing I’d taken the dagger and slipped it in the back of my trousers already. Instead, a steeling breath is all I have to quench my nerves as I make my way up the steps to where over a dozen knights stand with their bonded dire wolves.
‘Rose Kultavaris,’ I tell them.
Immediately, they step aside. There’s no questioning me today. It should be a relief, but it doesn’t stop the skitter of nerves at the way the wolves’ eyes follow me as I walk through the entrance towards the narrow passageway beyond. Unlike the rest of the Wrohelm walls, which are only ten or so feet wide, the inner ring wall protecting the High Hold is almost double that. And traversing the narrow passageway through it, lit only by pale yellow lamps, feels like walking into a whole new world. I suppose it is.
I hate the gasp that leaves my lips as I enter the High Hold. There is no darkness anymore. The wall’s stones, which were onyx black on the outside, are marble white here, reflecting the weak light that falls on them and turning it into something truly spectacular. It is the sheer amount of open space that stuns me the most. The room between the buildings, the height of which dwarfs even the largest structures in the outer rings.
Several passersby offer me a glance, only to wrinkle their noses and scurry away as if poverty were contagious, yet I pay them no mind. The High Hold. This is where Kay belongs. And I will get her here, even if it’s the last thing I do.
Though first I have to figure out where I’m supposed to be going.
While the rest of Wrohelm is divided into rings, the circle of the High Hold is divided into arcs fanning out from the palace at the centre. While I’m pretty sure the Rettlings aren’t going to be in the temple arc or the courtier arc, I don’t know for certain, and annoyingly, there’s no big sign with ‘Retterheld’ written on it, directing me. Which means I’m going to have to ask someone.
As I search out a friendly face among the scores of people milling about in their finest furs, I spot a priestess of Yordenrin – Goddess of Chaos – dressed in a purple cloak. Priestesses feel like a safe bet to ask forhelp. With a slight grunt, I hoist my bags firmly back onto my shoulder and hurry over to her.
‘Excuse me.’ I wait until she’s looking at me before I continue. ‘Do you know where the Rettlings are supposed to go?’
The elderly woman tilts her head to the side, and the purple stone within her forehead gleams like fire in amethyst. Rather than speaking, she merely points towards the palace.
It’s not the most helpful direction I’ve ever been given, but I do as she directed, walking between two large buildings with great colonnades while trying to keep my mind on the task at hand, rather than getting distracted by all the wondrous sights around me.
I know it’s been fourteen years since I was here, but my memory has grossly failed me. Either that or it deliberately tried to forget how truly magnificent it was so as not to make me ache for it more. Everything feels like I am seeing it for the first time.
To my right, a large pond is set in front of a red brick building, and waterlilies grow above broad-plated leaves. To my left, a group of red cloaks – priestesses of Niairah, Goddess of Air and Fire – stand in silence around a vortex of swirling flames. I assume the building behind them is a temple to the Goddess. Just as I’m starting to think I never spent any time in this part of the ring, I spot a large wall behind the temple and a spark of recognition alights within me.
Is it the barracks beyond there or the courts? No, the courthouses were in the eastern arc, I’m sure of that. So that would be the barracks, wouldn’t it? And for some reason, I suspect that’s where I’m meant to go. I turn, hoping to find another guard or priestess I can ask, when I hear my name called.
‘Rose? Rose Kultavaris?’
The man calling me is dressed in a tight white top and a pair of equally snug dark black trousers that sure as hell leave nothing to the imagination, though from what I can see, that’s the point. Not wanting to be caught staring, I draw my eyes up his torso. Shadows curve around his abs and his shoulders have to be equally broad as Ruben’s, only far more filled out. But it’s his face that holds my attention. His warm sandy hair, his amber eyes that hold a hint of familiarity, and his soft smile. A corkscrewing that has nothing to do with nerves ripples through my stomach as he strides towards me.
‘Rose Kultavaris,’ he says, embracing me – or rather, engulfing me with his arms. When we break away, his grin is replaced by a frown. ‘I can’tbelieve it,’ he says. ‘You, a Rettling? Honestly, when I saw your name …’ He lowers his voice slightly, eyes lingering on my hair. ‘You’re still stripped, right?’
‘Jonas?’ I feel my lips break into a grin as I finally place him. ‘Jonas Lorathin?’
The last time I saw Jonas, he was a scrawny boy, desperate to prove himself. To grow some muscles and fight with the men. Well, it sure as hell looks like he succeeded in that.
His face is partially hidden by a full, neatly kept beard, and the top half of his thick blond hair is tied in a knot, while the remainder is in a thick braid that passes his shoulders. The type of braids I could imagine getting a good hold of as I pull him?—
‘You’re staring,’ he says, a slight quirk on his lips. ‘Is that a good thing?’
His voice cuts into my inappropriate thoughts before they can fully form, and I clear my throat to buy myself a moment.
‘It’s an … odd thing.’ I say truthfully. ‘It’s weird, you know? In my head, you’re still a little kid.’
‘Yeah, same.’ A smile flickers into a smirk, and good Gods, it’s cute on him. Reassuring, comforting … flirtatious. I must remember to thank Dinah for putting those extra dealun seeds in my bag.
‘Most of the other Rettlings are sparring in the battle yard.’ Jonas’s voice once again stops my daydreams in their tracks. ‘Everyone’s keen to get acquainted with their opponents and explore the king’s weaponry store, which he’s opened for our use. You know, work out the best ways and tools to beat them.’
Fuck. I was so focused on getting as much time with Kay as possible that I didn’t even think about the advantages that would have come with arriving early. Well, there’s no point wasting time now.
‘The aim of the Retterheld is to win the challenges, not kill the other competitors.’ I’m not sure why it seems so important to say this. I’m not normally naïve, but a part of me had justhoped.
