Page 35 of Kissed By the Gods
“We’ll be in the hallway, your highness.” He addresses her but his eyes are on me as he closes the door. It’s a warning for me, not a reassurance for her.
Elowen steps forward. “You can’t come into my infirmary to satiate your curiosity and then be rude to my patient.”
“You can’t dictate to me,” Princess Rissa says. The tension in the room is palpable as we take each other’s measure anew.
“I can here,” Elowen retorts. “I outrank you here.”
Something about it, about Elowen coming under fire, bothers me. I put a hand on her arm and step forward. “It’s alright. Whatever she’s come to say, she can say it.”
But Rissa hardens even more. I’ve insulted her by giving her permission to speak with me.
“I’m Princess Rissa, heir to the throne of Faraengard and emissary to the Synod on behalf of King Agis,” she says, closely watching me for a reaction. When I give her none, she snaps out, “Protocol dictates you avert your eyes and kneel.”
I don’t lower my eyes to the floor. That’s what my mother would have done. Veil, that’s what I would have done a few days ago. But the woman standing in front of me has not earned my respect. By her title alone, she’s earned nothing but my wrath. And I’ll be godsdamned before I cater to her whims.
“It’s my understanding, your highness, that Altor bow only to the gods. Not to mere royalty.”
An angry flush spreads from her pale neck up to her cheeks, but when she speaks, her voice is still perfectly controlled. “You’re not a sworn Altor. Not yet. Right now, you’re nothing but an accused. As such, I expect you to avert your eyes andkneel.”
Is it possible to stare harder? I don’t know, but I try out of sheer spite. “Yeah, I can see that,” I say, holding her gaze. “I wouldn’t want to have to look into the eyes of the people I rape, kill, and destroy, either.”
Elowen makes a strangled noise, and Rissa narrows her eyes at me. I expect her to call in one of her guards, tomakeme kneel. But she doesn’t. Instead, she pulls herself even taller, her back ramrod straight.
“As the emissary to the Synod for the king of Faraengard, Leina Haverlyn of Selencia, I am here to inform you that a volunteer has been selected for your Trial of Last Blood, which will determine the truth of your origins and your allegiance. It will commence tomorrow at dawn,” she says, then arches an immaculate brow as she turns to leave. “Given that you murdered four of His Majesty’s soldiers in cold blood, I think we all know how tomorrow is going to go.”
My stomach rolls, but not because I killed those men. My mother’s vacant eyes staring back at me will haunt my memories for the rest of my days.
“Soldiers? Is that what we’re calling the rapists and murderers your father uses to keep his slaves in line?”
She spins back to face me from the threshold. Her expression is as stone-cold as when she first entered, but there’s a ripple of something else from her—likely shock at my audacity. It is so faint, it’s hard to pinpoint. The guards shift, their hands twitching toward their weapons, but none dare move without her command. I don’t think they’re Altor. They move in an uncoordinated way that is distinctly human. What did the archons call it? Grounded. They’re grounded.
The princess exhales softly, almost amused. “So, that’s the role you’re playing. The righteous avenger. The martyr. I wonder … do you believe it? That you’re the hero in this story?”
But neither of us can answer, as Archon Lyathin steps inside next, with Maxim trailing him. The chamber seems to shrink as the men enter, and I tense at the sight of the massive red-haired Altor. Maxim chuckles, a low, guttural sound that makes my skin crawl. Elowen’s hand tightens on my arm, and even Princess Rissa takes a step back from him.
Archon Lyathin inclines his head at Princess Rissa, but he doesn’t bow, doesn’t drop his gaze. “Princess Rissa. Elowen,” he acknowledges them, but doesn’t defer to either. “I’ll ask you both to leave now so I can meet with the accused.”
Accused.
Well, it’s better than the pejorative way they’ve been usinggirl.
Elowen squeezes my arm when she walks past, and I’m surprised by how much the simple gesture matters to me—especially coming from someone like her. A princess.
As soon as they’re gone, Archon Lyathin turns to me.
“The gods never ask what you’re willing to give. I don’t think they care.”
Journal of Altor Vaelen, last recorded to be kissed by the gods, in Year 267 of the Eternal Wars
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“Tomorrow’s Trialof Last Blood is to the death,” Archon Lyathin says in a toneless voice. He gestures Maxim forward. “Maxim of Atherclad, was the first to volunteer. You will fight until one of you ceases to breathe. Should you win, you’ll be accepted as an Altor in truth and commence training. Should you lose … well. Either way, we will have our verdict, won’t we?”
Maxim’s pale gaze rakes over me, and I don’t miss the way his fingers flex at his sides, as if he can already feel them closing around my throat.
