Page 84 of A City of Flames

I will blame it on his stupid Merati powers. What he had said back at the castle clearly was a way to mess with my mind.

Freya, being half-delirious, smiles with her eyes closed before plopping back down. I shake my head and chuckle, letting my head rest against the pillow as I stare at the ceiling and hope I don’t dream of Darius this time around.

I did not dream of Darius again—thankfully—but the contentment I felt being with my brothers this morning dwindled as soon as they waved me goodbye from their carriage and the general waltzed up to me, informing me the queen wanted to see me.

Unsettling nausea rose to my throat the second he’d said it and now with palms sweating, legs widely aching, I feel smaller than ever, standing inside the throne room.

It’s nothing like last night, where hundreds swarmed the grand hall, instead it’s me and the queen... alone.

She taps her fingers on the arms of the throne and the echoing of her nails blasts in my ears like drums. She’s no longer in red, the gold samite clings to her ebony skin so gloriously that I understand why she didn’t wear it last night, I can never outrank her in that aspect, she’s grace and beauty driven with power even if she can’t physically project it.

“Do you know why you are here, Naralía?” She says after what feels like a century of painful silence.

I swallow nothing but dryness. “I was hoping you could inform me of it, your majesty.”

She chuckles, rising from the throne and walks down the dais until she’s feet away from me. “Something was stolen.”

My heart drums.

“A pendant,” she adds, “and since you were the last to see me wear it, I’m wondering if you might have an idea as to where it is.” Her head tilts, obsidian eyes infiltrating each part of me, waiting to see if I’ll confess, because that’s what she wants. She knew all along of course she did, the door wasn’t locked, she’d purposefully not worn it and watched me the whole night, had me dressed—

She dressed me in gold... knowing it’s favored by the Golden Thief. Yet she saw whom I was dancing with, glamor or not we weren’t discreet, why didn’t she act upon it then?

Exhaling slowly, I stare at her, not balking this time, it takes her by surprise as she straightens and frowns. She begins toying with the gems of her bodice examining me before a creak of the doors grind open and a small voice comes through. “Your majesty Magda is here—”

“Tell her to wait,” The queen says, her eyes rooting me to the spot. “Naralía and I have somewhere to be.”

* * *

I swallow the persistent retching at my throat as the foul stench of death and mold from the cellar-like dungeons wave over me with each step. In some way, I knew the queen would take me here, I had a hunch as she’d not spoken a word, and I’d trailed behind her the deeper we went underground.

Fire torches stuck to the walls illuminate the narrow paths and prisoners hiss out their insults at us, though the queen ignores it and I try my best not to hurl all the breakfast I’d had at the rise of dawn.

“Why are we here?” I ask. My one thought is that if she is taking me down here then I might never come out again. This might as well be my next home, a well-deserved one.

The queen doesn’t answer me, her steps never falter and instead she says, “Naralía, do you know why we hold trials for trainees?”

“I’ve always assumed it’s to see who is capable of becoming a venator warrior.”

Her surprisingly gentle laugh reflects off the bricked walls. “And to test one’s loyalties.”

I give a slow nod despite her not looking at me and the tightness in my chest constricting with every breath. What loyalties have I shown since I arrived at the city? None, I have failed even before the trials.

Shuddering out a breath, I scan the paths leading towards other cells, some even go further underground, making me frown as we pass. And when we turn a different direction, my eyes spot tattoos, two of them on each hand. Belonging to a man crouching on the ground—a shifter.

Lifting my eyes from the chains on each wrist and the ones at his ankles, his gaze meets with mine. Haunting and dark eyes follow my movements as I never break my stare from his until I reach the end of his cell and others of skin and bone come into view.

A sickening place to be and one I’d not thought a shifter would still be alive in. Freya hadn’t mentioned if shifters were put up for arena fights, then again, I’ve only attended one.

“Tell me, Naralía.” The queen stops and turns to face me. She places her hand atop an iron lever and dread digs its way into my chest. “Why is it you want to become a venator?”

“To honor my father’s legacy.” That’s what it’s always been for me, since the moment he perished, now it’s more a lie than anything else.

The queen dips her chin. “And do you feel as though you are doing that?”

No, not at all.

And she can see it too, feel it within her that I’m not honoring my father.

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