Chapter 25

Chapter

Twenty-Five

TRESSYA

We traveled for six days to arrive at the edge of a wasteland. There was nothing but blackened trees with twisted, leafless branches everywhere I looked. The forest floor, like baked clay parched from a sun that rarely broke through the heavy clouds, spread as far as the eye could see. A wind swept along the ground, eddying dust plumes and drifting the stench of decay. It was a desolate, forgotten place. However, I knew that if I were to step foot within the Ashenlands, the place would appear reborn.

Andriet had shown me a book with images drawn by noblemen who'd survived the trials over the last few centuries. Their drawings showed an abundant forest, gloomy and dark but as rich as any found in Merania. It was the Creed's curse, according to Andriet, that shielded the truth from our eyes. Similarly, the curse prevented anyone standing on the southern side of the Ashenlands from seeing beyond into the north.

They had erected a tent city on the edge of the Ashenlands, transforming the isolated pocket of land into a bustling hive of activity and excitement. Not only did noblemen from across the kingdom arrive with their entourage to take part in the trials, they also brought with them a household of staff and every conceivable luxury to make their time here as pleasurable as possible, given the great risk they faced during the trials. According to Andriet, the trials could take weeks or more to complete.

Following in the path of the nobles and the king's household came the smithies to sharpen blades and shoe horses, the market stalls for servants to gather their daily fare for their masters, the bakers, the minstrels, the entertainers, the healers. I even spied a clothier in case the ladies dirtied their gowns beyond repair.

I turned away from the low-slung clouds, hanging heavy like dirty cloth, and headed inside Andriet's tent. There I found Daelon on his knees, finishing the laces on Andriet's boots.

Unable to stay still, I paced across his fur rugs. Today the trials began, and regardless of my pleas to the king, Andriet was to ride out with the rest of the noblemen. Once they crossed the demarcation line, they would disappear from our view.

"Tradition is not to be altered," the king had claimed. And from then on, he'd closed his ears to me.

Given so many had plotted against the king, I had hoped he would see reason. The first any of us would know the outcome of each trial was when the winner crossed the demarcation line and returned into the lands of the living.

"Please, Tressya, you're giving me a headache. Come sit down, or you'll have me up and pacing with you." Andriet patted the bed beside him.

"Your father's the headache. Not me."

"Do you not trust the Salmun to keep me safe? I'm told they will ensure their pets steer clear of me."

"It's not their pets I'm worried about."

I surrendered my pacing and joined Andriet on his bed. He slung an arm around my shoulders and pulled me close beside him like a parent would do a child to soothe their fears.

"I simply need to ride in and reclaim each of the objects, then return. A fall from my horse is the worst that can happen. Lucky for me, I have impeccable horsemanship. Nothing will dislodge me from my seat." He winked at Daelon, who was busy with the laces on his other boot.

"I'm with the princess. You be careful out there," Daelon said, giving him a stern look.

"Is this the sort of encouragement I'm to expect from both of you the entire time?" Andriet cried in mock offense.

"If that's what's required to make you take this seriously," I said.

Andriet squeezed my shoulders. "Remember, I'm untouchable."

I wanted to bang my fists on his chest. It was the next best thing to punching him in the side of his head. It wasn't his fault I was irritated, though. As much as I wanted to, I couldn't even blame the king. I could blame only myself. I was the only one who knew Bloodwyn would attack him in the Ashenlands. I was the one who hadn't exposed the Razohan, and the one who woke most night from dreams of feeling his tongue on my skin, then lay awake devising ways of gutting him.

"This is foolish. Worse, it's dangerous. Andriet, you can't do it. Let the other noblemen risk their lives, not you. There's no need. You're already the crown prince. What more could your father grant you?"

Andriet turned incredulous eyes to me. "And have my name written in the legends as the prince too scared to enter the Ashenlands?"

"Do you really care about that? As king, you can forbid those legends from ever being told."

"Who would respect me if I never dared?"

