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Their future lady.

I will not accept this fate. If I have to crawl to the seventh layer of Hel to broker a deal with Darkness himself, I’ll do it.

“Right in here.” Olga is paused outside a large marble door, hands resting on the golden handles carved like snakes. Two ornate axes are painted red, intersecting in the middle of giant marble doors.

I force my golden slippers from beneath the blood red gown to carry me closer. It’s a wonder that I even walked this far already. Pure adrenaline and shock mixed together in a morbid recipe are all that’s keeping me upright. Beyond this gaudy door is the entire Jord Court.

I reach for my magic instinctively, and feel… nothing.

My skin prickles with unease. How is this possible? As a Starwatcher, I should be able to access my powers innately, right?

“Lady Nox?” Olga’s brows furrow.

I’m going to be sick. I take a hesitant step forward.

I want you to take it. Have it on you as a reminder to be bold. Marrow’s voice calms my nerves, his words an instant relief, even if only a fragment of my imagination. Luckily, I don’t have his Teller patch on me, having given it to Ramona right before the third task. I make a note to thank my past self for that move, not sure how I would have fared having that in the Jord’s hands.

They can take my body or my mind, but they cannot take my spirit.

That is kept safe within, nestled deep where only I can reach. Magic or not, I will endure whatever happens next.

I know you are destined for greatness, Marrow’s sweet tenor commands, harder this time.

I straighten my spine, roll the ache in my shoulders, and take a step forward. I will not disappoint you, Master Teller.

Not one fucking bit.

Olga seems pleased at my shift in attitude and pushes the heavy doors inward. The room inside is expansive. Four different fires blaze along the walls, enveloping the room with warmth. Large stone columns outline the perimeter, each carved into giant white ghosthounds. They stand tall, chests out, baring their teeth mid-snarl.

The wolves appear to be protecting a dark oak dining table—that has to be at least twenty feet long—in the center of the room. A large chandelier hangs heavy with wax dripping from the candles. Court members are strewn throughout the chamber, though their conversations stutter to a halt as they take in their new arrival.

A tall, slender male approaches me, hands clasped behind his back. He is leaner for an Underling, although perhaps that is because he is in a tailored coat rather than bulky fur outfits the Oksvakt wear. “And who might you be?”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Uttert, you know exactly who she is.” A woman approaches on his left. She is stout, and wearing a long black floor-length velvet dress. A large fur drapes around her shoulders.

Mink, perhaps?

I shudder at the thought of not only killing an animal, but then later draping its fur over myself.

She steps forward and extends her hand. “Lawrie of House Kindred.”

The male Underling, Uttert, stands there observing, watching, waiting.

The test begins now, I suppose. Do I take her hand? All around the room, court members watch with feigned nonchalance, drinking from goblets and pretending to engage in whispered conversations.

A log in the fire closest to me pops.

Begrudgingly, I reach forward and shake. “Akemi Nox.”

The performance commences.

Uttert tuts his teeth. “Now, now, none of that. You’ll be Lady of the Jord soon enough.”

Not if I can help it.

Gasps sound throughout the room. A glass shatters. Wine pools like blood.

“Don’t chide her like she is a youngling.” Lawrie smacks Uttert.