Page 25 of The Divine Shallows
A servant placed a tray before Elowyn, revealing a porcelain teacup atop a plate piled with scones and teacakes beneath the silver dome. She nearly squealed with delight at the sight.
Glancing at Finnor’s plate, she noticed he had been served a berry trifle, just like everyone else in the hall. She turned to her left to ask her sister about it, but Elyria’s seat was empty, as was her mother’s. Elowyn had been so absorbed in her conversation with Finnor that she hadn’t noticed their departure. Her father, meanwhile, was engrossed in an argument with her uncle, his irritation evident on his face as he sipped hisvinum.
Regardless, Elowyn raised the tea to her lips and savored its fragrance of lilac and honey—clearly a gift from Elyria. She smiled to herself and took a cheerful sip from the porcelain cup.
“Not sharing this time?” Finnor teased.
“Not this time,” Elowyn replied with a small chuckle, biting into a teacake. “I’m keeping this one for myself.”
“Fair enough,” Finnor conceded, crossing his arms, and letting out a tired sigh. “I’m just glad to be home.”
“I can only imagine... This morning you were in the midst of the Trial, and now you’re back in Neramyr. If I were in your shoes, I’d be shifting between shock and relief,” Elowyn remarked sympathetically.
“I’m definitely something close to that,” Finnor admitted, clearing his throat uncomfortably. “The Trial is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to endure. I understand completely now why the Goddess only allows those who survive her Trial to bear the responsibility of wielding divine magic.”
Elowyn leaned in closer, intrigued. “What was your Trial like?”
“As you know, it’s different each season. My cohort was lucky enough to stick together. The concept of day and night didn’t exist where we ended up… at least not like how it is in this realm,” Finnor explained, picking at his trifle. “There was dusk and dawn, sun and moon, day and night, but it was all disordered. Sometimes in the thick of nightfall, the sun would blaze. When spring approached, flowers bloomed and flourished as snow blanketed them in powder sheets.”
Finnor took a generous drink from his crystal goblet and sighed with exhaustion.
“There were creatures I’d never seen before, colors I’d known my entire life appeared inverted, all my sensibilities were aimless. It was as bewildering as it was baffling. I had to retrain my senses every day for the past seven years in order to survive. The otherworldly beasts that roamed the lands of the Trial were nothing like I’d ever trained for. I lost count of the times I thought I wouldn’t make it back here,” he confessed, the last sentence falling heavily from his lips.
“Your life was truly at risk?” Elowyn winced. “But everyone that’s completed the Trial has returned to Neramyr.”
“The Trial is not for the faint-hearted,” Finnor responded solemnly. “Those chosen by the Goddess to participate are selected with reason and intent. If your name is called on the Seventh Day, it is because Caena believes you will succeed.”
Elowyn’s mind swirled with thoughts of her impending candidacy, her stomach twisting in an endless spiral. “Did you really get to face the Moon Goddess?”
“No,” Finnor replied frankly. “Nobody can see her, but you can feel her presence all around. Her magic is… it’s daunting.”
As the weight of her own candidacy settled in, Elowyn slowly replaced the teacake in her hand back onto her plate. In six days’ time, her name would be called on the Seventh Day, and she would begin her training at the Seven Spires. Seven years to prepare seemed insufficient, especially considering the poor control she had over her wayward abilities.
Abruptly, Elowyn pushed her seat back and stood up. The occupied seats in the banquet hall were thinning as courtiers took to the dance floor. Ignoring her troubling thoughts, Elowyn extended her hand to Finnor. “Would you care to dance with me?”
Taken aback by her sudden request, Finnor stared at her, momentarily confounded.
“Oh,” Elowyn retracted her hand. “That was cavalier. You’re probably exhausted, and dancing is the last thing on your mind.”
“No, of course. I would love to, Princess,” Finnor responded, standing up and offering his hand back to her.
Elowyn smiled, accepting his hand as he led them to the open floor in the banquet hall. She spun on her heels to face him, and Finnor rested his left hand on her waist as he cradled her right hand in his. Elowyn noticed that his hands were calloused and rugged, yet they held her with considerable care. Around them, a few couples had already begun to swirl and twirl. Following suit, Finnor and Elowyn began a graceful waltz at a gentle pace.
As they began their dance, Finnor chuckled beneath his breath. Elowyn tilted her head in response and questioned, “Is something the matter?”
“I just wanted to thank you for making this easier on me,” Finnor replied. “It hasn’t been the smoothest transition, all this.” He tossed his head briskly, his chin pointing to the world around him. “Part of me is unconvinced I’m in Neramyr. My mind is warning me that I’m trapped in another test, and I’ll wake up back in the Trial come sunrise.”
Elowyn’s heart went out to him as she assured, “You’re really in Neramyr, Finnor.”
“The Trial… It was like one nightmare to the next, but I’m glad it’s over. I’m a better warlock for it when it’s all said and done,” Finnor shrugged.
Elowyn nodded in agreement, her eyes roaming to his hand clasped in hers. The warlock’s hands, neck, and body were now covered in pearlescent markings. The moon-inked dragon scales etched onto the surface of his skin were his permanent reminder that he was exceptional—a divine fey.
“Well, your aura is incredibly powerful. From the outside, you look like every bit a divine warlock. If that helps at all,”Elowyn said.
Finnor smiled at her comment. “It does help. With everything that?—”
Their dance was short-lived as someone tapped Finnor’s shoulder. The two stopped their spinning and turned. A bronzed hand was outstretched to Elowyn, the very hand her smallest finger was intertwined with earlier. She recognized the Darkmaw prince’s palm before she even looked up to find his claret-red hair and golden irises gazing at her.
