Page 43 of Trial of Thorns
An announcement rings from the rafters, prompting the champions to find our seats so the queen can make her appearance, say some pretty words, and then the dancing will begin.
As I swing Brielle towards the champions’ table, I lean in and whisper in her ear, “Also that our enemy has lost her only ally.”
Brielle flicks an eyebrow up. “Well, that’s good news indeed.”
Now, she’s alone. With no power. No experience. No allies.
I take my place beside Brielle, causing the other champions scrambling to find a new place after I upset the court order. Brielle grins widely at their distress.
Finally, Drake joins us, seamlessly taking Brielle’s old place—beside the betrayer—without so much as a shift in facial expression. He wouldn’t dare align himself with the outcast, would he?
As if reading my thoughts, he grins in my direction, his eyes a bright. My stomach sinks. If I am snubbed as heir, he would be the next best contender.
He wants to be king. He wants to beat me in this competition.
How low would he sink to achieve it?
The lights dim, the front of the ballroom glowing with an orange light as the queen descends. Her dress is white with a long train that is embellished with literal flames rising all the way up her back like moving scales.
She walks slowly and the whole room quiets. Her reign is coming to an end, and I can’t help but feel like she’s eager to shed the responsibility. After all, this plague is no game. I can’t imagine the kind of stress that would put on a ruler. The doubt. The guilt.
If she can put a stop to it—even by means of finding the champion to save us all—she’ll be remembered as a hero. A great queen.
If she doesn’t, she’ll be blamed for all time.
It’s easy to forget here, in this untouched lovely court, the terrors that are spreading through our world.
“Welcome again. Congratulations to all the champions who succeeded in the first trials.” A roaring round of applause sounds through the room. “It was a horrid thing, losing such promising young fae, in a competition of all things. It’s one of the reasons we did away with the trials generations ago. It was not worth the loss of life. When we resurrected the ancient tradition, we knew there would be loss. We knew that many great fae would die in the process. It was a difficult choice to make, but I believe that it was the right one. These trials are a worthy cause to die for. These trials will choose a savior. If we were not willing to sacrifice ourselves for the betterment of our people, for the survival of our people, our choice of champion would be a farce. So, to those courts who have lost a champion, I want you to know they will be honored. We thank you for your sacrifice.”
An image appears on the wall—images of the fallen champions.
“Crevin of the Crackling Court. Prickanante of the Frost Court. Jarsali of the Root Court. Finn of the Winding Court. Willow of the Webbed Court. And still living: Emmett of the Beastly Court and Aaliyah of the Venomous Court. You willallbe remembered as heroes.”
The crowd claps politely.
“Tomorrow we will begin a new trial. The second of four. The first was intense. This will be a quiet challenge, testing your mental fortitude. Until then, let the merriment begin! Good luck, champions.”
The queen quickly descends from her throne, now practically speed walking towards the exit and up the stairs, her dress still blazing.
She finally exits and the lights brighten. Music begins gently rising and falling, growing louder and louder. Purple sprites line a circle in the middle of the floor where couples are already racing to be the first to dance.
I hold out my hand to Brielle. “Are you ready?”
“For dancing with you or the challenge tomorrow?”
“Both.” Her eyes shine with amusement as she takes my hand and I lead her out onto the dance floor.
