by Everly Frost
The night before the Heartstone Ceremony, the city is alive with celebrations. The revelries have become more boisterous as the week drew on, but I have no interest in joining in. All of the serious contenders are waiting in their allotted quarters, conserving their energy and mentally preparing themselves for what might lie ahead. The arrogant ones, on the other hand…
I head up patrols through the city, particularly in the entertainment precinct, where I break up drunken scuffles between puffed-up males who throw taunts and the occasional fist at each other. I can’t help but be quietly surprised by the fact that most of them are so overconfident, they don’t take note of my ability to physically subdue them.
On my final patrol of the night before the Ceremony, I pass through a busy tavern at the edge of the city, frowning when I see one of the Major House contenders at a table inside. Rhydian of the House of Valor leans back in a chair while a pretty female stands behind him, rubbing his shoulders. Another sits on his lap, feeding him berries.
I turn to leave but stop when I see Sebastian drinking alone at a table in the far corner. A tavern like this is the last place I expected to see him.
I ask the soldiers in the patrol to remain outside while I step inside. The buzz of voices inside the tavern quiets when I enter, but the patrons quickly return to their drinks and conversation.
I slide into the seat opposite Sebastian.
“Friend,” he slurs, his normally glistening silver-green eyes focused on a spot on my shoulder. “It’s the last night of free will.”
I consider the five full glasses set out in a neat row in front of him, the empty one he clutches, and the slouch of his shoulders. I try to make sense of his statement. What I know is that he shouldn’t be drinking, let alone in a place like this. Most of elven society is governed by rules and propriety, but not all. This is not the shadiest tavern, but it’s not the best.
“You’ve had enough, brother,” I say. “Let me help you home.”
When I attempt to take the glass away from him, he grabs it with a terse, “No!”
I lean in, forcing him to meet my eyes. It’s not like him to get drunk. In fact, I’ve never seen him drink at all. “Why are you here?”
He scrubs at his eyes with his free hand. “I trained with Simon for years. I was his sparring partner. Beat him a fair share of times too. I never dreamed…”
He slumps over his cup, resting his chin on it, staring off into the distance.
Getting information out of Sebastian is like pulling a healthy tooth. I guess I know how Macsen feels each time he asks for answers about my disappearance. “You never thought what, Sebastian?”
He shakes his head. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
I exhale slowly. “Come on. I’m taking you back to your family.”
I reach for his shoulders, but his hands fly out in a surprisingly alert gesture, gripping both my forearms. “You’re my friend, Baelen. We went to the military academy together, stood side by side against all the others. I will never betray you. You know that, right?”
Of course he won’t. I trust him like I trust Macsen. “I believe you.”
“Then leave me be, friend. I promise I’ll be sober in the morning.”
It’s not him I’m worried about. I wouldn’t put it past Rhydian to try to settle some old scores while Sebastian isn’t at his best.
I take a glance back at Rhydian, discouraged to find him standing several paces away, his cheeks flushed with drink. I haven’t spoken to him since military school. His family sent a lowly representative to my father’s funeral.
Rhydian scratches his nose, not hiding his sneer. “Baelen Rath. Crawled back from whatever pit you fell into.”
Patrons at the nearby tables clear out as soon as Rhydian starts speaking, a move that makes me sigh. I guess they’re expecting violence.
For the first time since I returned to civilization, I miss the string of trophies that used to rest around my neck, each one a reminder of a kill that saved a life—a reminder of my purpose. I left it behind because civilized elves wouldn’t understand it. Hell, it would scare them more than my scar already does.
To show him that I don’t want trouble, I hold my hands deliberately wide of the array of daggers that I carry, as well as the sword strapped to my back. I’m dressed in light armor, nothing like the armor from my House, but it’ll protect against most attacks.
Rhydian carries a single dagger and his hand is already twitching over it. A quick sweep of the crowd tells me that two males have inched their way toward us. I recognize them as members of his House.
“It’s good to see you too, Rhydian.” Slowly folding my arms, I take up a casual stance. Behind me, Sebastian rises from his seat, surprisingly steady. Unlike me, he isn’t carrying any weapons. Just like me, he doesn’t need them.
Rhydian takes a step before he spits at my feet. “You should crawl back into that pit.”
I ignore the taunt. My father trained me well: Only the weak respond to insults, son. Watch for the knife, not the words.
I peer around Rhydian to the females who hover uncertain in the background.
I say, “You should get back to your friends, Rhydian.”
His hand drops to his dagger. He jeers. “Those whores? They’re nothing. Just wait until I get a piece of that sweet Princess ass—”
His dagger flies toward me. I guess he thought mentioning Marbella would distract me. I feint right and Sebastian darts left, both of us avoiding the weapon, which thuds into the wall behind us. Not a smart move on Rhydian’s part to lose control of his only weapon.
Sebastian leaps toward the male approaching from the left, ducking the elf’s sluggish right hook and landing a quick succession of blows that puts the guy on his backside within the blink of an eye.
Now that Rhydian is disarmed, I tackle him right in his flabby middle. He’s a brute, but he’s let himself go since I left. I hoist him bodily into the air and drop him onto the surface of the nearest table, cracking it right down the middle. He thuds to the floor, caught between the two pieces of wood.
