“Some of you will not make it past the first round of the festivities,” the queen continues with a deliberate arch of a manicured eyebrow.
First round?Clem and I exchange a baffled look.
“There are key trials at each stage of the celebrations, some small, some large, to determine the caliber of the crown prince’s future queen. Beauty, elegance, cleverness, resilience, power.” She pauses and cants her chin. “May the gods deliver the worthy.”
Women around me are clapping and whispering, but I only feel alarm spreading like an oil slick. Had she saidgodsorodds? Queen Morvarid wouldn’t be so blasphemous in her own court, would she?May theoddsdeliver the worthy—that’s what she’d declared.
Without further fanfare, we’re herded from the throne room to a wide hall where several liveried servants wait in four neat rows, holding the pennant flags and colors of each house: burgundy for Regulus, dark gray for Antares, navy blue for Fomalhaut, and forest green for Aldebaran. More armed imperial guards line the perimeter of the space, which, after the incident in the courtyard, seems logical now. Maybe any one of the women here could be behind an assassination plot. The Dahaka had already tried once—what’s to stop them from doing so again? It would be a perfect time to make a move against the crown with so many guests in the palace.
I wonder what Clem thinks of the rebellion, but I suppose that’s too personal—or dangerous—of a thing to ask someone you just met.
“Sorting by house?” she scoffs. “How unoriginal.”
“Maybe it’s just efficient to organize the herd,” I say. “What do you think this is for?”
“I guess we will see,” Clem says as she moves toward the gray pennant. “Save me a seat on the other side!”
Before I can answer, I’m steered toward the line for the House of Aldebaran. From what I can discern, it looks as though each woman is being subjected to a short interrogation or interview. Laughterbubbles into my throat. Maybe they’re curious about our dietary requirements or want to determine our fine dining skills.
If there are forks, work your way in from the outer end.
Laleh’s courtly advice makes me chuckle. Sands, I miss her so much.
I move past Fatima standing in the Antares line and Parvi in Fomalhaut, but both look past me, which makes my throat tight even though they were so cold in the carriage. Not like we all didn’t attend grammar school together for years in Coban or their families don’t eat weekly at the Saab Inn. I could be invisible for all their notice. But I keep my head high. I might not be the most beautiful woman here or the most battle hardened, but I do havesomepride.
I was chosen, same as them.
As I wait for my turn, I notice some of the girls being welcomed into the next hall, while others are removed rather forcibly by the waiting guards, ushered through a set of side doors. At one point, I think I hear muffled screams echo into the chamber. I crane my neck toward the sound but can spot nothing. And none of the servants or guards seem perturbed.
We surge forward, and I peer over to the Antares line to see Clem reading something before giving an answer. She’s expressionless when she’s approached by two grim-faced guards, though her eyes flick to mine, conveying encouragement, of all things. My stomach dives as she’s efficiently expelled from the room. I don’t know what I’ll do if she’s been cut.
When it’s my turn to speak to the liveried attendant, I’m handed a sealed scroll.
“Answer correctly and you may enter the dining room,” the attendant intones. “This is your first challenge.”
Eyes narrowing, I take the ornate scroll and unwind it to reveal a... riddle.
Well, this is unexpected. Maybe the crown prince doesn’t want awife with a walnut brain after all. Or maybe this is an intricate trap in the guise of a simple riddle, some devious test of the queen’s. But what? Riddles are children’s games, and a challenge like this seems almost deceptively infantile.
Then again, it had stumped Clem. I focus my attention on the scroll.
It is soundless, unseen, tasteless, untouchable, and odorless. It is present at the start and appears after the close. It delves into hollow spaces, burrows below mountains, and cradles the moon and the stars. It destroys joy, breaks realms.
A trickle of terror winds through me—what are the odds I would get such a riddle? Heart pounding, I read it again for good measure, but my fear only deepens. I can’t help but think of the crone’s premonition:where it walks, death follows.
I jump as the brunette from Antares who’d laughed at me in the courtyard cries out. She’s being dragged away, pleading for another chance.
Perhaps I should fail on purpose, and then I’ll get sent home as well.Ifthat’s where they’re going—it sounds like failure means more than missing dinner in the dining room. My belly rumbles hard in protest.
“What happens to those women who don’t answer the riddle correctly?” I ask.
“They do not eat,” the attendant says.
I frown. “But where do they go? Back to their rooms? Back to their homes? To the dungeons?”
His eyes flicker on the last. “Your answer, my lady.”
My stomach gives another obnoxious growl as if daring me to fail. Starvation as a punishment seems unnecessarily cruel, but then again, this is a competition, and no one but Clem gave a shit about me in that courtyard. If this is the way to get fed, I’m going to eat.
