26. Maddy

Chapter 26

Maddy

I t takes me sixty seconds to remember where I am and what has just happened when I come around.

I froze myself into the green, itchy ooze in front of all the other rooks, my family, and Sigrun.

The nausea is worse than usual, and for a beat I really think I might throw up.

I take a heaving breath to try to counter it and realize that the ice around me isn't actually solid anymore. Blacking out must have severed my out-of-control magic. I move one elbow forward through the sludge, and my body moves an inch.

The sound of cracking ice around me is the only thing I can hear in the otherwise deafening silence.

I move my other arm, my head swimming and my vision blurred. Shame like I've never felt before is threatening to send me face-first into the melting mud.

They all saw me .

I wanted them to see my magic. I wanted them to see my bear. What they've seen is a colossal fucking mess.

I push harder with my right arm, trying not to think about the fact that I'm still trapped. I drag myself forward and hear a solitary cheer.

"You can do it, Maddy!" It's Sarra.

Tears brim in my eyes. Sarra says I can do it.

My options are: die here in the middle of a trench of sheer fucking embarrassment, or haul my sorry arse to the end of this obstacle.

I move my arms, one at a time, focusing on nothing but the inches each movement gains. I get into a rhythm, dislodging the last of the ice around me, and the itching starts again. I manage to build enough momentum to move my knees through the sludge, forcing my way through as hard as I can.

It takes an age to get to the end, but I get there. When I drag myself to my feet, I can't raise my head. I can't look at the people around me. My shoulder is burning, and I remember Inga's arrow as I stagger to the pile of boulders. When I drop mine on it there's a huge whoop, I assume from Sarra, and a small smattering of claps. I still can't look up.

I hurt, and I'm dizzy. Adrenaline, shame, and the aftermath of the genuine terror I felt under that metal net combine to make me feel sick.

I can't throw up in front of everyone. Please, gods, leave me some fucking dignity.

"Rook," I hear Valdis bark. I force my chin up and see her coming toward me, gesturing me to return to the stand. I don't see pity in her face.

I walk uneasily to the steps.

"Eight minutes forty," calls Sigrun. I hear another couple of claps, and some laughter.

"Next up, Rook Merit!" bellows Harald. Merit hurries past, throwing me an awkward glance as she goes.

"Good job finishing," Valdis says quietly as she comes to stand beside me.

"Good job?" I mutter. Bile is clawing up my throat and my face is burning. My ice bath has cooled my body, thank the fates, but I'm sure shame is going to keep my face hot for hours. Maybe even days.

"You didn't give up. Here." She passes me a small horn, stoppered with a cork. I take it from her with hands that have started to shake, hard. A cheer goes up as Merit starts her run. "It's just brandy."

I fight with the stopper a minute, then drain the horn. The liquid burns away the bile, and I concentrate on the feeling of it, focusing on nothing else. The dizziness lessens.

"Thanks." I hand the empty horn back to her. She nods, then moves to stand at the side of the Battleyard again.

I'm gripping the rail, trying to force myself to move up the steps to join the others, when Brynhild strides over. Another roar goes up from the crowd, and I look over to see that Merit has cleared the logs.

"You will come to magic training on Tuesday," Brynhild says quietly. "That is not a request. "

My stomach sinks even further, but I've just demonstrated that I now have ice magic and that I cannot control it. What choice do I have?

I pull myself up the stairs when she strides away, and the sniggering starts immediately.

Keeping my gaze glued to the planks, I move to the back of the crowd and lean against the railings. My clothes are sodden, and everywhere the fabric touches, my skin itches. Pain burns in my shoulder, and I want more brandy. Anything to distract me.

"Five minutes two!" calls Sigrun, and mercifully, most of the rooks' attention moves back to the Battleyard, cheers going up for the shadow-fae.

I haven't escaped Inga or Orgid, though.

"Wow," says the shadow-fae noble as he saunters over, Inga at his side.

"Fuck off, Orgid," I spit.

"And to think we thought you had something we didn't," he says.

"Rook Inga!" calls Harald. To my relief, they both whirl around, moving away.

Somebody else fills the empty space immediately. "You need to learn to control your magic."

"I know, Eldith," I grind out. "You think I'm not aware that was a fucking disaster?"

She pulls a face. "Want some help with that?" she asks, pointing at my shoulder. I can't really see the wound.

I glance over her shoulder, and everyone is now watching Inga take her run .

