Dante glances at me for a split second before inhaling deeply. He sways slightly as he sets down his goblet. My eyes go to the king, and even he seems rigid, the grasp on his goblet turning his knuckles white.
The queens exchange a glance of private amusement, Ambra hooking her arm through Eosla’s.
“Make it from one side to the other,” Queen Ambra says, her voice like velvet drawn across a blade. “But step carefully. The serpents of Bastos do not take kindly to drunken feet.”
Queen Eleanor holds a gloved hand to her chest. King Silas swallows hard before schooling his features, giving Dante an encouraging nod.
“Ah-ah-ah,” Queen Ambra lets out, shaking a finger at Dante. “No sword. Those are royal serpents, protected by the realm.”
Dante exchanges a glance with Silas as Sir Donovan steps forward and waits by Dante’s side. Dante’s jaw stiffens as he unsheathes his falchion and hands it to Sir Donovan to hold on to.
Murmurs ripple through the audience. Some are watching with fear, others with glee. I shift, palms damp, and I have to stop myself from reaching for Dante’s hand. Luckily, Nadya mollifies me by linking her hand with mine, giving me the support I need. Dante’s bloodshot eyes catch mine for a moment as he moves around me toward the path.
Nadya tenses beside me. “They’re venomous,” she whispers.
A man in a violet sash moves to stand near the path—young, sharp-eyed, with a cobra tattoo winding down his arm. I swear his eyes are pitchblack. He raises a hand in a slow, practiced motion, and when he does, a few of the snakes slither to life, their heads raised and their scaled bodies gleaming beneath the firelight.
He’s fae. An animal-wielder, or at least a snake-wielder. But I’m not sure if he’s there to keep Dante safe… or to make this trial more challenging.
Everyone is quiet as Dante steps onto the first tile. From the musicians’ corner, someone hits a drum in an unnerving tempo. Dante’s shoulders rise and fall as he steadies himself, as if shaking off the haze of wine and heat. The sweat on his brow is visible from where Nadya and I stand, and the tight set of his jaw makes me nervous he’s going to crack a tooth. The music starts again, the flutes and string instruments joining the pulsing drumbeat, and the air feels like it thickens in my throat.
He takes another step. Then another. The fae flicks his wrist, and the first snake shifts toward Dante with a hiss.
I nearly step forward, but Nadya’s hold is strong. I glance at her with wide eyes, and she shakes her head. She’s right. I have to let him complete his trial.
But my magic pulses, anyway, an anxious hum beneath my skin. I clench my teeth, trying to keep it quiet, trying not to let it leak out, but already, I feel the ache pressing behind my eyes, the dull, rhythmic throb that always precedes something I can’t control.
Dante gapes at the snake, his body swaying.
“Steady, Dante. Please.”
Dante straightens a bit, then he moves again, slower now. The snake is now joined by a second, both of them curling across the tile before him, rearing their heads back slightly. The fae twitches his fingers, directing them. They wave their bodies, taunting Dante.
Dante shifts sideways, his weight careful, his focus absolute. But the wine is dulling his edges. He lifts his foot and slides it forward, his eyes trained on the two reptiles. I watch the rise and fall of his chest as he takes a step forward and clears past the first two threats.
I release a breath. I hear a giggle and glance over to see the queens tittering, Ambra’s arms now wrapped around Eosla from behind, herchin resting on Eosla’s shoulder.
I turn my focus back to Dante, who stumbles for a breath—just enough to draw a collective gasp from the room. Laughter bubbles up from a few courtiers.
He recovers. Steadies.
King Silas stretches as if working out a kink in his neck, his hands clenched into fists.
The path ahead of Dante narrows, twisting through a dense cluster of serpents. They slither lazily, but their intent is unmistakable. With the snake-wielder’s signal, one of the reptiles slinks directly into Dante’s path, blocking his progress.
He has to step over it.
My heart is a frantic drum. My hands clench in front of me. I can feel the wild heat of the room, the prickle of sweat against the back of my neck.
The snake juts its head forward with a loud hiss. Dante instinctively reaches for the hilt of his falchion, the wine apparently making him forget it’s not there. The realization throws him off-kilter, and he almost tips forward into the serpent.
My magic surges again.
No!
I push—barely a whisper of will, just enough to nudge the snake away from him. It works, the snake sliding a foot to the right, but the force backlashes through me like a crack of thunder behind my eyes.
Pain splinters across my skull. I flinch, head ducking, and Nadya reaches for me in evident alarm. Her gaze drops to my nose, and her eyes widen. Before I can question her, she grabs a silk handkerchief from the table and shoves it into my palm.
