by Jaymin Eve
I drink from the cup with the rose in it and once again, the sugary syrup lines my mouth. I swallow as little as I can this time and wait for the chime.
Once again, there’s silence.
Osian Valor claps his hands.
Two new cups appear. My vision blurs as I try to focus on them, but the distinction is clear enough I don’t need to examine them that carefully: one is large and one is small. I swallow a laugh and reach for the small one. Maybe it’s not a reference to my height—I’m sure there must be some deeper meaning, like the large cup representing gluttony or something like that—but the small one is the one for me.
I take the smallest sip and the Elven Command is definitely not happy. But neither is my head. Up might be down for all I know right now. After drinking from that cup, the table warps at the edges and the figures of the Elven Command bend and sway in the distance like grass in a gentle breeze. Osian Valor’s head looks like a fleshy blob on his shoulders and his robe appears to melt into the floor. Whatever, they’re giving us to drink, it’s definitely messing with my head.
Two more cups later, Osian Valor claps his hands and the sound thuds through my head like drums. I swear, if that male claps his hands one more time… I’d like to believe I’d leap up and make him stop, but actually, probably what I’ll do is hurl. Every sound, even the quiet scuffle of feet, thrums through my head like a sledgehammer.
As two new cups appear, I can barely focus.
I slide from my chair, resting my chin on the table to try to see what’s in front of me. If this is how Baelen felt at the compatibility test, it’s no wonder he needed help finding the door. I squeeze my eyes shut, open them, and give everything to the effort to focus.
Each of these new cups has an image engraved on it, but both engravings are faint, fine, and hard to see.
As I focus on the one on the right, the image lifts off the surface of the cup, coming alive. It’s a rope, twisting and twirling. No, not a rope, something more elegant, more precious. It’s a ribbon, swirling loose in the air, floating away before I can catch it. It’s a blue ribbon stolen by the wind.
I reach for that cup, dragging it from the table as I slide to the floor. I take a sip before I hit the ground, lying on my side, shutting my eyes and hugging the cup close, not caring that the liquid makes a puddle on the floor beside me.
The bell chimes.
My eyes shoot open. The chime means someone chose differently, but… who?
I refocus on the cup I’m holding.
Oh, no… It’s not a ribbon. It’s a… fish hook?
I drag myself upright, clinging to the table, focusing on the other cup before Osian Valor can clap his hands and make it disappear. The other goblet is etched with three wavy lines curling at the end like waves in the sea or… no, it’s a representation of wind in the clouds. I drop my head into my hands. The other cup had a symbol of the storm. Baelen and Jasper would have chosen that one because it represents me.
I chose the wrong one.
I’m eliminated.
I’m out of the trials.
19
I lean forward in my chair as the tables and partitions disappear, scrubbing at my face, unwilling to meet the eyes of what are no doubt five gloating, happy Elven Commanders. They wanted me out of the trials and now they’ve succeeded. Even though the instruments of the game are gone, the wooziness remains, although when I screw up the courage to raise my head I find that the room doesn’t swim as much as before.
Osian Valor is frowning, a deep crease between his eyebrows. Not exactly what I’d expected. He and the others look perplexed, exchanging frowns among themselves and shuffling. Their reactions become clearer as my vision sharpens rapidly.
“One of you chose differently,” Osian says. “But it was during a test where we did not expect it. For some tests the outcome is more expected than others. Those tests aren’t meant to distinguish you from each other so much as to test your… endurance.”
I glare at him. He means so that they can give us more cups and drug us more.
He looks to the other Commanders before resuming. “Before we reveal who is eliminated, we would like to know why you each chose the cup you did.”
Because of whatever stupid hallucinogen you put in the drinks you rotten, old… I sigh. There aren’t enough names right now.
Jasper leans back in his chair, his arms folded. His expression is as hidden as always and his reply is just as concealed. “I thought it was obvious.”
Yes, it was, unless you weren’t looking at the right cup because you got caught up in a fish hook that you thought was a ribbon. I continue the tirade against myself in my mind because I know that as soon as I stop berating myself—as soon as I run out of names to call the Elven Command or myself—I’ll have to face the fact that Baelen and Jasper will meet each other in the final battle. These two friends who have fought side by side will now be fighting each other. My heart squeezes. My internal rant against myself goes up in smoke and now I have to force myself to breathe.
Baelen is quieter. He doesn’t look up. “Because of a memory.”
I consider his answer for a moment. It’s also concealed, but more than Jasper’s it could apply to either of the cups.
I say, “Because of whatever you put in the drink.”
Osian scratches his head. “Well, this places us in a very difficult position. One we’d hoped to avoid at all costs. But what’s done is done.”
He steps toward me. “Storm Princess Marbella of the House of Mercy, you will meet Baelen of the House of Rath in final battle two days from now.”
I definitely didn’t hear that right. “I… what?”
“Princess, you and Commander Rath chose the same cup. Jasper of the House of Grace is eliminated.”
“I… No…” I’m out of my seat in one second flat. “How?”
“Well, that is what we would also like to know. But I don’t think we ever will.”
“No, you’re lying.”