I groaned at the stupidity of it all. "There are far better ways of proving your bravery."

"You don't live in this world as a man, so you don't understand," Andriet played with my hand. "As future king, I must prove myself worthy every day. My people must trust I'll have the fortitude to make the right decisions and do what I have to to protect Tarragona. No one willingly follows a coward."

"But you didn't want to be king."

He squeezed my hand. "I've found myself with no choice."

I should reveal Bloodwyn to the king before the trials began. That way, it wouldn't matter if Andriet competed.

"He has a point," Daelon added.

"Then it's a good thing I've entered too."

"What?" they shrieked in unison.

I shrugged Andriet's arm from my shoulders. "I've got to keep an eye on you."

"But you're a woman," Daelon stated.

"I am a woman, but that has no bearing on what I can and can't do."

"There's no tradition for—" Daelon continued.

"Has the king ever had a woman as his blade?"

Andriet shook his head. "I can't say any king has ever had his own personal assassin. That's what the Salmun are for."

"You're telling me there is no tradition for such a thing?" I insisted.

Andriet rolled his eyes. "This is different."

I rose from the bed. "It's simply one more tradition I intend to subvert."

"See." Andriet nudged Daelon. "She's wicked. That's why I love her."

"But the noblemen will be in uproar to see a woman amongst their ranks," Daelon said.

"Do you really think I'd get anywhere wearing this?" I held out the hem of my skirt.

"A disguise. This is excellent." Andriet clapped his hands.

At that moment, the tent flap parted and Princess Cirro entered, bringing with her the smell of sun-drenched days rolling in fields of flowers. Three lady's maids clambered after her, trying in vain to keep the hem of her long gown off the dirt floor.

I turned away, grinding my teeth. She was one more person proving my failure as a disciple. The princess shouldn't be alive, but Andriet had taken to her, rarely leaving her side at the ball.

My opinion from the night of the ball until now changed little. She was a beautiful young woman with a warm and generous smile. I bit my lip to stop myself from returning the smile. The wind's chill flushed her cheeks, so they matched her soft rose-colored gown, trimmed with lace and jewels embroidered into the bodice. Hardly the sort of dress for a place like this, and I wondered if she had a lady-in-waiting who insisted she dress like a doll. A fountain of black curls swept into a wooden clasp revealed her graceful long neck.

Daelon and Andriet jumped to their feet and bowed.

"Your Highness," Andriet began, but Cirro waved him silent.

"I hope I'm not intruding."

"Gracious, no," Andriet stammered.

Dear Mother, he really liked her, and I would be her killer.

"I couldn't let you go without… I came to wish you good luck." Her voice was small and high-pitched. The softness in her tone made it less irritating to hear.

"Thank you. It's appreciated, but there's no need for luck. I shall be the first to return every day."

Not everyone returned daily. Andriet told me each trial could be arduous and take many days to complete, forcing them to sleep rough in the dangerous Ashenlands and to forage for what they could to eat. There were four trials in all each nobleman had to complete. Then there was Bloodwyn's scheme to do away with some of Henricus's court during the trials. And I still kept my mouth shut about him. In this regard, I'd made myself complicit in his schemes; a betrayal to the Mother.

The Sistern always saw me as a failure.

Princess Cirro eyed his spacious tent as she moved further inside; her gaze settling first on his large bed, covered in blankets and furs. Then it shifted to the small wooden table beside his bed, already filled with books. There was a spacious table for his meals and two chairs. I was sure he insisted on the second chair for Daelon, who he made his second—the man to care for his horse, his blades, and his person, clothes, and the like. And no doubt more.

I had yet to ask him about his feelings toward his marriage. Nor had I spoken to Daelon alone. But like myself, both of them had always understood the fragility of their happiness.

After gazing around the room, the princess's eyes shifted to me. There was no condescendence, arrogance, or contempt in her gaze. Instead, Cirro stared at me with open curiosity. A valid emotion upon seeing the woman she was replacing on the throne.

