I handed the bag to Paloma, who took it and slipped it into her pocket. I didn’t have anything for Cho, so I simply bowed low to him in the Ryusaman style. He returned the gesture. Then I faced Sullivan and Serilda.
I held the memory stone out to Sullivan. Before the black-ring match, I had told Paloma to give the stone to Serilda, but I hadn’t known about Sullivan’s royal Andvarian blood back then. He was the right person to give it to now.
His frown deepened, but he took the stone, his fingers lingering against my skin. I drew in a breath, tasting his cold, clean, vanilla scent.
“What’s this?” he asked. “Why do you have a memory stone? What’s on it?”
“Proof that the Andvarians are innocent and that Vasilia was behind the Blair massacre.”
He sucked in a surprised breath. So did Paloma and Cho. Serilda was also surprised, but her shock quickly vanished, and her eyes narrowed in thought.
“Bastard princes are still princes,” I said in a soft voice. “Sometimes, they are the best princes. Use it wisely, Sully.”
So many emotions flared in his eyes. Surprise, gratitude, and something much, much deeper. Something that made my heart ache with longing for what might have been. Something that was never going to be, since I would most likely be executed in the next few minutes.
Sullivan must have seen those same emotions reflected in my own eyes, but he couldn’t do anything about them any more than I could. His fingers curled around the stone, and he pressed his fist to his heart and bowed low to me in the Andvarian style. I gave him the perfect Bellonan curtsy in return. A small sad smile curved the corner of his lips. Yeah. Mine too.
Finally, I turned to Serilda and held out the feather to her. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I was never a black swan.”
She took the feather from me and twirled it back and forth between her fingers. After several seconds, she raised her gaze to mine. “Who are you? Who are you really ?”
I knew what she was asking, what they were all asking, but I didn’t answer. I wanted to hold on to this moment for a few seconds longer. So I looked at the silver bracelet. The seven tearstone shards that made up the crown glittered like tiny daggers in the soft, dreamy light. I slipped the bracelet onto my wrist, then pushed my sleeve up so that it was clearly visible. I might as well wear it, since this would most likely be the last chance I ever had to enjoy it.
My fingers traced over the crown, along with a few of the thorns. Then I dropped my hand to my side, lifted my head, and faced my friends again.
I looked at each one of them in turn. Trusting Paloma. Curious Cho. Cynical Sullivan. Suspicious Serilda. I drew in a deep breath and slowly let it out.
“My name is Everleigh Saffira Winter Blair, and I am a Winter queen.” My lips twisted into a grim smile. “Whatever that bloody means.”
Paloma frowned with confusion, while Cho gave me a speculative look. Sullivan’s face hardened. In an instant, it felt as though he had put up a glass wall between us, with him on one side and me on the other.
But it was Serilda who had the most interesting reaction. Her blue eyes grew dark and distant, even as she peered at me more closely than she ever had before. Her searching gaze swept over my features, from my short black hair to my gray-blue eyes to my cheeks, nose, and chin. I got the impression that she was comparing me as I was now to whatever dim memories she might have of me as a girl running around Seven Spire.
Her gaze swept lower and focused on the bracelet glinting on my wrist. Recognition dawned in her eyes. She knew that Alvis had made the bracelet, just as he had made the black swan pendant that ringed her throat.
That was the moment when she finally believed me.
She shuddered out a breath, and I could have sworn that tears gleamed in her eyes, although I had no idea why she would be so emotional.
Serilda opened her mouth, but she didn’t get the chance to speak since Halvar chose that moment to walk back over to us.
“Your time is up,” he growled.
I looked at my friends again. I thought about asking them to wish me luck, but I decided not to. I would need far more than luck to get through this.
I nodded at my friends, then strode out into the courtyard to meet my fate.
Chapter Twenty-Three
I stopped in the center of the courtyard. Halvar stepped up next to me and gestured at the musicians.