He steps back and Elwyn Elder takes his place. “Sit down, Princess. Put your weapon away.”
Without realizing, I’ve reached for the steel at my side. My hand glows, not yet lit up, but threatening to. The Elven Command shuffles backward. There’s no shield between us this time.
Without taking his eyes off me, Elwyn raises his voice, “Commander Rath, which cup did you choose?”
Baelen stares at me. It’s the first time he’s met my eyes today. Actually, it’s the first time he’s met my eyes in days. His are just as piercing as always, just as perceptive, but now… there’s a question in them. “The one with the weird vertical squiggle on it that might have turned out to be… a fish hook.”
“And Jasper, which one did you choose?”
Jasper is frozen. “The wind in the clouds.”
I release my weapons. I don’t wait for Elwyn to ask me. “I chose the fish hook.” Because of a memory. Baelen must have seen a blue ribbon too. The one the wind stole. The memory was so strong that we’d both hallucinated it. My heart wrenches and I can’t stop myself pressing the heel of my palm to my chest. I seek Baelen across the room, but he’s turned away from me again and I can’t read his expression. I can’t read his body language.
There’s a wall between us now. It’s the same wall that existed on the first day when he offered me his heartstone in the Storm Vault. I might not be able to see this new barrier between us, but it’s there.
Elwyn says, “Princess, in light of the fact that Baelen Rath is the Commander of the elven army, which is a position of great importance to elven security, and the fact that he is the last of his House and his death would be, quite frankly, a tragedy… do you wish to exercise your right to yield at this point in time?”
I can’t look at Baelen as I speak. I want to tell myself that this is not happening, but it is. “No.”
“What?” It’s Jasper. For the first time, his guard is down, his true emotions showing through, and those emotions right now are raw and horr
ified. “Marbella, what are you saying? You can’t fight Commander Rath. You have to yield. You have to—”
Baelen’s voice is soft but compelling. “Jasper, stop.” He still doesn’t look at me, fixated on a point on the wall the same way he was when they announced the compatibility results. “The Princess has to do what she must.”
“But that’s… No… What’s happening here?” Jasper looks from me to Baelen, swinging between us like he might find something logical or believable between the two of us.
I focus on the Elven Command. “Are we done here?”
Elwyn nods. “We will send details of the final battle after the wedding.”
I skip a beat. I have to remind myself that he’s talking about Jordan’s wedding. For a second, I thought he meant mine. I spin and stride through the wide doors, leaving Baelen and Jasper behind.
And that’s when everything blurs. Elise runs to keep up with me. She’s speaking but I can’t hear her. All I hear is Baelen calling me ‘the Princess.’ Not Marbella anymore, but ‘Princess’ like I’m a stranger. Like he never knew me at all.
He won’t come near me now. No more appearances in the Storm Vault, no more random arrivals at my quarters. He’ll stay away. And that’s for the best.
“Find a way,” I growl to Elise, stopping her mid-speech.
As she blinks back at me, shocked into silence by the savagery of my order, my voice cracks. “Please find a way, because I’d rather die than kill him.”
“Yes, Princess.”
But I know she doesn’t think there’s any hope.
Jordan jumps to her feet as soon as we arrive. “I can’t get married tonight. Not now.”
I cast a glance around the living area. A plate of food sits untouched on the table and she’s worn a valley through the wool pile rug with all her pacing.
“I heard about the outcome,” she says as the rest of the Storm Command disperses behind me. They are subdued, deflated, all of them feeling the damage I feel.
My shoulders sink. “That was fast.” If Jordan has heard already, then the news will be flying around Erawind by now.
Her eyes fill with tears and I almost break down as she says, “You need me by your side. I can’t abandon you now.”
I fight the tears burning behind my eyes. Now, more than ever, I have to hold myself together. I’m broken inside, shattering into tiny pieces, but if I show Jordan how I really feel, she’ll sacrifice her own happiness to protect me. “No, Jordan, you have to get married. Your happiness is the only reason I’m still standing right now. If you and Sebastian can be together then there’s something good in my world—something good that I helped to create. If it wasn’t for you…” My voice cracks. I can’t go on, can’t speak, but I have to. “You are the only happiness I have right now. Your happiness is the only thing that’s keeping me alive.”
A tear drips down her cheeks. She takes a step toward me as if she’ll break all the rules and wrap her arms around me to comfort me. “But—”
I suck in a breath, drawing on every icy needle of rain that the storm ever threw at me so I can numb my emotions and shove them aside. The storm’s power dulls the sharpness of my sadness enough for me to pull myself together and stare her down. “You’re getting married tonight.” I soften my order with: “Please. I want you to. I need you to.”
She worries at her bottom lip. “Okay, but I’m not leaving the city until after the… until after…”
“Thank you, Jordan,” I whisper.
“Promise me, if you’re in trouble in the final battle, you’ll yield and not die.” She leans forward and I know there’s more. This is the part where she’d take my hand while she tells me something I don’t want to hear.
