Page 149 of Trials of Dusk and Dreams
The room falls silent, tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Emrys’s eyes flash dangerously, but there’s a flicker of remorse behind the anger. Styx’s eyes lower, and he frowns.
“We have made mistakes,” Legion interjects, his authoritative voice cutting through the tension. “But now is not the time to rehash grievances.”
I take a deep breath, forcing myself to relax. I’m furious. I’m not ready to forgive. I didn’t experience every memory they had in that tower, but I know they are family to each other. I know their ranking system would severely affect Styx’s state of mind. I know Emrys is traumatized. And they are my mates. I can no more send them away than I could forget about them. They feel the same way about me. It’s probably why they’re being such assholes. They’re finding it hard to deal with, considering how long they’ve fought against a female in their lives. Emrys was cruel, but he pulled me away from death. Styx has been helpful as much as he’s hindered. Trust will be hard to claw back, but not impossible. We will find a way through this.
Bodin growls, “Eat quickly, Calamity. We don’t know what the first trial will entail and should get there early.”
I stay perched on Varen’s lap but reach for the table, loading a plate with an assortment of breakfast foods. The rich aroma of freshly baked bread and sizzling meats makes my stomach growl.
Styx ponders Bodin’s remark. “My bet’s on something delightfully cruel. It is Puck we’re dealing with, after all.”
“Or his dragon,” Emrys points out. “The Hunt has infected his mind.”
“This isn’t a game for your amusement,” Bodin snarls, his fingers leaving shadowy scorch marks on the polished table. “Or have you forgotten what’s at stake?”
Legion clears his throat, silencing the brewing argument. “Willow needs our support, not our squabbles.”
“Support?” Emrys scoffs, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “What support can we offer when we’re bound by Titania’s?—”
“Enough,” Varen interrupts, his tone soft but firm. His arms tighten protectively around my middle. “We may be bound, but we’re not powerless. Styx, you will shadow Willow into the below.”
“But isn’t that cheating?” I ask.
“Fuck cheating,” Styx scoffs. “This whole exhibition is a joke.”
“What if you’re caught?” My eyes widen. “I’ll get disqualified. Maybe executed.”
“I never get caught,” he counters darkly. Holds my gaze. Then shrugs. “If I have to be seen, I blend in.”
“We won’t let anything happen to you,” Legion promises. “Don’t worry.”
“I should do this alone,” I tell them slowly. “If everyone exhibitor is mortal, we’re all in the same boat. Surely, Puck won’t set up a situation where we’re all expected to die. You need soldiers for the war. He needs subjects to fawn over him.”
No one looks convinced. None of this is normal.
The Wildling chooses this moment to poke his head above the table, shadow curling from his skull’s nostrils. His black, liquid eyes lock onto my plate, far too intelligent for a mere beast.
“Don’t even think about it,” I warn, but cave and toss him a piece of bacon. He snaps it out of the air with surprising grace, then licks my fingers. “Such a good boy.”
“Charming,” Styx mutters.
I grin at him with a mouth full of food. He grins at me with fangs, plucks a twig from the Christmas tree, then rips it apart. My gaze swings to the tree, to the unopened gifts. I twist to ask Varen, “Do I have time to?—”
“Yes.”
I shove food in my mouth so Legion and Bodin see I multitask, then race to the tree. I load up with gifts and drop one on the lap of each of my mates, then fork another mouthful of food into my mouth and say, “Happy belated Yule-Christmas.”
No one moves. The only sound is my mouth, masticating food. I swallow and look around at their stunned and concerned faces.
“You open them,” I explain. “They’re gifts. But hurry.”
They look to Legion, who purses his lips and tugs the ribbon from his gift. It is the signal for the others to begin. I can hardly contain my excitement as they unwrap and reveal an item I made or stole. Styx has a collection of charcoal from Varen’s fireplace. Emrys scowls at his book of poetry, but he flicks through the pages. Legion has a new brush—bejeweled, ornate, and stolen from the temple. It might have a magic surprise. I should warn him. Bodin has hair beads. Varen has a jar of honey. He turns it over in his hand, catching light in the amber.
“I know they’re dumb,” I mumble. “But I had to give them now.”
At their continued silence, I take a drink.
I think I broke them. They don’t know what to say, but I can see their gratitude on their faces. It’s enough for me. Legion clears his throat and announces that it’s time. Everyone files out of the room. Varen and I are last because I collect two more gifts under the tree, and he lingers by the door.
