Page 152 of A Game of Veils

As the crowd falls silent, the emperor pitches his voice to carry. “Today we will witness my son’s prospective brides complete their final challenge and find out who is the most worthy of standing beside him. I hope we have all learned much from observing their trials and that there will be no further question of who deserves what. I look forward to welcoming the woman who earns Marclinus’s approval into the family.”

His piercing gaze sweeps over his audience, his tone dry but with an edge sharp as his guards’ swords. He’s reminding his court of the daughters he’s taken from them as punishment for their presumption.

I don’t even know how much Tarquin truly cared about judging us. Was the only real purpose of all this torment to carry out his ruthless vendetta?

His heir pipes up. “These three ladies have overcome many obstacles in their quest to prove themselves. For their last trial, they’ll encounter many very literal obstacles. We will see who is the most committed to reaching me, with speed, agility, strength, and—most importantly—dedication. You may follow them all along the course. If you have a favorite, feel free to cheer them on.”

He flashes a grin at all of us, as if he’s ever so pleased with his brilliant test, before going on. “Ladies, I will take my leave of you so that I can be waiting at the end of the course. Make your way along the route as quickly as you’re able to. The first of you to take my hand has won it.”

He and his father stride off into the woods without another word, several guards flanking them.

One of the palace staff motions Leonette, Fausta, and me to the edge of the stone path, just before the hedge. Beyond the arch, which stretches a few feet into the woods, the underbrush has been cut back even more than usual to clear a wide track between the trees.

The watching nobles surge into the forest along our path, eager to watch us on our way with the best view possible.

The man who beckoned us lifts his hand, holding a large bell. “On my signal, you may run.”

My mouth has gone dry as ash. I brace my legs instinctively.

At the resonant ding, all three of us spring forward.

As we hurtle beneath the hedge arch, a forceful current of air whips past us. Beside me, Fausta flinches and then yelps.

A second blast of wind hits her, and her pouch jerks right off her belt to careen across the cleared earth.

Alarm clangs through me. That’s no natural gust.

Bastien is using his gift to cast the pouch away from her—which means Raul must have sensed some kind of threat inside.

Fausta dives after her pouch, and I dodge out of her way. She manages to slam her heel back into my ankle. As I stumble to the side with a flare of pain, she snatches the pouch before it can blow any farther and wrenches out a small shiny object.

My rival whirls toward me, twitching her wrist to flick a small, hooked blade out of the steel handle she’s holding. The honed surface gleams with an odd oily texture that makes my gift snap to attention with a shudder through my nerves. As if my magic is anticipating the need for a cure.

I’d be willing to bet all I have that there’s poison lacing the blade. Fausta might not need to do more than prick me with it to cull me from the competition—and this world.

Catching my balance, I shove myself away and sprint the rest of the way past the arch.

Fausta’s groping hand catches my skirt as it whips out behind me. She hauls me back toward her as she lunges forward. I heave to the side, spinning to try to fend her off?—

And her face spasms, her eyes jittering as if tracking a peril I can’t see.

An illusion aimed only at her?

Whatever Lorenzo must have conjured, it shocks a gasp from Fausta’s mouth and loosens her grip on the curved knife. I ram my elbow into her hand, and her fingers burst apart.

The knife falls. An instant before it hits the ground, a sharper current of wind hurls the weapon all the way between the trees. Another blast smacks into the backs of Fausta’s knees, sending her tumbling to the ground.

With a hoarse breath, I dash farther into the woods, leaving her behind.

A mix of whoops and confused mutterings ring out when I race past the nearest nobles. “Princess of the wild north!” someone hollers, possibly meaning it as a compliment for once.

I have no idea what they made of my and Fausta’s tussle, but no one appears to be inclined to intervene. Perhaps they see her attempted attack as a reasonable part of the challenge.

I don’t think anyone’s realized there was more to the fight than our own skills. I hear no shouts about unsanctioned magic.

Relief shudders through my lungs with my next breath.

My princes came through for me. They disarmed Fausta of the weapon she meant to murder me with. If they hadn’t forced her hand, no doubt she’d have struck at some point when I was too distracted to defend myself.

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