‘My grandfather said they announced the last one at dawn to give everyone more time to lay bets,’ Ruben says, oblivious to the way my hands are now trembling. He shrugs. ‘But then,hisgrandfather said they announced the previous one at sunset.’
‘So basically they do it whenever the hell they like,’ I hiss through gritted teeth. My heart is hammering beneath my sternum with such force I’m surprised it hasn’t broken free. I turn and look at Kay and try to steady my voice as much as possible. ‘Don’t you have to go?’ I say to her. ‘You don’t want to be late.’
She looks at me like I’ve grown two heads. ‘They are announcing Etta’s choice for Rettlings, for what is likely to be the only Retterheld I will eversee in my lifetime. I’m not going anywhere! Besides, like I said, I want to see if we recognise any names.’
The lump in my throat is cutting off the air to my lungs, and I’m certain I’m going to faint.
The slum residents scatter to the sides of the square, making room for the imposing guards, and I’m surprised by the tension that ripples through my body at the sight of them. I’ve seen guards plenty of times since we were thrown out of the High Hold – I was dodging them for the last three nights, for crying out loud – but something about the way they’re standing reminds me of the moment they dragged my mother away that night, the prince’s cold eyes fixed on us.
‘The Great Goddess Etta has made her choice for the nineteenth Retterheld.’ The lead guard’s voice pulls me out of the memory and sends the rest of the slum into heart-racing silence. ‘The following nobles and knights have been selected to fight for the gifting?—’
As the silence holds fast, I know most of the people around me are thinking the same thing: why the hell would a noble need a gifting? What does one who has it all needmorefor?
I’m fighting the urge not to reach out and take Ruben’s arm for support, but I don’t want to give him the wrong impression. Besides, if I can’t stand on my own two feet now, I’m going to be screwed if I do actually get into the trials. The churning in my stomach is so strong that I swear I’m about to start seeing stars when the first name pulls me back into the moment.
‘Sir Jonas Lorathin.’
Kay swivels to look at me. ‘Jonas. Isn’t that?—’
‘Artur’s son,’ I reply. That’s all she will know of Jonas. His father found us the house in the fifth ring when we were cast out of the High Hold. He also used to visit occasionally, all the way until my mother’s death. He was the only one.
Unlike Kay, I remember Jonas himself. I remember the days before we were cast out, when we sparred with one another, sword against sword, hand against hand. I recall his sandy hair – golden and warm, unlike my stripped white-blonde – and his amber eyes, and the way he would throw his head back when he laughed. Not to mention the awe he displayed whenever I showed him the first inkling of my magic, his own having not yet manifested.
I can’t deny that I’m more than a little intrigued to learn about theman he has grown into. Yet before I have time to fix my thoughts of him, the next name is called.
‘Rose Kultavaris.’
The air is stolen from my lungs and all the strength washes from my knees.
Me.
Etta choseme.
A gasp rattles around the market as every pair of eyes turns to look at me.
‘I’m in.’ The words come out as barely a whisper, and I find my lips still moving. ‘I’m in.’
I did it. I’m in the Retterheld.
The overwhelm that rushes through me is enough to have me reaching out a hand to balance myself, and it’s only when my fingers touch the rough edge of hewn fabric that I realise I did not find Ruben as I intended. Instead, I turn to find myself looking at a pair of eyes the exact same shade of green as my own. And right now, they harbour a hardness I didn’t know they could possess.
Kay’s jaw is tight. ‘What the fuck have you done, Rose?’
Chapter 5
Ican count the number of times my sister has sworn on two hands, and even then, I can’t remember any time she’s used that particular expletive, but I sense there’s a lot more vitriol coming my way. Her eyes are dark as she glowers at me, and a guilt-inducing sheen of tears appears.
‘I don’t understand. Why, Rose? Why would you do this?’
‘We’re not doing this here, Kay,’ I say, missing the next name announced as we hiss at each other.
‘You should have said something to me!’
As I take a step closer to Kay to tell her that we’ll talk more when we’re alone, in private, the silence of the market is suddenly replaced by rushed, bubbling whispers.
‘Whose name did they just say?’ I ask.
Jaw tight, Ruben replies, ‘Kyor Knavin.’