"Is it bad?"

She peers at it. "No. But it's full of mud and shit. It needs cleaning."

"Thanks," I mumble.

I give Eldith one of the poultices from my pouch, which is filled with disgusting liquid too, and she carefully cleans and dresses the hole in my skin. It stings like shit, but I stay as still as I can.

"I'm surprised you're willing to be seen talking to me, let alone helping me," I say quietly.

Inga has finished her run in just under four minutes, and I get a smug sense of satisfaction that she's covered head to toe in the green shit.

"You didn't give up," Eldith says. "Plus, it takes some power to freeze the whole trench." I give her a look, and for the first time ever, I see her smile. "Especially with yourself in it."

She's not mocking me to hurt me, I realize. She's trying to make light of it. To lessen my embarrassment.

"Eldith, how am I going to face my family?" I whisper. "They all saw that."

"Was it your sister who cheered for you?"

Heat fires at the back of my eyes. "No. My human friend."

"Then fuck your family. If they didn't want you to make it, then who cares what they think?"

I blink.

"This is good now. I'm going to watch the others," she says, then, with a tap on the arm, she heads to the front of the stand .

I stare after her, my mind in turmoil.

She's right. If they wouldn't even cheer me on, then I'm not doing this for them. But who the fates am I supposed to prove myself to if not them?

Sigrun. Featherblade.

I rub my hand over my face and regret it. There's ooze all over it, and it stings.

I've done the complete opposite of what I hoped for today.

There's a collective gasp from everyone in front of me, and curiosity takes me five steps forward without thinking.

Martom, the young ice fae, is standing at the front of the Serpents' Crawl and has just fired ice at the green mud.

My mouth opens in a small O as he glances up toward us, then runs at the now-frozen trench and skids under it, straight under the barbed net, moving through it far faster than anybody else.

Orgid and a couple of the other leaders start to call out in annoyance, shouting things like "cheat," but nobody said you couldn't use magic on the trench.

He flies out of the other end, runs to the pile, and drops his boulder. The crowd erupts into cheers as Sigrun calls, "Three minutes twenty!"

When Martom returns to the stands, he makes a beeline straight for me.

"I'm sorry you didn't do so well, but…" He shrugs. "It was a good idea. I used it."

I don't know what to say, so I just nod .

Nobody beats Martom. His freezing of the trench secures him the win, and most of the rooks celebrate with him. We're told to return to Odin's High Hall for the Champions Ceremony that evening, but to get cleaned up and changed first.

I don't know if family and nobles are coming to the ceremony or not. A few hours ago, I'd have wanted them to. I would have given anything for another chance to talk to Freydis. Now, though, I don't want to be around anyone except Sarra.

We're walking past the Snake Wing toward the High Hall when Valdis drops into step beside me.

"The washrooms in the Snake Wing are empty," she says quietly. I look at her, but before I can say a word, she's moved on. She's suggesting I don't use the shared bathrooms with the other rooks. She's trying to save me from their mocking and my own embarrassment.

My cheeks burn with continued shame, but she's right. I do not want to use the shared washroom with the others. So when everybody else filters into the hall, I duck back and move down to the healing chambers. The green stuff stings just as much as I wash it off, but all of the leather that I've been given cleans up absolutely fine, none of the disgusting ooze sticking to it. I have to put on my wet trousers and shirt once I've wrung them out thoroughly, but at least they are now clean.

I consider going to the gallery and storing what just happened, but I can't face it. I can't imagine feeling strong enough to relive today. "Like I'll need any fucking help remembering this," I mutter as I make my way out of the Snake Wing.

"You need your bear." Kain is leaning against the arch to the door, and his low voice makes me jump.

"And you need to leave me alone. I don't want to talk to you," I say.

He opens his mouth, but there's a beating of wings, a flash of silver, and then Sigrun appears above us. A look of pure hatred takes Kain's face, and before her feet can touch the ground, he's moved off, his wolf lending him speed.

Sigrun looks after him as she touches down silently, then moves her gaze back to me.

"You and I need to talk," she says.

I open my mouth to answer, but nothing comes out, so I nod instead.

"And we shall not talk where untrustworthy fire-fae might hear us."

Vines coil slowly from her hands, and shock pins me in place as they wind around my shoulders.

"Wha—" My question is cut off as she beats her wings twice, and then she's lifted off, carrying me beneath her.