“Once they start playing, you cannot stop the Tanzen Freund, and you cannot start over,” he said. “You have to keep going until you make it through all twelve sections. Stopping for any reason will mean your immediate death. Do you understand?”
“I understand. Although the dance has thirteen sections, not twelve.” I glanced over at the musicians. “Please don’t forget the last section. I would really hate for Halvar to kill me just because you all got tired of playing.”
A few of them laughed at my joke, as did many of the Ungers sitting on the balcony, but Halvar glared at me.
I smiled in the face of his anger, then sat down in the courtyard and took off my boots and socks, all five pairs. Paloma came over and took them from me, and I stood up again.
I had always wondered why the dance was performed barefoot, and as soon as my feet touched the ground, I learned the answer—because the flagstones were coated with magic.
I had been so focused on my friends that I hadn’t noticed it before, but the courtyard reeked of magic. My nose twitched. And not just any magic. Every single stone was covered with invisible, icy needles that were already stabbing into my bare feet. In a way, the sensation was even worse than trudging through the magier’s storm, and my feet felt frozen and throbbing at the same time.
It was another fucking test, as if the dance itself wasn’t difficult enough.
Halvar noticed my discomfort. “Any time you’re ready to begin.” He arched an eyebrow. “Unless you want to save yourself the embarrassment and forfeit your life now?”
I forced myself to smile as though nothing was wrong. “Just waiting for you to get out of my way. Unless you want me to twirl you around the courtyard a few times first?”
Bjarni and some of the other Ungers snickered, but Halvar’s eyes glittered with anger. He gave me a short, mocking bow, then whirled around and stalked over to the musicians.
That left me standing alone. Everyone stared at me. Halvar, Bjarni, and the other Ungers. The mysterious figure in black on the balcony. Paloma, Cho, Sullivan, Serilda, and everyone else in the gladiator troupe. If I had done nothing else with my life, I had at least saved them from death.
Now I had to save myself.
I closed my eyes, thinking back to all those lessons, all those long hours spent with Lady Xenia barking out the moves and pounding her cane on the floor, beating out the rhythm of the dance. I hadn’t practiced the Tanzen Freund, hadn’t even really thought about it, since my last lesson with Xenia, but I could hear the music playing in my mind. I drew in a breath, and I almost thought that I could smell her peony perfume wafting over me. I concentrated on the scent and the memories that it brought along with it.
I could do this. I had to do this, or I was dead. Perhaps it was petty, but I had been through too much, I had survived too much these past few months, to die in some strange courtyard this far from home. I was going to perform the dance perfectly, every single step, and not just because my life depended on it. No, I was going to perform the dance for me . Because I had put the time and effort into learning it, just as I had all those other useless skills, and because I never did anything less than my best.
That was what being Lady Everleigh Saffira Winter Blair really meant to me.
With that determination surging through me, I opened my eyes and lifted my hands into the first position. I nodded at the musicians, telling them that I was ready. They picked up their violins, flutes, and other instruments, and the opening strains of music floated through the courtyard.
And then I danced.
The first section of the dance was very
much like a Bellonan waltz, slow and elegant, with lots of twirls and elaborate hand flourishes. If I had been dancing on a regular ballroom floor, I would have enjoyed it immensely, but the icy needles of magic that coated the flagstones stabbed into my feet with every step, and I had to grit my teeth against the pain. Not only that, but the stones were chipped and uneven in places, and the sharp edges sliced into my feet, drawing out drop after drop of blood. I gritted my teeth and kept dancing.
As I spun around, my gaze roamed over the crowd. Paloma, Cho, and the troupe members stared at me with curious faces, having never seen the dance before. Halvar, Bjarni, and the Ungers studied me with furrowed brows, following and analyzing every single step of my feet and sweep of my hands through the air. Sullivan and Serilda both stared at me with sharp, narrowed eyes, and I could almost see the thoughts whirling around in their minds, much the same way that I whirled around the courtyard.