Her gaze is gentle, almost apologetic, but also unyielding, as she says, “Commander Rath is the most ferocious fighter anyone’s ever seen. The only reason those males got the upper hand in the arena is because he didn’t expect them to fight without honor. As soon as he realized what they were doing, he changed… I didn’t see it but Sebastian told me that he practically tore their limbs off. I didn’t have the privilege of seeing the Raths at the height of their power, but if they were anything like Commander Rath…” She shudders. “You’re about to enter a battle to the death. You must yield if your life is threatened.”
“I promise I won’t die. I do. Really.”
And this is the part where I’d lean forward and take her hands, if I could. “But… I need you to promise me something too.”
I search for the right words, knowing I’m clutching at straws, knowing she won’t like it, but it’s the only option open to me right now. “I asked you once to protect Commander Rath if his life was in danger during the trials. I need you to make sure my Storm Command keeps that promise.”
Her eyes shoot wide and the blood drains from her face. She drops into her chair, her pale face turned up to me. “Wait, after everything I just said to you about Commander Rath killing you, about his ferocity in battle and how worried I am for your safety… You want us to protect him… against you?”
I join her at the table, keeping my voice low. Elise has already hurried away in search of answers and the rest of the Storm Command is changing shift. I have a rare chance to speak with Jordan more openly than I’ve been able to before now.
“Jordan, I know that Baelen Rath will be the most dangerous opponent I’ve ever faced.” For so many reasons, not just because he’s the most fearsome fighter, but because he has the ability to cut my heart into emotional shreds. “But I know that he would never willingly choose to kill me. I chose to enter these trials. He had no choice. If, by some miracle, I get the upper hand and I’m about to strike a fatal blow, then yes. I need you to get in the way. I need you… to make it impossible for me to kill him.”
She’s giving me a different look now, one that says I’m telling her something she suspected for a long time. “You really don’t want him to die.”
I swallow. “I have to find a way to force the Elven Command to call off the fight. For both our sakes. But at the same time, I need to be declared the winner.”
“I don’t understand, Princess. If you don’t want him to die, then why don’t you want him to be your husband?”
“Because…” I haven’t been able to tell Jordan about the curse. Even telling Elise was a risk. But now I grapple with a reason that Jordan might understand. Something. Anything that might make sense without revealing the truth.
Then I land on it: a reason that could be believed. “Because… the Elven Command lied about a male being able to share the power of the storm. If anyone except me steps foot in the Storm Vault, the Storm will kill them. Mai told me that her husband barely survived. I… can’t risk killing Commander Rath. The same way I can’t risk killing him in the final battle.”
She digests that for a moment before saying, “But… why not just tell him to wait outside the Vault? You’ve been warned about it so you know he should stay out of it.”
Okay, so it wasn’t a very convincing reason after all. My mind turns blank every direction I turn for a better one.
She continues without giving me an inch. “And… having a husband isn’t just about helping with the storm. I’ve heard that a husband can be quite worthwhile for… other reasons.” Her face flames, but she presses on. “Reasons that I’m certain would be more than adequate with a male like Commander Rath.”
I stare at her in shock. We’ve gone from talking about Baelen ripping me limb from limb to talking about… other reasons. My heart crumbles as she continues to look at me with concern. I know she doesn’t just mean sex. She means comfort, support, knowing that someone has my back, that they care about me and care about how I feel and what I think.
My gaze drops to my lap because I can’t keep my face blank right now. I can’t hide what I feel. I have to push it all out of my head and forget about the idea of someone loving me because the memory of other reasons already caused me to choose a cup that I shouldn’t have chosen.
A sad smile curves Jordan’s lips and I realize that she’s not going to press me further when she says, “You don’t have to tell me your real reasons. I wish you would, but I know that you must not be able to. Which is why I’m going to trust you. I’ll do as you ask. I will make sure that the Storm Command protects Commander Rath.”
I exhale some of my pent up fear and sadness. “Thank you, Jordan.”
“Now,” she says, pushing the plate of food toward me with a gentle smile. “Eat before you subdue the Storm today, because afterward, you have a wedding to preside over.”
I do as she asks and then I head to the Storm Vault to complete my daily task that has somehow become the only place I feel safe—and the only thing I feel safe doing. But the Storm today is… different.
When I step into the Vault, the lightning sputters, half-formed thunder cuts off into silence, and the rain starts and stops, pouring one moment and disappearing the next.
I turn my hands upward, squinting as raindrops fall on my head, trying to call the lightning to me. It dances across my skin and for a moment, it feels like normal, but then it jolts upward, as if it’s shuddering. Like I’m suddenly shuddering.
“Something’s wrong.” I study the storm above me. So far there’s been lightning, rain, and thunder, but no wind. Not like the other day when there was plenty of it.
Fat drops of rain start to fall in front of my feet, but don’t land on me. “What’s wrong, Storm?” I’ve progressed from calling it ‘Beast’, to now calling it what I think it should be called: simply ‘Storm.’
An enormous water drop falls past my face, the width of my hand. It splashes at my feet, sloshing upward. A full five seconds later, another one follows it. Each splash sounds out a word.
It… isn’t… my… fault.
“What isn’t?”
It… isn’t… me.
I shake my head and repeat. “What isn’t? I don’t understand you.”