Page 7
Talysse
V olunteering for the Trials hasn’t changed my prisoner’s status; I’m still in my cell deep in the Governor’s Palace dungeons. Still, it has just brought me some luxuries, like blankets, a bucket of fresh water and food delivered every couple of hours. Another luxury appreciated above all was Myrtle’s visit. She reassured me that Tayna was safe, delivered back to her adoptive family and that the magister cleared them both of all charges. She thoughtfully packed a pair of soft velvet pants, a clean cotton shirt whose color was barely recognizable, and a leather doublet that looked nearly new and probably expensive. A lump got stuck in my throat when she tried to distract me with stories from the inn and Stebian’s antics. We blinked away tears and laughed like children, and just like that, the guards announced that the visit was over.
We stayed in each other’s arms until they pulled us apart. There were no solemn farewell words, just a silent nod, an acknowledgment that this might be our last meeting.
*
The familiar streets of Tenebris fly by behind the curtained window of the carriage, each corner and alley a chapter of my life. We pass the old bakery; sneaking glazed bagels from the bakery was a childhood thrill, their sweet aroma unforgettable. Next to it is the fashion tailor’s shop, its tall windows displaying dreamlike dresses, where me and Tayna would spend hours admiring the gowns we could never afford; the crumbling Temple of the Five with its dusty library, which has seen better times... And just before the tall city gates—the Gallows Hills and the countless unmarked graves behind them. Somewhere there lay my parents, among numerous others, and a couple of Seelie who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Is it the euphoria of the sun-drenched open road, the warm summer air holding promises of long sunny days and short nights, but it all fills me with an unexpected sense of freedom as soon as the carriage passes through the city gates. For the first time in a long while, there’s hope. I stretch out on the worn velvet seat, the soft new clothes hugging my skin, and hum a melody. Everything is as it should be, for now.
The carriage is tossing me left and right the further we get from the city. The road is in miserable condition. The Unseelie don’t invest much in infrastructure; the remnants of roads in Satreyah were built by the Seelie centuries ago. The fields around Tenebris stretch like a sea on both sides of the road, the wind rippling their green surface. Crops and the workers are protected by magical crystals and Eloysse’s magic during the long nights, even if they’re outside the city walls. Peasants look up when they hear hoofs on the uneven pavement, and some of them wave at us with their straw hats.
Tall pillars stand out among the lush verdant, like the masts of a sunk fleet, their dark sails rolled up neatly: it’s one of the inventions that followed the Hex and helped us survive in a world altered by the cruel gods. When the nights started getting long centuries ago, humans quickly realized that their crops needed light to grow, but too much light can be equally deadly. The golden glow of the magical crystals protecting the cities damaged the plants, so scientists from the past created those large foldable tents of dark fabric. In the long nights, they’re pulled by dozens of workers and draft animals in carefully calculated hours to shield some plants from the excessive magical light. Working in the fields is a job for convicted criminals, who sleep outside the city walls and often fall prey to the Tainted Ones. It’s where most of the kids from the Blessed Dawn orphanage end up, unless they don’t have a sweet smile and golden locks like Tayna, or an affinity to bend the rules like me.
The vegetation soon turns gray and scarce, weeds mingle with the wheat, and the bird songs die out. All remnants of the ancient pavement are swallowed by the dark and barren soil.
We are in the Wastelands.
Centennial woods, bustling with life, stretched here before the Hex. Forests teeming with wolves, bears, foxes and smaller beasts, skies charted by eagles, birdsongs and the aroma of flowers in the air.
Now, every breath crushes the lungs with the distant stench of death and fire. Sun rays barely break through the sticky haze, tinting everything gray and muffling the sounds of voices and hooves. Soot dances around like morbid snowflakes.
The governor’s soldiers have regrouped. They ride close to the carriage now, peering into the dead forest surrounding us. Unseen threats reach out to our caravan from the dead branches, and I shuffle nervously. It’s the first-time traveler syndrome, probably, though the soldiers also look all tensed up. Now, back in Tenebris, the sun has warmed up the crystalline waters of the Fountain of the Five on Temple Square, and all street urchins are diving into its clear waters before the priests come out, chasing them to the streets. My chest tightens as the rows of black charred trunks around blur my vision. We ride as if a Tainted horde is at our heels.