She curtsied. "Princess Tressya, I believe."

I reciprocated.

"I'm sorry for your misfortune."

I'd spent a life learning the difference between platitudes and heartfelt words. I could see Cirro's sincerity in her expression and gentle gaze. Damn my soul, but I liked her straight away. It seemed there would be no end to my disloyalty as a disciple?

"Andriet has told me stories about you, especially about the first time he met you. How he found you brandishing a sword and tales of your success against the wild men of the north. I have no friends in Tarragona beyond my lady's maids. Perhaps we can talk sometime. You could tell me how a woman such as yourself became so accomplished."

Of all the women who could've ended up in Andriet's bed, the king had chosen someone impossible to hate.

Andriet clapped his hands. "Excellent. Best friends already."

"I would like that." My heart should be cold as iron, but I meant it. "But the trials will take all my attention for now."

"They assured me the trials weren't dangerous," Cirro said, her delicate brow furrowing as she looked to Andriet.

"They're not. Tressya's mothering me. And taking part in the trials herself."

"Oh!" Cirro's beautiful purple eyes widened, making her look even younger and more childish. "I thought the trials were a sport for men."

"Yes. But there is always time to create new traditions," Andriet said.

"Then I shall have two people to cheer for. Andriet." She smiled at him. His smile was equally unrestrained. "And how could I not cheer for a woman?"

"You must keep this to yourself," I said quickly. "If the noblemen were to know a woman has entered the trials, there would be an uproar."

"Of course," Cirro said with a nod of understanding. "Women mustn't be allowed to disrupt a man's place." And she winked at me.

Curse my luck, I liked her a lot.

"Well said," Andriet added.

Cirro's cheeks tinged pink as she gazed up at him through her eyelashes. I couldn't stop myself from glancing at Daelon, who'd slipped into the background, no doubt uncomfortable surrounded by those so far above his station. Cirro already adored Andriet. It was in her eyes, her smile, her body language as she leaned ever so slightly toward him. My heart ached for what Daelon was forced to witness. He diverted his gaze, then bent and scooped some clothing off the ground and walked away, folding it.

I already liked Cirro a lot, but I liked Daelon a great deal too. Unfortunately, someone was going to walk away holding the pieces of their heart.

"I must prepare," I said, and hurried out of the tent.

I had better things to concern myself with other than broken hearts; the trial for starters, and I also had to worry about how I had to force myself to kill the princess.

My insignificant tent stood alongside the king's grand palace of white fabric. His tent rose above the tent city like the top of a steeple with Tarragona's heraldic standard flapping in the breeze. Each nobleman hung their own banner atop poles erected at the front of their tents, giving the city a vibrant swathe of color.

I had hoped to duck inside and grab my extra dagger, but had only made it halfway there when Radnisa blocked my way.

"If we're lucky, you'll perish. It will save you from facing the Mother's displeasure."

"I don't have time for your poisonous words." I pushed past her, but Radnisa grabbed my arm.

"I don't know what you think you're doing." Her glare drifted down my body, then glanced over my shoulder before looking behind her. Once she felt sure we were alone, she continued. "The Mother didn't send you here to run around in the shadows playing your silly games and doing the king's bidding."

"I'm aware of what I was sent here to do."

"I doubt that." She folded her arms. "As a disciple, you would know what to do. And it has nothing to do with dressing in costume."

"The king signed his alliance for Andriet's bride before I even arrived."

She quirked a brow. "And that's why she must die."

I snapped, grabbing her arm and dragging her further away from the tents. Once there, I released her and turned away, shielding my face and gave a sigh.

"Do you really need me to say it again? I can't be any clearer. There's only one son left."

"Leave me to make the decisions." My voice sounded strained.

She yanked me around to face her, leaning close so her breath tickled my face. "What are the six pillars?"

I shook my head.

She clasped my cheeks between her hands, squeezing them firm. "Tell me."

I wrenched my head away, grinding my teeth. "No."