I spin to the remaining man, glad to see that most of the patrons have cleared out now. The last thing I want is a bystander getting hurt. I swipe a dagger from my harness and the male is so busy watching it that he doesn’t notice my other hand.
My free hand whips out, grabs his shirt, pulls, twists. Moving swiftly while he’s off-balance, I yank the shirt over his head, drag him backward to the next table, kick the back of his knees to force him down, and slam my dagger through the shirt into the table’s surface, pinning him there without leaving a single mark on him. He scrabbles to free himself, but he’ll have to rip his shirt to do so.
I return my attention to Rhydian, who stumbles to his feet, shoving at the broken table with an angry roar. He rages toward me, taking a swipe at me, but I dodge it.
“Go home, Rhydian!” I shout.
He knocks into another table before he pulls himself upright, licking his lips. “I don’t take orders from you, Rath.”
Despite his declaration, he spins and strides past the females as he heads toward the door. At the last moment, his hand whips out, grabbing the blonde female by her hair. “You’re coming with me.”
She cries out, her eyes squeezing closed in pain as he jerks her forward.
I move in a flash, crossing the distance. Any blow to his body will make him jolt, which will hurt the female. My focus narrows. As the female struggles to be released, my hand wraps around Rhydian’s wrist.
Energy flows through me from my chest down my arm to my hand, an unexpected heat that scorches my fingertips. He shouts as I twist his wrist and force his hand to fly open.
He retaliates with a punch to my face, but I deflect the blow, land a kick on his thigh, and force him to his knees.
I blink away the crimson haze that descended over my vision and it’s gone in an instant, some sort of trick of the light.
The female lurches back, clutching her scalp, tears
streaming down her face.
“Go,” I say. “Take your friend.”
The female grabs her friend and they rush from the tavern. Seconds later, the patrol swarms inside. Several of my soldiers are missing—they will make sure the females make it safely home.
“Rhydian Valor, unless you want to see the inside of a cell tonight, I suggest you take yourself home,” I say.
Now that there are multiple swords pointed at him, Rhydian surrenders, spreading his fingers wide to show he won’t fight me again.
I release him, but the hatred in his eyes is unmistakable. “Don’t expect to survive the trials, Baelen.”
I don’t respond, making my way back to Sebastian instead.
He gestures to the five glasses on the table behind him, three of which now lie on their side, knocked over in the scuffle. “I’m done here.”
Walking with Sebastian back to his quarters, I don’t press him to speak. I take several of the patrol soldiers with me, including the captain, trusting the others to take care of the scene at the tavern.
When we arrive, Sebastian’s mother greets us at the door. She’s a quietly-spoken woman who is well-respected in her House and others.
“Thank you, Baelen,” she says, placing a grateful hand on my arm that tells me she was concerned about her son’s welfare. It doesn’t seem to matter how old he gets, she still worries. I wonder if my own mother would worry about me if she were still alive.
Sebastian disappears inside the building, his shoulders no less slumped than when I first saw him.
The captain leans in to speak with me as we head back along the paved street. He’s an older male who always thinks before he speaks and is skillful with a sword.
“Commander Rath,” he says, giving me a respectful bow. “We can continue the patrol. You should get some rest.”
I’ve been avoiding sleep. Every time I fall into bed, I dream of the past. I’m wearing thin and I don’t know what the first trial will be. I acknowledge his offer with a nod. “You’re right. Thank you.”
I force myself to return to my quarters, barely undressing before I fall onto the bed, afraid of what I’ll see in my dreams, all the moments I left behind, some I cling to like a torturous dream and others I don’t want to remember.
10. Marbella Mercy
“Wake up, Princess.” Jordan whispers to me from the far side of the bed. She has already opened the skylight.
I untangle myself from the sheets as I squint at her.
I bolt upright. Today is the Heartstone Ceremony.
Before I give in to the panic rising inside me, Jordan leans forward, grinning like an elven cat. “We have a surprise for you.”
I slide out of bed, my dressing gown trailing behind me but she gestures for me to stop in the middle of the room.
“Close your eyes.”
I lift an eyebrow, but I trust her. I place both hands over my eyes. There’s a click as the door opens. I sense footsteps, light, female, at least five… no, more than ten. There’s a dragging sound too, like something being pushed across the floor.
All sounds stop. “Can I open my eyes now?”
There’s a pause. Then, “Yes.”
I open my eyes to find that all of my Storm Command has squeezed into the space around me. Some of them sit on the bed and others stand in the doorway to the bathing room to make room for all twenty to fit into my room.
I catch my breath at the object they’ve pushed in front of me. It’s a dummy like the ones from the War Room… and it’s covered in armor.
I take a step forward, running my hand over it. Fine gold-colored plates are connected together in an intricate pattern to form a chest plate that wraps around the dummy from neck to groin. Plates have also been fashioned to cover the outer thighs and shoulders. Beneath it, a full body suit of silvery-blue material shimmers from beneath the dummy’s chin down to its toes.
I spin to Jordan. “Are those Shimmer Beetle husks? And the suit under the armor—is it made from Elyria spider web?”