My stomach growls, drawing my eyes to the picnic basket on the opposite bench. I reach for a wafer, the sweet taste a brief solace. Outside, the tainted sunlight shifts. Atos’s hairy armpits, it is getting dark! Terror solidifies in my gut when the soldiers spur their horses and gallop ahead. What Fae trickery is this? Have they brought me here just to abandon me at Nightfall?
A glow, much stronger than the thinning sunlight, filters through the lacy curtains of the carriage window.
Have they somehow led us through a portal? The dead forest is transformed into another world. Hundreds of torches stand on both sides of the road. The forest floor beneath the wheels is draped with golden cloth, just like the old tales describe the Sacred City of the Elders.
With one final shudder, the carriage halts, and the door flies open. I hop down, nearly losing my balance after hours of sitting. A loud crackle of magic and a bright flash above startles me, and I whip my head up. Elders! A thick, blinding protective halo unfolds over a wide clearing crowded with colorful tents. At its center, surrounded by dozens of Fae soldiers in steel armor, stands a grand, domed tent of fine fabric.
Soft music and the clank of glasses spill out of its entrance.
“Welcome, Talysse of No Name,” a masculine voice startles me. The Fae male is dressed like a prince and greets me with a polite bow. A refined courtier, without a doubt. “You are late; forgive us for starting the feast without you.”
“A feast?” I say, voice trembling. It is not what I’ve expected from brutal Trials with a survival chance of around zero.
“Please follow me.” The courtier glides over the cloth of gold, giving me no choice but to follow.
The hairs on my nape stand up as we pass by the dozens of Unseelie soldiers, their polished armor shining in the golden light of the halo. Atos take them; there are so many of them! Sitting around their campfires or patrolling in smaller groups in the space between the tents, they ignore us. The unease of their presence still lingers as we slip into the large tent. So, this is what a lamb among wolves feels.
The air under the tall dome of thin fabric is surprisingly cooler and—are these snowflakes? Just below the draped ceiling rages a tiny snowstorm. If it is a clever illusion or some unknown spell, I cannot tell, as I’m busy staring at the crowd in the wide space. More than a dozen humans and Fae are sitting at a long table loaded with steaming roasted meats, pastries, mountains of fruits, and sparkling wine in tall golden-rimmed glasses. My mind cannot fathom all the abundance, but my stomach does, and to my embarrassment, it rumbles loudly.
“Lords and ladies, here comes Talysse of No Name from Tenebris, Satreyah Province. May she please the Elders in these Nightfall Trials!”
I wince at the wave of attention crushing on me, curious eyes staring at my clothes, evaluating my posture, glaring at my scar. I take a step forward, straighten my shoulders, and plaster a grin on my face.
Everyone quickly returns to what they were doing: eating and talking in hushed tones.
The courtier shows me to a seat at the head of the table. On my left sits a strong-built man with a bronze complexion and blond hair so typical for Odryssia. His bright eyes linger on my clothes and my scratched face. His lips curl into a thin smile, and he leans back, crossing his arms over a velvet jerkin threaded with gold. He looks like the man I’d wished to marry if everything had gone as planned in my life. If I had grown up as a refined, fancy-educated lady in my parents’ mansion, not as a daughter of traitors, an orphan, and a criminal.
I nervously tuck in some loose strands back into my crown braid and study the rows of unfamiliar cutlery, terrifying as siege weapons lined up before the city walls. Well, that should do. I pick the largest spoon and start scooping steamed vegetables into my plate. A cackle makes my hand freeze mid-air. The Odryssian man whispers something in the ear of a statuesque blonde human woman sitting next to him, and she’s laughing, her eyes pinned on me. Obviously, my cutlery choice was amusing. Her long, flaxen hair drapes her back, and she’s leaning on his shoulder, quite an intimate gesture. When our eyes meet, hers flicker with disgust, and she quickly leans closer to the blond man and whispers something in his ear. Something that makes them both burst into laughter at my expense.
