Behind him, I realized, stood not a bed but a dais, tall mirrors on three sides.
“That’s what I’ve been thinking.” Haskel passed over to a chair and dropped into it like these were his quarters. He procured an apple from somewhere in his leathers and bit into it. “Doesn’t move well in them. The jerkin’s too heavy for a proper shot.”
And here I thought these were the finest leathers I’d ever worn. “They suit me well enough.”
Haskel lifted a hand. “You want to win these trials, don’t you?”
“Of course.”
“Don’t put an arrow in your boot, then.” He indicated the dais. “It’s a matter of standing. The least work you’ll do all day.”
Of everyone here, I found Haskel the most like people in the Dip. He was blunt, funny, humble. I had a hard time refusing anything he asked of me.
So I stepped onto the dais. And Mirek commenced with measuring me with a length of twine, muttering, his quill scratching notes each time he pulled the cord tight. Every hum of disdain made me want to square my shoulders harder.
Getting fitted for leathers felt wrong. Not for Eurydice Waters. So I distracted myself from Mirek’s assiduous attention to my calf length by saying to Haskel, “What does it mean to harness the magic of two courts?”
Haskel had just taken a bite of apple. He cleared his throat. “Come again?”
“Queen Carys. Four hundred years ago?—”
“Ahh,” said Mirek. “That old chestnut.” I glanceddown at the fae kneeling by my leg with the twine held long. “Every fae child dreams of being the Courtbreaker once they hear the rhyme.”
Haskel turned his apple in one hand as he studied me. “You hear about that from Dorian?”
I gave him a nod.
“It means problems,” Haskel said. “Four hundred years since Carys, and no one complains. We’ve prospered—the wines, meats, cheeses flowing—with the courts in harmony.”
Even Haskel was talking around the question.
“At present, Queen Maeronyx of Noctere reigns,” Mirek said.
“Because her champions defeated the others’ in the last trial,” I said.
“Quick learning for a human,” Haskel said. “Even if you and Dorian were to win the Sylvanwild trials, you would face Noctere, Aurelia, and Highmark’s champions.”
Mirek rose to measure my waist. I leaned around him to see Haskel. “How would we face them?”
“In one fight, before all four courts and all four queens, in the Killing Fields.”
One fight.The Killing Fields.Boots on fucking necks. All because of Carys’s precedent, because she wanted Feyreign strong, its mettle always tested through blood.
Why?
The Kingdom of Storms was certainly no threat.
I glanced between the two men. “Why don’t the champions take the crown for themselves?”
“It’s been tried,” Mirek said darkly. “Once, while Carys still lived. The first Noctere champion declared herself queen after a victory. Carys banded the courts together, and the gods turned against the champion. The throne refused her. Her name was erased from memory.” He glanced up at me as he moved the twine to my ribcage. “You don’t want to know what happened to the body.”
I sucked in a breath. “And Maeronyx. What of her?”
“Maeronyx is hard-fisted but fair.” Haskel bit into his apple. “Trade flows between the courts, borders are respected. A hard queen of tradition is better than one who seeks to bring change. Worst of all is one who possesses a weak will.”
“And Rhiannon?” I asked.
Mirek let out a chuff. “This girl is a bold one.”
