Page 39 of Crowning of the Sword

Cole strolled past her, and chucked her under the chin, in the manner of a casual caress to a kitten. “Did you see?”

“I saw,” she said, forcing a smile.

“The blade was coated with hussop juice,” he said with glee. “His healers will be hard pressed to find an antidote before the next game.”

“It was admirably done,” interjected Lissa. “He’ll not heal in a hurry. Pity.”

Cole continued walking, making his way through the crowd to the group of centaurs arrayed at the far side. He spoke with them briefly and then clapped Swirl on his muscular shoulder. The team trotted away, breaking into a gallop as they thundered away along the edge of the basin.

Cole sank onto a white velvet padded throne and closed his eyes. Guards came around him, hands on swords, facing outward. A cloud of fog coalesced above his head, surrounding him like a shroud. He had told Ember what would happen during the games, that he would be a conduit of power for his team. He was opening himself, giving them the raw essence of his strength and abilities; his magic would run through their veins. Ashe, in his pavilion, was doing the same, except that Cole had weakened him. He’d suffered blood loss and was probably in terrible pain. This game would be hard on him.

Lissa smiled at Ember. “Congratulations on catching his eye. You gave our prince the opportunity.”

A wave of guilt came over Ember, which she disguised with an airy smile, as though mere distraction was what she had intended all along. Lissa threw her a mocking glance that said she didn’t believe that for one second and withdrew into the crowd.

They followed the centaurs out along the ridge, the guards keeping order as they monitored their respective groups of supporters. An obstacle course lay in the chasm below, all tall hedges, rock walls and glistening streams, interspersed with deep pits lined with jagged spears of sparkling rock.

Cole’s centaurs made their way along a winding track. Down a facing track, Ashe’s team mirrored them. Both teams were clad in colours matching the pavilion canopies, light versus dark, shadow versus sunlight.

The tracks led to opposite sides of the course and when they reached the base, the centaurs rapidly conversed amongst themselves and then spread themselves along each side of the ravine walls, their various weapons: spears, slingshots, bows and arrows, at the ready.

The crowd quietened. Someone shouted, “Team Cole!” and there was a burst of laughter, which soon faded. Ember looked down into the crater, nerves twisting her gut. She wasn’t sure of the rules, and from watching the training practises, she wasn’t sure if there was much more to it than galloping around the course as fast as you could and to kill those who weren’t on your team.

Still, she thought, even if Ashe loses this one, there’s two more to go, and it’s the best out of three. She crossed her fingers and sent up a wish to whoever was listening. Of the two of them, Ashe was more likely to send her back to Earth, and even if he didn’t, perhaps he’d just let her live her life, tucked away in a corner of the castle, free to paint and dream. It would be a lonely sort of life, she argued with herself. No family, no friends, no ambition, nothing to pursue, nothing to strive for, no one to share it with.

Or perhaps Ashe would remember that she had distracted him at the worst possible moment. She was the only human in this strange place. Maybe Ashe would put her in a zoo, she thought with a bleak attempt at humour. Let the fae stare and throw food at her. He might put her in a dungeon and leave her there until she starved to death. Or perhaps he’d decide she was too much to deal with and explode her like Lily.

She fisted her hands, concealing them amongst the folds of her dress. Her future was too uncertain here. She wished she’d asked Ashe what he would do to her if he won. She should have. She’d been too busy enjoying her holiday on the beach.

A gong sounded, a reverberating crash that echoed around the canyon, and on cue, radiating lines of white light came shooting out from Cole’s pavilion, criss-crossing through the air, looking like a spider-web designed by a drunk spider, shooting down and down to the waiting centaurs.

The light pierced them, and they arched their backs, rearing up onto their hind legs, heads flung back with mouths open in either agony or ecstasy. Ember couldn’t tell which, but knowing Cole, it was probably both.