"Loyalty," she spat. "Or have you already forgotten the primary pillar?"

"I'll find a way to make it work."

She eased back, folding her arms once again. "How? You had one task. Birth the next heir. You can't do that without a royal husband. The king would not survive such humiliation if he had to cancel the wedding for a second time because—oh my word—now there's no bride. He would be desperate to find a replacement. Any princess would do. And how convenient that he has one spare."

Loyalty. The Mother's will remained above all others. It was my duty: always my duty to the Sistern.

"I'll think of something." I'd thought the same thoughts, begun to plan how I would kill her. But now…

"Time is running out for your little schemes, princess. Or should I call you the King's Blade? How are you going to fix this mess while you're playing in the trials?"

This time it was me who stepped into her space. "Do not touch the princess. Do you hear me?"

Her eyes narrowed at me, and I could feel the venom in her gaze. "Is that a threat?"

"Take it how you want it."

"Careful." She smirked. "All it takes is one word."

I closed my eyes against the fear that slithered down my spine and breathed heavy through my nose. One day I would learn her soul word. Maybe now I had found the power of mine, it would become easier to master soul voice. But I had to actually start trying, something I'd not done since leaving Merania's shores.

"Just let me get through this first trial."

"Don't tell me you're going to seduce the King?"

My stomach churned at the thought.

"I'm not surprised. Call it a defect in your lineage."

Ice slid down my front, chilling me deep into my bones. "What did you say?" She was referring to my Mother. I'd suspected—and argued against the thought—my mother seduced my father on the Mother's command, gaining the Sistern a connection to the Merania throne. Only now—after what she'd done to me—I knew it wasn't the throne but a link to the death arts the Mother craved.

"Pay no attention to my ramblings," she said with a wave of her hand. "You better run along and finish preparing yourself. I think the trials are about to begin."

She turned from me and sauntered away. I huffed out a breath, not realizing I'd been holding it all that time. In my haste to get away from her poisonous words, I staggered over tent ropes, stumbling as I rushed for my tent. Inside, I howled and banged my fists to my temples. The burn of my hatred made it hard for me to swallow. If I met her out in the Ashenlands, I wouldn't hesitate. I would put a dagger straight through her cold heart.

Delirious with anger, I drew the dagger from my trunk and threw it with a harsh shout, aiming for the wood pole. Instead, it was caught moments before impaling the wood by Bloodwyn coming through my tent door.

I gasped, feeling nailed to the spot, before the flames fanned by Radnisa flared again. "What do you want?" I barked, spinning from him and pacing to the back of my tent. As it wasn't large, I didn't have far to go before I was staring at the tent fabric.

"Not a dagger thrown at my face, that's for sure."

"If I had known you were coming, I would've aimed a little lower."

"That's what makes you my favorite person."

Hands on hips, I slowly turned to face him. He wore a baldric and multiple sheaths fashioned on his belt, hiding a selection of weapons I couldn't make out. He'd dressed in a sleek black coat, which stopped just below his waist and breeches. Even his leather riding boots looked shiny. The line of his breeches left no doubt to his muscular thighs. And the fit of his coat gave me an ample idea of his broad chest.

Great. What I didn't need right now was the added distraction his presence provided, especially when dressed like that. But this was not who the Razohan was, merely a skin he wore.

"I'm sure that outfit will impress the Salmun's creatures," I snapped, hating how much I enjoyed looking at him.

"I aim to please, always."

"Why are you here?"

He strolled toward me, holding my dagger hilt first toward me. "It's called getting to know your rivals."

I took the dagger and sheathed it, furious at how hypnotic he was when being so arrogantly annoying. "You've visited each tent this morning. I'm impressed. The sun has only just risen."

"I'm only bothering myself with my greatest rival."

I didn't have time for this frivolous conversation. I delved into my trunk once more, searching for my extra dagger. For a moment, I feared Radnisa had left it behind on purpose. There were only my clothes when I swore I packed my weapons last.