She hasn’t stopped grinning. “Yes and yes. It’s for you. We’ve been constructing it for the last seven years. It took that long to source enough of the web and husks.”
The suit under the outer layer is spun from the web of the Elyria spider, whose web is unbreakable even by the sharpest sword, and the plates are fashioned from the golden husks that the shimmer beetle sheds only once each year. The husks are as tough as iron but light as feathers.
I don’t even bother trying to hide my tears. They drip down my cheeks in fat rivers. “It’s not metal so it won’t interact with the storm. I can wear it even when I’ve come from the Vault.”
I’m surprised it only took them seven years to make the armor because both animals are extremely rare and only live in the highest peaks behind the…
I freeze.
“But they only live on Rath land. You can’t take anything from another House’s land unless you pay or trade for it.”
Jordan shifts uncomfortably beside me. “We didn’t have to pay. We had permission. In fact… it was an order.”
“From whom?”
“From the late Commander Rath. Baelen Rath’s father.”
So much shock slams into me that it’s like a physical force. I teeter backward to sit on the bed while the Storm Command rushes to make room for me.
“Rordan Rath ordered you to make this? Why?”
I shake my head in disbelief. Baelen Rath’s father avoided me, never spoke to me, hated me as far as I knew.
“He came here a month after you were officially announced as Princess. He stood outside your door, sort of just staring at it. I wasn’t sure what to do but he finally asked how you were. I told him the truth: that you were still recovering, that you hadn’t said much, and…”
She glances at me and there’s sympathy in her eyes before she goes on. “I told him you were still having nightmares.”
I shudder, take a deep breath. “And?”
“He said he knew he could give me orders, but that he was only going to give me one. He said that I was to send the Storm Command every fall and spring to collect the abandoned Shimmer husks and Elyria webs from the highest peaks on Rath land and that I was to fashion them into a suit of armor for you to wear.”
I swipe at the tears still swimming in my eyes. “I don’t understand why.”
She drops to her knees on the floor in front of me while the Storm Command watches on. “He said one last thing that might shed light on his actions: he said his son’s sacrifice had to be for something and he was damned if he wasn’t going to do everything he could to protect you.”
I drop my head into my hands. Tears stream between the cracks in my fingers. Baelen Rath’s father had forgiven me. I’d never expected such mercy.
I make a decision. I’m pretty sure it’s a rash one, but it feels like the right thing to do.
I speak into the quiet room. “Baelen Rath is going to offer me his family’s heartstone today. If his life is threatened at any time during the trials, I order you to protect him in the same way you would protect me.”
My announcement is met with shocked silence. Nobody moves.
Jordan remains kneeling in front of me. She jolts back on her hands like I just struck her. “But Princess…”
“I know what I’m saying, Jordan.”
I hold my hand up to stifle any argument. Then I stand, smoothing down my dress. “You all need to be on full alert. These won’t be ordinary trials.”
I close the gap to the armor. “You’ve made me proud, each and every one of you. Thank you all for this gift.”
I smile at the glimmering suit. I’m about to put it to good use.
11. Marbella Mercy
The indoor arena is packed. All of the Houses have arrived. The five members of the Elven Command stand in a line on the dais. They’re members of the five highest Houses: Elder, Splendor, Glory, Valor, and Bounty.
They form a dazzling display of beauty and wealth. It’s mid-m
orning but the spellcasters have adorned the arched ceiling with spun silver and gold, lanterns hanging high above us under a false night sky.
There are fifteen major Houses and fifteen minor ones. While the majority of the crowd remains behind a golden barrier further back, there are thirty squares set out at the front. The Houses won’t reveal their chosen champions until the last moment when the male carries his heartstone to me, so there are at least two extra males with an advisor in each square acting as decoys.
The whole place is churning with elves.
I wait with Jordan in the entrance room that is reserved for me. My Storm Command is already in position on either side of the dais. A golden chest sits on its own raised platform on the far side of the dais. Each time I receive a heartstone, I will place it in the chest and the magic will bind the champion to complete the trials until he’s eliminated.
A purple cape sweeps around me, tied at the front. In my right hand, I hold my family’s heartstone—a lavender rock, a washed out, pale color. My family is the only House that can’t submit a champion in case we’re related. But my mother, father, and brother will be in the crowd. Jordan stands with me, but Elise is yet to return from her sweep through the champions.
The music starts playing to quiet the crowd, a fanfare of trumpets and a chorus of elven voices from a choir positioned on the far side.
The noise in the room finally dies down as Elise joins me, a little out of breath. “Your mother and father are here. When you’re on the dais, look to the right. They’re in the elevated seats at the back of the stadium.”
I grit my teeth. My parents should be on the dais with me. They should be treated like royalty instead of shoved in with the crowd like every other onlooker. “My brother?”
She swallows. “Your brother stands with the House of Rath. I believe he’s agreed to be a proxy for Baelen during the trials.”
Shock ripples through me, but also happiness. The House of Rath is located right at the front, which means my brother will stand mere feet away from me. I haven’t seen Macsen for seven years and to be this close to him means the world to me.