Page 11 of Mistake of Magic
The weight of all eyes turned on me is as heavy as the council chamber’s echo, but it is only River’s gaze that I return. His square jaw is clenched, his gray eyes tight, his broad shoulders braced to bear the weight of all the stars—or rally a force against them. River’s stance alone marks him a prince, as if he has shed some cloak he wore on his power and now lets it flame brightly.
No wonder Klarissa cannot let him be.
“Might we have a moment, Elders?” River says, turning his attention back to the dais.
A small smile touches the corners of Klarissa’s lips, while Elder Beynoir nods toward the door.
Except I don’t need River’s moment, don’t want him doubting my choice. I raise my chin, hoping my silence is message enough.
“Leralynn.” A command from River, who either didn’t see or little cared for my resolve. When I fail to move again, the male grasps the top of my arm, leaving me with the choice of walking out on my own two feet or being dragged.
I opt for the former, though my heart pounds so hard, it’s all I can do to keep from growling at River, at least until we step out onto the landing. “What the bloody stars was that?” I demand, wheeling on him the moment the door shuts. “You think I’m some sort of child to be marched out of a room?”
“I think you’ve no notion of what you are agreeing to.” River’s cold calm sends a fresh wave of fury through me. “Once those runes sear into your skin, they stay there until all three trials are completed. There is no second guessing.”
I rock forward on my toes, tipping my head back to stare into River’s storm-filled eyes. The air between us thickens, as if readying itself for lightning. “Then stop second guessing me,” I tell him, the words escaping clenched teeth. I raise my hand, my index finger striking the middle of his hard chest. “I choose the quint, River. And if this is the price, then Iwantto pay it.”
River grabs hold of my wrist, small as a sprite’s in his large, calloused hand. His shoulders spread like wings, claiming all the space around us. “Stop being bloody brave, Leralynn. The trials have killed greater fae than—”
“I don’t care.” My voice finally cracks. I turn my wrist in his grip and cup his cheek, warm skin rough with new stubble. River’s eyes flare. “I don’t care what they are, or how we get through them. We fight for each other, all right?”
The tension slowly leaves River’s shoulders but his eyes remain worried.
I take his arms, give him one soft shake, though it’s like trying to shake a boulder. “All right?” I say again, softer now. A caress of words along his ragged gaze.
Closing his eyes, River leans down, touching his velvet lips to my forehead and sending a web of warmth tingling along my skin and soul.
We walk back into the chamber together, River holding the door open for me before following my steps toward the line of others.
Klarissa smiles.
River’s gaze cuts to Shade, Coal, and Tye in turn, the males exchanging subtle but certain nods, before River finally faces the council. “We agree to your terms, Elders,” he announces clearly. “We stand before you as a new quint, requesting initiation into the Citadel.”
The smile dies, Klarissa’s olive skin flushing a deeper hue that plays off her brown eyes. “Then kneel, initiates. You do not stand in the presence of council elders.”
River sinks obediently to his knees, his back and face remaining tall. The others and I follow River’s example, though it looks less than graceful on my part—and positively edged with murderous violence on Coal’s.
The rough stone shreds my knees, the impact of the fall vibrating through my bones. My shackled arms are pinned behind my back, the manacles—there are no manacles. No rough stone. No pain. I’m in a marble council chamber, and one of the elders is speaking again, his voice penetrating the momentary haze even as I stare at my males, my heart breaking. I’ve made them drop to their knees, these proud warriors who’ve fought for three hundred years.
“Is this truly necessary?” Elidyr says. “I understand the desire to test this quint before sending it out into the field, but do we need to insist on formalities designed to discipline new warriors? The males standing—kneeling—before us would make better instructors than students.”
“We must insist on formalities now more than ever,” Beynoir counters. “These five have already proven themselves ready to make a mockery of our ways. They shall be treated as all other trainees are.” Beynoir raises his hand, now glowing bright as a hot iron. “The initiates may come up to receive their marks.”
Stars.
“Come here, River,” Klarissa’s silky voice orders.
I watch, my breath catching in my throat, as the prince rises to his feet and strides to the female, baring his neck to her flaming touch. Fear cold enough to seize my spine holds me in place, my heart leaping into a racing, tripping gallop.
“Come here, Leralynn.” Beynoir’s voice pierces my chest, even as I hear the others summon their respective victims. “Leralynn?”
I rise, my beautiful blue dress giving me no more courage than rags would have. My hands tremble and I nearly trip over my own feet while taking the five steps to the dais. But I do take them, and I present myself before the elder, my chin held high despite my pounding pulse.
Beynoir’s hand is gentler than I expected as he tilts my head and moves my thick hair off the side of my neck. His finger brushes my skin, and for a second I think that the flame I saw was little but an illusion. Perhaps whatever is about to happen—
My thoughts scatter as a hot brand presses against my neck, the stench of burning flesh making bile mix with my echoing screams.
Beynoir’s free hand rushes forward, grabbing my shoulder before I can fall. The brand still presses into me, a white-hot agony. The runes don’t just burn my skin—they scourge everything inside me as if forging a chain of flaming iron that runs all the way into my heart. Even with the support of the elder’s arm, my knees buckle, the world fading in and out of focus in bursts of pain.
