Page 37 of Empire of Flame and Thorns

But thankfully, Fenriel takes the bait I threw out and asks, “What was that all about?”

I heave a sigh and rake my free hand through my hair again in a gesture of frustration. Then I turn and sweep my gaze over everyone in the group, to make sure that they’re listening too.

“A few weeks ago, I kind of spilled a drink on him,” I begin, going with the truth. Or mostly the truth, anyway. “And he’s still pissed about that, so now he’s getting revenge by pretending as if we’re friends in order to put a massive target on my back.”

I barely dare to breathe as I wait for their reactions.

Relief crashes over me like a tidal wave when most people in the group let out anohhand nod in understanding. Thank Mabona.

After talking a little more to that group, I quickly move to another one. I need to tell as many people as possible the same thing. That way, if people gossip about what happened, the majority will explain to the others what really happened.

Another dance starts back up while I work my way through the ballroom. The candles burn lower and the laughter grows louder as the evening wears on.

Thankfully, most people seem to accept my explanation of what Draven was really doing. I still move on to yet another group to truly make sure of that.

“What is she doing?” a female contestant with red hair asks right as I drift over to their group.

My heart lurches, and I think they might be talking about me. But then I follow their gazes and realize that they’re looking at Lavendera.

The brown-haired woman stands alone by one of the pale stone walls. She’s not eating or drinking anything. She’s just standing there, staring blankly at an empty spot on the opposite wall.

“I’m telling you, there’s something wrong with that one,” another woman replies from the group watching her. “She’s not right in the head. I’ve heard that she actually lives out in the thorn forest.”

The redhead raises her eyebrows. “Seriously? Is that why we almost never see her in the city?”

“Probably. Or because no one wants to spend too much time with her. I mean, have you heard the weird shit she says sometimes?”

“Yeah.” The redhead nods. “I’m willing to bet that it’s because she got seriously hurt when she competed in the previous Atonement Trials.”

“She has been in the trials before?”

“Yes. That’s how she got that scar on her face.”

“No, it’s not,” a third person replies. A guy this time. His eyes are full of sympathy as he casts a glance towards Lavendera. “Haven’t you heard the rumors? It’s actually Jessina Iceheart who did that to her. She was so jealous of how beautiful Lavendera was that she slashed her across the face with a shard of ice.”

The redhead scoffs and rolls her eyes. “Oh come on. That’s a myth. Do you seriously believe everything that people gossip about when they’re drunk? Why would?—”

“Listen up!” Imar’s voice suddenly cuts through the chatter and music.

Everyone falls silent.

“Contestants,” he continues, sweeping his gaze over all the gathered fae. “You have one more hour left to enjoy this evening of splendor that your emperor and empress have so generously gifted you. Then you will return to your rooms. Because the first trial starts tomorrow.”

A ripple sweeps through the room.

Finally. I’ve had enough of all this fake generosity. It’s high time to actually get started with the real trials so that I can win and finally prove to everyone just how invaluable I really am to the resistance.

The dragon shifters, who are just here as spectators to enjoy the show, grin and nod excitedly at Imar’s proclamation. Some people on our side do as well, but most shift their weight as apprehension no doubt settles in their stomachs.

“Make the most of it,” Imar finishes.

With an ominous smile, he turns and strides back towards where the Iceheart monarchs are seated on two grand chairs. They watch us all with wicked amusement. I flick a quick glance in search of Draven, but I don’t see him anywhere.

So instead, I return to my own task. Imar told us to make the most of this hour, and I intend to do just that. After grabbing a new glass of wine, I continue trying to repair the damage Draven did to my reputation.

I use all the tricks I have in order to make people listen to me. Since they saw me dance with the Shadow of Death, most people have at least become curious enough that they don’t outright ignore me the way they did in the beginning. It works in my favor, and I manage to speak to most groups.

But as I move towards one of the last groups that I still haven’t spoken to, a strange feeling rolls through my stomach. I trail to a halt, and glance down in surprise. I feel nauseous. Which makes no sense. I’m no longer nervous and worried.

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