Bloodwyn was suddenly there beside me, and I'd not heard him approach. Curses, he could move with silence. And I would blame my argument with Radnisa for distracting me. No one should be able to creep up on me like that. If I hadn't let my guard down, no one would have.

"Is this what you're looking for?" He pulled my second dagger by the tip of the blade from beneath an item of clothing.

"Thank you." I held out my hand, but Bloodwyn made no effort to hand it over, preferring to stare down at me. And since I swore never to step back from anyone, he forced me to share my breathing space with him.

The tingle in my wrist flared. But I was growing accustomed to it and, dare I admit it to myself, found it a pleasurable feeling.

"What did that viper say to upset you?"

I arched a brow.

"You know my attention is always on you."

That shouldn't sound so good. "None of your concern."

"Trust me, it's my concern, because you're now my concern."

I shouldn't like hearing that. And now my heart was racing. I opened my mouth to huff some retort, then slammed it shut with a blink. Don't give him the satisfaction of replying.

"Whatever was said stays between the two of us." I held out my hand for my dagger.

"All you have to do is say the word, and I'll get rid of her. That will save you the guilt of doing it yourself."

"A tempting gesture. But if you dare touch her, you'll find one of my daggers in a place you won't like."

"You say the most erotic things." Bloodwyn returned my dagger hilt first but refused to release the blade when I tugged for it.

The angrier I became with our pathetic little tug-of-war, the more salacious his smile grew, until I was ready to punch him in the face. Perhaps he read that thought in my expression because he suddenly yanked his end of the dagger hard, pulling me off balance, forcing me to tumble into him.

"What's our tactic today?" he asked in a low, slow, seductive voice, and I would be lying if I said I remained unaffected.

"We try to keep our weapons from each other's throats, for starters."

"And after our little game of fetch?"

He was still too close, and I was too weak to prevent my body from pulsing with an unfamiliar tune. This tune was gradually unraveling the knots in my heart, in my soul, and in my desire—that dark, feral beast which had lain dormant for far too long. My erratic heartbeat was the only sound I could hear, along with Bloodwyn's breathing. If I closed my eyes and concentrated right now, I could meld my heartbeat with his, aligning us so our hearts beat in rhythm.

"Tressya?" he crooned. The way my name rolled off his tongue sent tingles to all the right places.

"Afterward I'll be busy in my bath." Why did I say that?

"Excellent. What time do you want me? I'm known for my back scrubs." His nails grew into claws as he held up one hand.

"And I'm known for reacting badly to any breach in my solitude."

His leaning close was the first slash upon the cord's that kept my hunger in. "You shouldn't tempt me, little princess." Then he turned and strolled across to my bed. "I've done it once and survived."

He eased himself down, stretching out and folding his arms behind his head. As I watched him, my insides screamed to climb out of my skin, savoring how good he looked lying on my bed. I was on the brink of surrender, almost ready to fall to my knees and crawl across the tent floor to reach him.

Discipline.

I blinked in a bid to drag my mind away from the precipice of a very bad idea. He was so sure of himself, of his ability to outsmart me and win, given any situation. In equal measure, I admired his confidence as much as I longed to show him just who he was playing with.

"Have they given you any hint of your first object?"

I'd spent a painful snippet of time enduring Orphus's presence in my tent this morning. He'd said little of worth but placed a hand on my head, as if anointing me, then stood in the center of my tent, head bowed in silence. I stayed alert to any invasion of his presence in my head, but felt none.

Afterward, Andriet informed me each competitor endured the same from a member of the Salmun. It was all part of the trials. The Salmun used their mind tricks to learn what objects in our lives had personal value, because the trials were a game of fetch.

The competitor was to retrieve four objects personally significant to themselves over four successive trials. With each trial, the significance of the object grew as the trial became more deadly. Hunting down one's object could take a day, a few days, or a week, depending on the individual's attachment to that object, their cunning, and their skill with weaponry; the latter in case they came upon some of the Salmun's vile creatures—along with many other traps and dangers in the Ashenlands.