On the other side of the canyon, black streamers of light met Ashe’s team, but the black light wasn’t as strong or defined as the white. The white was a sharp line of lightning that cut across the ravine, the black was like smoke, insubstantial, wavering.

Both teams froze in place, suffused in the power of the princes, and then the webs of light vanished, and the game was on.

She watched with unseeing eyes as the centaurs tore back and forth, shouting instructions and insults. Three went down quickly, two from Ashe’s team with arrows bristling from their sides, the other from Cole’s team, draped across an outcrop of rocks with a caved-in skull.

It was soon clear that Cole’s team had the upper hand. They were that much faster, that much more accurate with their weapons. One after another, Ashe’s team fell. Tinth, their leader seemed to be everywhere, whirling a deadly spiked ball on a chain in one hand, chasing down opponents, felling them and then trampling them under his massive hooves. But it wasn’t enough. When Tinth took a spear from Swirl, tumbling into one of the deadly pits, the rest of the team lost heart and the aftermath was bloody and brutal.

Ember cheered along with the rest, although the sight of the slain sickened her, and as the fae retired to their pavilions, both Cole and Ashe were carried back to the castle on litters, eyes closed, faces pale. When the guards came to escort her back to her room, she was dangerously tipsy from several swift glasses of wine, and with a feeling of relief, she thought Cole would have no further use for her that day. But to her dismay, she was told she needed to get ready. The first ball of the tournament was in a matter of hours, and he expected her to be there.

Chapter 33

The dress Mira brought out was a confectionery of gossamer layers in cream and gold, with a heart-shaped neckline, a nipped-in waist, and several layers of layers of netting under a silk skirt. The material flounced out wide, making it appear as though she were gliding across the floor. The ball was a masquerade, and she wore a mask designed like a white butterfly with outstretched wings. Her mask covered her head, dropping to cover both eyes and her nose, but left her lips and cheeks bare apart from a dusting of gold powder that accentuated her cheekbones. She wore opalescent silk gloves up to her elbows and her black hair loose down her back, and when she looked in the mirror, she thought she looked like some kind of gorgeous metallic insect, vaguely threatening, aloof and inhuman.

The masquerade, she learned, was another tradition. Both teams were in attendance, and the masks helped to give a veneer of protection. If nobody knew who anyone was, they were safe from harm.

It was a silly fancy, she thought. Anyone would recognise Cole or Ashe from their bearing alone, but she said nothing. When she had first arrived in the Kingdom of the Swords, she had been blithely unaware of how precarious her existence was, determined purely on Cole’s whim. She’d acted like a privileged tourist in a foreign country, gaping at this and that, asking inappropriate questions, accepting the presents, the food, the satisfaction of every want, as though it were hers by right.

Now she felt as though everything she did was being held in judgement of her. Every inane comment she made would be used against her later, every mistake was evidence, every thoughtless remark a weapon. She had to be careful. She had to tread lightly. And so, she sat quietly while Mira painted her face and adjusted her dress, and she made no protest when it was time to go with the guards.

She’d been down these corridors before. They were the ones lined with cold stone, the ones that led to the hall where the tree grew. And when the guard flung open the door, she saw she was right, although the hall looked different, decorated in bronze and gold, and extended to accommodate the hundreds of fae inside. A wall of ice, sculpted into fantastical figures, stood against the tree’s fire, keeping the temperature in the hall comfortable, and clouds of steam rose from the icy blocks. The sight was even more dazzling than the gorgeous costumes the fae wore. Ember had to stand on tiptoe to glimpse the pendant set into the trunk, the dangling chain jerking and twisting as if Tana the Blade could hear the music and wanted to get out.

“A dance, little stranger?” said a voice, and she turned to see a horse’s head bending down toward her. The fabulous mask covered his face, towering high, and yet, she would have known his wings anywhere.

“Broude!” she said warmly and then clapped a hand over her mouth as he shook his head sternly at her, his mane flicking from side to side. “Sorry. I mean, handsome horse-man, I would love to dance.”

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