Slowly, the music changed, becoming lighter and faster as it moved into the second section, and I shut out everything else and focused on the dance. The steps became more intricate and complicated, the arm flourishes grander, the twirls longer and quicker. Sweat trickled down the back of my neck, and my breath steamed in the frosty air. And my feet. Oh, my poor, poor feet. I felt like I was dancing on a bed of cold nails, and I could see my steps tracing out the dance patterns from where my cut feet had smeared blood all over the flagstones.
Still, despite all that pain, discomfort, and blood, I was enjoying this.
Dancing had always been one of those things that I was naturally good at, even better than Vasilia. And it was the one thing that she had never tried to compete with me at, had never beaten me at. Of course that was largely due to the fact that she had always been surrounded by a flock of admirers during any royal ball. But it was still the one thing that she had never used to humiliate me.
For the first time—for the very first time—I didn’t have to worry about Vasilia seeing me or someone whispering in her ear that I was actually better at something than she was. For the first time, I was completely free to dance the way that I had always wanted to—without fear. Even if I made a mistake, even if I forgot a step, even if Halvar lunged forward and ripped me to pieces, I was going to enjoy every single second of the dance up until that moment.
Once I made that decision, once I fully embraced the dance, my breathing became easier, my steps quickened, and my feet even quit hurting. I didn’t know if my immunity had kicked in and nullified the magic that coated the flagstones, or if my feet were so cold now that I simply couldn’t feel the pain pulsing through them anymore. It didn’t matter. I still had eleven more sections of the dance to go, and I was going to enjoy every single one of them.
So I stomped my feet and laughed, moving into the next part of the dance. “Faster!” I called out to the musicians. “Faster! You’re falling behind!”
The notes stuttered, as though the musicians were surprised by my request, but they accommodated me, and the music ramped up to a fast, lively level. As I whirled around and around, loud, enthusiastic clapping replaced the dull slap of my feet on the stones. The Ungers were actually clapping along to the music and the dance. Bjarni was smiling wide, and even Halvar was dutifully clapping along with everyone else.
One by one, I performed all the sections of the dance. Eventually, the music wound down, and my movements became shorter and slower until the notes faded away altogether. I held the last position, my eyes closed and my face tilted up to the sky. Then I dropped my head, opened my eyes, and looked at Halvar. Disbelief filled his face, along with grudging respect.
But there was one more part to the dance, the most difficult thing of all. So I bowed my head to Halvar and took the final position. I dropped to my knees, sat back on them, and placed my forehead on the stones, even though they were slick with my own blood. Then I held my arms out wide to my sides, leaving myself completely vulnerable.
Nothing happened for several seconds, but then footsteps scraped on the stone. I couldn’t see what was happening, but that was the point. This was a matter of trust, and there could be no real friendship without trust. Maybe that was the reason why I had finally told Paloma and the others who I was. Because I wanted real friends, after all these long years of having none.
Something cold and sharp touched the back of my neck, and I gritted my teeth to keep from flinching. Halvar was standing over me, holding a sword up against my skin. Given my position on the ground, he could easily thrust the blade through my neck and kill me. No doubt he was tempted to, given how I had challenged him at every turn. But I had twirled him into a corner, like Bjarni had said, and now tradition demanded that he see the dance through to the end or sully his own honor.
So I held my position and waited.
A minute passed, then two, then three, and still Halvar kept his sword pressed up against my neck. No one moved or spoke, and the tense, heavy silence stretched on and on. I used the time to get my breath back and gather my strength for the final act of the Tanzen Freund.
Someone—Bjarni, I think—pointedly cleared his throat, telling Halvar to get on with it. Halvar sighed, then removed the sword from my neck, bent down, and slapped the hilt into my outstretched hand.
“Try not to take my head off with it,” he muttered.
