“You—” I said. “You were chosen?”
“Months ago,” Faun said. She seemed to sense the question in my head—who was her partner?—and she gave an infinitesimal nod toward a redheaded male fae standing not far behind her. He was tall but slender and seemed uninterested in anything but Queen Rhiannon and the direction of her gaze.
When Faun and I met eyes, satisfaction touched her mouth. She seemed to know something I didn’t.
I set my hand to Dorian’s forearm, and he leaned toward me. I whispered, “Faun—she cleans my room. How?—”
“The strongest,” Dorian said, voice low enough just for me. “The spiritstag always chooses from among the court’s strongest.”
Faun. The strongest.
I couldn’t help myself; my gaze kept straying to her, and something twisted and strange touched my heart. Perhaps more than anyone here, I feared and respected and envied her all at once.
That’s a woman who could bite a man’s face off.
I prayed I would not have to meet her in the trials.
A noise like birdcall rang through the throne room, spreading amongst those present. Around me, all joined in. Speaking voices fell away, and only the birdcall remained.
Everyone turned toward the throne, where Rhiannon had risen.
Through a gap between bodies, I caught a slender view of her in her royal robes, resplendent not in gold or jewels, but in the wild majesty of her court. The fabric shimmered like leaves kissed with rain, dyed in shades of deep forest green and bramble purple, threads of silvery bark running through the folds. Vines embroidered in thorned filigree curled across the sleeves, and the train of her robe flowed like moss down the steps of the dais.
She advanced, the hem whispering across the floor. She lifted her scepter, carved from dark wood and inlaid with glinting stone, and the birdcall faded to silence.
Her scepter lowered, and Rhiannon’s eyes moved over the crowd. She seemed larger, more regal than at any other time, as though she were twice as tall and powerful. The diadem gleamed under the amethyst light.
“Welcome all,” she said, “of the autumn court. Today we gather at the behest of the four spirits. Their long-awaited call has sounded, and the trials of the four courts will commence. The spiritstag has chosen its aspirants, present here today, to lay claim to the title of champion. As the queen of the court, the spiritstag has whispered into my ear the nature of the first trial. In a moment, I will name it.”
Beside me, Dorian’s arm pressed against mine. It was the first time I didn’t recoil from his touch. His warmth seeped through the leather into me, and I leaned back toward him the smallest fraction.
No matter what animosity we felt toward one another, in this moment I yearned for solidity.
Rhiannon’s gaze fell upon our group, standing to the left of her. She seemed to stare directly at me.
“The first trial will be the Eldermaze.”
As soon as the words left Rhiannon’s lips, a wail broke out somewhere in the throne room.
Like the sound of a child weeping.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
We leftthe throne room at once. Twenty-four of us filed out of the citadel and emerged into the daylight, where twenty-four horses waited for us. Servants held their reins, which were conferred to us when we approached.
How had the horses been brought around so quickly?
Of course—Rhiannon had known what the trial would be, and she had arranged for the horses to be here.
The whole of the Sylvanwild Court spilled into the gardens behind us. The lone child went on wailing, and the general murmur felt laden with trepidation, shock. The earlier anticipation, thrill, had gone.
The Eldermaze. I didn’t know the first thing about it. I had no recollection of any labyrinth in the book Dorian had given me.
I followed Dorian down the line of horses to the end. He picked the roan horse he had introduced me to earlier in the week. Beside that horse stood Pettifey, my filly.
He held the horse’s mane for me. “Get on.”
My chest felt tight as a drum. “You’d have me ride alone?”