I busied myself with shifting my clothes in my trunk once I realized my gaze had lingered too long on Bloodwyn stretched out in comfort. Would the real Razohan look equally as good stretched out on my bed? Curses. Why was I asking myself such a thing? "I'm not in the trials to chase objects around in circles."

"Andriet can't have told you."

"Told me what?"

"You must retrieve your object if you ever hope to return."

I dropped the tunic I was making a hash of folding. "That's not true."

In one swift motion, he slid off my bed, reminding me of how smooth a hunter he could be, and strolled toward me.

"It most definitely is. I have it on good authority."

"Whose?"

"Lord Bloodwyn's."

"Oh." I blinked. "How much of Lord Bloodwyn's life are you able to pick over?"

"Rather than think of it as picking over his life, I think of it as becoming his life…for the time it's useful."

"I see no difference."

He flashed a brief smile as he closed the distance between us, leaving little space for me to make a defensive move if the moment required. "Perhaps we should stick together during this first trial." He shrugged. "Help each other out."

I snorted. "Don't you have a malicious purpose for being here?"

He shifted his gaze to my hair. There was nothing pretty or elaborate about my plait, but his eyes seemed to suck in my hair style first before they returned to my face, like a man adoring his favorite horse, or…the woman who'd caught his attention across the ballroom. I was foolish to think it was the latter.

"I have many purposes, not all malicious."

He moved quickly, spinning me around and pressing my back firmly against his chest, while a palm splayed across my stomach anchored me in place. Instead of focusing on a defensive strike, my mind fixated on the feeling of his warm body against mine, and the way my body molded and curved into his. The smell of him infected me so thoroughly my head swam through a thick haze all because I longed for his hands to explore my body. I sucked in my breath when a small moan escaped from my lips. Curses for all the secrets of my soul that I was giving him.

I ached; a pain once buried deep, or so I thought. Loneliness or true desire, I couldn't tell. I wasn't this weak, but maybe I was a woman who needed more than what the Mother could give?

His other hand he brought around and held in front of my face. Slowly at the tip of one finger, a claw protruded, growing longer before my eyes, until it was the length of my finger. Dark, thick, and lethal. The end pointed into the sharp edge of an arrow.

He lowered his head, leaning close to my left side. I swear I felt the faintest tickle of his lips on my ear. "I can be very helpful," he whispered.

I wanted him to be helpful, in so many ways and none had anything to do with the trials. Mercy . I shook my head. These thoughts infected my head because I was a failed disciple with too many emotions running free through my heart.

For starters, his wintery spice and summery leather was a toxic combination that addled my senses. His body, solid, yet yielding, melded with mine like the perfect sword in its master's hand; the two together formed a powerful duo.

But, always, the disciple lurked underneath. I wasn't so lost as to surrender. Not entirely. I swiped my dagger from its sheath and sliced through his claw, halfway down to his finger.

He huffed. "It will grow back."

"Pity."

He released me, stepping away, and I stifled a whimper as my body cried in misery for losing the tantalizing hint of what he offered. It wasn't just my body crying in vain. Before I could stop, I pressed a hand firm against my chest, for the little comfort I could give myself, and felt Carlin's necklace, which only brought a fresh wave of emptiness and heartache.

"Is that your answer?"

I sheathed my dagger and turned to face him. "We're on opposing sides."

"Does that mean we have to abandon all feeling?"

"I trust few. You will never be one of them." As a disciple, I couldn't, even if my heart cried on hearing me say the words.

He nodded slowly, as if struggling to absorb what I'd said. A flash of something that looked strangely like disappointment crossed his face, too quick for me to analyze. Then he bowed and spun on his heels, marching out the tent door while I bit back my overwhelming urge to make him stop. I would close my eyes with my own disappointment if not for the fact I couldn't draw them from his departure.

Before he disappeared outside, he looked back at me. "It would surprise you to know what I have surrendered from the moment I boarded your ship."