Then he stood up and stepped back exactly three feet. I let out a breath and curled my fingers around the hilt of the sword. It was a large, heavy weapon, far too large and heavy for me, but I had to wield it—correctly—or I was dead.
I could still hear the music of the dance playing in my mind, so I imagined matching my movements to the quick, steady beat, just as I had done with the other steps. I drew in a breath, sucking air deep down into my lungs, and visualizing what I had to do next. Then, still listening to that steady beat, I surged to my feet, whipped up the sword, whirled all the way around, and sliced out with the blade.
Halvar was standing straight and tall, with his arms by his sides, although his hands were clenched into tight fists. The sword zoomed straight toward his neck, and everyone in the courtyard gasped in surprise, even the Ungers.
This was the moment of truth.
At the very last second, I stopped the blow, so that the blade was merely resting against his skin, instead of cutting through it. My arm trembled from the strain of wielding such a heavy sword, but I held the position for thirteen beats—seconds—as tradition dictated. Then I slowly lowered the sword. I grabbed the weapon by the blade, even though it cut into my palm, and held it out to him hilt first.
Halvar stared at me, disbelief in his eyes, but he had no choice but to take the sword. He bowed to me, then turned and looked up at the second-floor balcony where the black-shrouded figure was still sitting. Ah, yes. I had forgotten about my judge.
The figure tilted their head to the side, studying me again, then rose to their feet. All the other Ungers stood as well.
“The dance has been completed to my satisfaction,” the figure called out in a loud voice. “This woman is now our friend. Until the mountains crumble to ash.”
“Until the mountains crumble to ash.” All the Ungers repeated the phrase, then bowed their heads to me.
I frowned, staring up at the figure. Perhaps it was my imagination, but I could have sworn that I knew that voice.
The figure turned and vanished through one of the balcony doors. I started to limp over to where my friends were standing at the edge of the courtyard, but Halvar held out his arm, stopping me. Everyone fell silent again.
A minute later, a series of tap-tap-tap s rang out, growing closer and louder. I frowned again. I could have sworn that I knew that sound too. The steady tap-tap-tap s continued, and the black-shrouded figure appeared in one of the archways and headed this way.
The figure stopped in front of me, and I realized that it was holding a cane. And not just any cane—one topped with a silver ogre head. My eyes widened in shock.
The figure reached up and pulled the black hat and veil
off its head, revealing coppery red hair, amber eyes, and a face that I had never thought that I would see again.
“Xenia,” I whispered.
Lady Xenia smiled at me, as did the ogre on her neck.
I smiled back at her. In fact, I couldn’t stop smiling, the expression so wide and happy that it made my cheeks ache. But smiling wasn’t enough, and I started laughing. I wasn’t quite sure why. Perhaps it was the sheer, utter happiness filling my heart.
Xenia was alive.
Halvar frowned, not sure why I was laughing. So did everyone else, but I didn’t care. It felt so good to laugh right now.
It took me the better part of a minute, but I finally managed to stop my crazy chuckles, although tears started streaming down my face instead. I didn’t care. For once, they were tears of joy instead of sorrow.
Xenia bowed low to me and straightened back up. I executed the perfect Bellonan curtsy in return, even though my feet were dripping blood and had swollen to twice their normal size. Small white stars winked on and off in my eyes, but I ignored them, along with the pain and exhaustion steadily rising up in my body.
Xenia tried to give me a stern look, but her lips twitched up into another smile. “That was the best rendition of the Tanzen Freund that I have ever seen. Every step, every movement was perfect.”
I smiled back at her. “That’s because I had a most excellent teacher.”
The words were the final straw. Those white stars in my eyes grew bigger and bigger, and darker and darker. The pain and exhaustion rose up, even stronger than before, and the blackness dragged me under.
* * *
I was being tested.
I sat in a chair, watching a magier arrange objects on a table. Seeds, potted flower bulbs, chunks of stone, candles. All those items and dozens more covered the wood.
Kill the Queen (Crown of Shards #1) Page 67