Page 44 of From the Myths of Kings

Saoirse was thrust into a dining chair upholstered with velvet, her shackles rattling against the elegant armrests. Hasana was assigned a seat across the table from her. Saoirse stared at the mountainous feast spread before them, garish and lurid under the light of the chandelier. The food could’ve fed several families, but instead, it was piled high in the hall of a deranged king. Her stomach roiled at the thought of eating it.

“Go on,” Grivur urged. He began loading up his plate, not seeming to notice?or care?when his long sleeves dragged through puddles of gravy and knocked over a goblet of wine. He lodged a polished fork into a hunk of meat. To his right, Saoirse could’ve sworn Sloane flinched.

“This meal was specially made for you. Think of this as your very own tribute banquet. I recall that you all enjoyed the banquet in Coarinth well enough.”

Ice ran through Saoirse’s blood. Tribute banquet?

Grivur noticed their befuddled expressions and paused halfway through a bite of meat. He grinned, a delirious sheen glinting in his eyes. “I see you’re confused.” He casually wiped a dribble of sauce from his mouth as though they were chatting over afternoon tea. “You see, the Tournament never did achieve a satisfactory ending, did it?” He jerked his head toward Neia and Hasana. “It was rigged from the start, what with your merry band of rebels plotting that little stunt during the final trial. No body won the Crown of Revelore in the end, did they? There was no victor. No justice.” The nonchalant mirth in his voice sharpened with each word, unbridled rage returning like a sudden thunderstorm.

Saoirse’s pulse throbbed in her throat. She knew where this conversation was heading, but it seemed too mad to comprehend.

Grivur began ticking off each of their crimes, gold rings glinting under the chandelier: “You caused Meysam to burn. You desecrated a centuries-old tradition. You made spies of my courtiers. You infiltrated my kingdom.” At their silence, Grivur pounded his fists on the table, causing platters and chalices to spill. “What do you say for yourselves?”

“We didn’t turn any of your court members against you,” Hasana dared to reply. “If you imagine treachery in your palace, it isn’t any fault of ours. You see lurking shadows where there are none.”

Grivur’s pale face turned bright red. “What do you know of my court, Daughter of the Desert? Everyone has turned against me. Terradrin has no more allies. The Under Kingdom is rife with corruption thanks to you. If your meddling rebellion hadn’t stolen the Crown, I would still be in Queen Raven’s favor. I would still have a full cabinet of advisors rather than a graveyard of executed spies.” His ramblings made no sense, but it was clear the king could not be reasoned with.

“Where are your Elders?” came Neia’s voice. Her fingernails dug into the wood surface of the table, as though she was restraining herself from clawing a cut identical to the one he’d given her on his cheek. “I know you never cared much for their religious fervor, but you should ask them what happened during the Tournament. If you think your court has turned against you, just wait till you learn that the Order has been secretly plotting against all of us for centuries. We are not enemies. They are.”

Grivur glared at Neia, his fingers flexing around his goblet like he was itching to hit her again. “The Elders of Terradrin have remained in Aurandel. They did not make attempts to return to their homeland. Nor, I hear, did the Elders of Elorshin and Tellusun. The rumors say they’ve locked themselves away in their temple. But I am well aware of their true allegiances, Commander.” He spat the word like it was poisonous. “The Elders, like the rest of my court, would see me usurped from my throne. They are loyal to the Iron Queen alone. Even if they attempted to return to my city, I would not let them in. Those purple-robed fools are not welcome here any more than your rebellion.”

Saoirse was not shocked that he was completely missing the point. Even if they told him outright that an ancient goddess was trying to resurrect the Titans, he would still manage to make it about himself. He was lost to his delusions and would not attempt to understand the truth of what was at stake.

“If we’ve caused you so much strife, why don’t you just kill us and be done with it? Why play games?” Hasana asked.

“Because you will right your wrongs first,” Grivur snapped. “You do not deserve a clean, quick death. You shall amend the Tournament here in the Under Kingdom. You shall give me the outcome Revelore deserves. You will face the trials over again, keeping in tradition with the Elders’ decree a hundred years ago. Then you will die.”

Time warped and slowed around Saoirse as though the syrupy glaze of butter that coated the bread loaves had draped over the table. The gleaming candles on the table blurred into an unfocused haze of gold as her mind reeled. Redo the Tournament? It was madness.

“We already have three nations represented here,” Grivur rattled on as if it were the most logical thing in the world. “How lucky! We’re only missing a tribute from Aurandel.” A crazed expression crept across Grivur’s face as he focused on Saoirse. “But he will come for you, Princess, if the rumors are true. And when he does, the games will begin.”

Bile crawled up her throat. Rook.

“No.” The word came out in a whisper. “You cannot do this. This is madness.”

As flawed as Grivur’s logic was, his theory that Rook would come looking for them was sickeningly accurate. When they failed to arrive at their meeting place at Raj’s Point, Aurelia and Rook would know something was wrong. They’d inevitably come for them, loyal as they were.

And they’d fall right into Grivur’s trap.

The mad king laughed maniacally at the head of the table. “You have no choice in the matter, I’m afraid. Now, you’d best indulge in this marvelous feast. This will be the last meal of any substance before your trials. Let the celebration begin!”

His words were a mockery of High Elder Korina’s opening speech at the tribute’s banquet. Saoirse couldn’t think of a worse circumstance to be in. Beads of sweat prickled on her brow as the heat of a hundred candles burned overhead.

“Eat!” Grivur ordered over a mouthful of bread. Saoirse couldn’t bring herself to touch the food. She’d vomit it all up the second she swallowed. She spared a glance at her companions, who were looking as disturbed as she felt. None of them touched the elegant silverware that lay wrapped in starch-white linens.

“Very well, if you do not wish to partake in our feast, you can return to your prison cells. Take them back, daughter.” He snapped his grease-slicked fingers, and the guards immediately swarmed the table. Sloane rose hastily from her chair, resuming her strange role as their escort. With her full plate having scarcely been touched, she almost seemed relieved their banquet was cut short.

As Saoirse was yanked from her chair and shoved from the Hall of Kings, cold shards of despair lodged in her heart. They were completely helpless, obedient to the games of a deranged monarch hundreds of leagues below ground. The Titans-damned black hood was forced over her head again as they crossed the threshold of the dining room. Peels of delirious laughter chased them down the hall, mingling with the metal clatter of their chains.

Once, Saoirse had been so hungry for the Crown of Revelore that she’d all but given a part of her soul for a chance to compete in the Tournament. Now, she was being forced to compete in a second-rate imitation of the Tournament when they should be traveling to the Northern Wastes and stopping Selussa. But this time, there was no prize to be won, no glory to obtain. Only torment and death waited for her on the other side of Grivur’s games.

21

ROOK

The iron gates of Auran-Helm shuddered.

The bells of surrender peeled through the decimated city, ricocheting off crumbled buildings and fallen turrets, drowning out the screams of soldiers who lay dying in the streets beyond the Citadel walls. Deep within the mountain hall, the women, children, and elderly took shelter from the onslaught of dark forces that had already taken the lives of so many.

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