Page 30 of Empire of Flame and Thorns

“I’ve… taken part in the Atonement Trials before,” she replies. A brief flash of hopelessness washes over her beautiful features, and she absentmindedly draws her fingers over the scar along her cheek and jaw. Then she abruptly drops her hand and looks us straight in the eye. “My advice? Wear the dress, smile, and do what they want.”

Before either of us can reply, she simply strides away.

Fenriel and I stare after her, both of us apparently feeling equally confused.

Then we turn back to each other.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you at the ball later then,” he says, managing a small smile.

“Yes.” I give him a nod. “Good luck.”

“Yeah, you too.”

“Thanks.”

Because by Mabona, I have a feeling that I’m going to need it.

CHAPTER TEN

Apprehension flutters behind my ribs like erratic butterflies. I work as a lookout for the highly illegal and secret fae resistance several times a week, and I’ve never felt nervous. But now as I walk into a glittering ballroom for a night that is supposed to be pure enjoyment, I feel so anxious that I don’t even know what to do with my hands.

It’s ridiculous. Deep down, I know that. There is nothing dangerous about attending a ball. And yet, I can’t stop my heart from pounding.

I have no idea what I’m supposed to do, because I’ve never attended a ball before. And I hate not knowing how I’m expected to behave.

Worry rolls through my stomach as I enter the already mostly full ballroom. I waited, fully dressed and ready, until I had heard almost everyone in my corridor leave for the ballroom before I finally made my way down here as well. The thought of standing by myself in a practically empty ballroom, looking nervous and awkward and not knowing what to do, made me feel like I was going to throw up. It’s better to arrive when most people are already here. That way, I can slip through the crowd and get a feel for the mood before I engage with anyone.

Candlelight shines from the golden chandeliers in the ceiling and the gilded candelabras across the floor. It makes the pale stone walls shimmer like gold.

However, the Icehearts have done everything they can to cover everything else in silver. The tablecloths and the trays and the containers with food and drink are all made of silver. But the boldest statement of all is that every single fae contestant in this room is dressed in that color as well.

I thought that the dress I received was silver simply because it would match my hair color. But now as I sweep my gaze over the sea of dancing and chatting people, I realize that everyone has received clothes made of silver. Which istheircolor.

My mind drifts back to Lavendera’s words from earlier.It’s their way of showing us that they own us.

She’s right. Jessina and Bane Iceheart are leaders of the Silver Dragon Clan. So making us all wear silver clothes is a powerful and not-so-subtle reminder that we belong to them. We do not have free will. We are not our own people. We are their subjects.

Laughter suddenly echoes from my right.

I turn towards it. A group of contestants is standing there by one of the narrow tables that are filled with drinks.

Indecision swirls through me. They look like they might be friendly, but how am I supposed to approach them? I can’t just walk up to them and join the conversation.

While suppressing the urge to fidget, I drift awkwardly towards the table as if I’m just going there to grab a drink. The group continues talking and laughing softly. I pick up a glass of what looks like sparkling wine. Then I linger there while I sip some of the surprisingly sweet alcohol.

Once I have gathered my courage, I twist towards the group and edge a little closer.

The two closest people turn towards me and look at me with a hint of surprise and confusion. But they eventually shift their positions a little to make room for me.

Relief washes through me. Not exactly the smoothest move I have ever made, but it worked, and that’s all that matters.

I sip some more wine and listen while they continue talking.

“Have you noticed how many times they’ve said that the trials are about to start now?” a guy with wavy black hair asks. He lets out a chuckle and shakes his head. “It’s always ‘welcome to the Atonement Trials’ or ‘congratulations on making it’ or ‘it’s time to start’ but they never actually start the trials.”

“I’ve—” I begin, but a woman with blond hair cuts me off.

“Exactly,” she says, and laughs loudly. “They’re so dramatic all the time but nothing really happens.”

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