I raise a glass to them, looking the princess-y woman straight in the eye. This makes her uncomfortable, and she looks away. I shrug and shovel buttery vegetables in my mouth, refusing to feel self-conscious about my worn-out velour pants, faded shirt, and the doublet, which has had its share of owners before me. The contrast to what she is wearing is striking; the light leather armor that hugs her curves looks specifically crafted for her, embellished with a golden coat of arms. The crowd from the back alleys of Tenebris eats princesses like this for breakfast. Responding with a grin, flashing too many teeth, I let them laugh and shift my attention to the rest of the group.
Thank the Elders for this seat! The chair on my right is empty, and it gives me the opportunity to study the others without the annoyance of small talk.
A short and bulky man with a shaved skull and bare, muscled arms, focused entirely on the food, sits next to the woman in the fancy armor I’ve already nicknamed Warrior Pony Princess. He’s wearing shimmering chainmail and is chewing so intensely that thick veins are bulging on his temples. Droplets of fat glisten on his bejeweled vambraces. Every time he looks up from the spiced drumsticks and creamy potato puree, he watches the other guests. Especially the Fae. We obviously share the same disdain.
I know his kind; I have seen them on caravans passing Tenebris. He is a mercenary, a ruthless man tempered in the Wastelands, aware of all the dangers lurking in this dead world. And a damned good one, judging by the myriad of gold rings on his short, sturdy fingers. Well, this is someone I’d love to have on my side, yet mercenaries are selfish and unpredictable. He cocks his head when he regards me, his low, sun-scorched forehead wrinkling. Almost immediately, his dark eyes turn cold, and he looks away. Seems like he’s just classified me as harmless, not strong enough to be trouble.
I wonder if the man wields any magic or if all he has is just brutal force. Magic is rare, and very often, some of the five provinces send regular humans when they cannot find any mages for the tournament. If he relies only on his muscles and battle experience, he might be in for a surprise.
I pile some more food on the silver plate inlaid with gold flowers, ignoring the snarky comment of the WPP that I’ve probably never seen that much food in my life. Atos’s hell pits, she’s right; at least not food like this: a juicy mushroom-stuffed starling with a spicy radish purée on the side. Cutting the meat into small pieces, I resume my observation.
A brutish Fae female with shaved sides of her skull and gruesome tattoos is quietly sipping on her wine, watching everyone with half-lidded eyes. She’s wearing a moss-green tinted leather armor. Odd jewelry made of bones pierces her nose and the high tips of her ears.
“This is Aydalla, court huntress. Beware of her. She is brutal, and she detests us,” a warm male voice makes me drop my fork. A broad-shouldered man with messy brown curls and a blinding smile pulls the vacant chair on my right. Now I know what he means by us . He is also human. Judging by his sun-kissed skin probably from the Free Cities. My eyes are drawn immediately to his heavy golden earrings engraved with arcane symbols. “Protective runes,” he clarifies, misinterpreting my greedy gaze. Those earrings can fetch a handsome price at Mute Gorb’s pawn shop. “Small magical talismans are allowed in the Trials.” His fingers tap on my bracelet, and for a moment, all color drains from his face, but he quickly recovers.
“Same here, protection,” I mumble, pulling the ragged lace of my sleeve to cover the bracelet, reluctant to share the story of my accident and the trinket, which Mother believed would make my ugly scar less obvious. I’m not sure if it works, as the red, angry skin is still there, but I guess it would’ve been much worse without it.
“Well, Talysse of No Name, you look like you’re in desperate need of a drink. And some company.” He fills my crystal flute with faintly shimmering Fae wine and piles a tiny iceberg of cheese on his plate. “Too bad you’ve missed the introductions, but I can see that you’re observant enough. I am Galeoth, by the way. People call me Gale.” He throws a piece of juicy ham in his mouth, watching me. His almond-shaped eyes have a warm, honey color; their unusual shape makes him look as if he’s smiling all the time. A furrow appears between his dark brows as if he’s struggling to process something.
“Well, you already know my name, and yes, I’m in dire need of a drink.” I continue slicing my starling, wondering what the real reason behind his friendliness is. Men are never friendly to women like me without an agenda.
“Is it true you were living in a stable?” Gale asks, twirling his glass casually, and the Warrior Pony Princess snorts loudly. I take a long look at him while chewing on my starling. Surprisingly, there’s no trace of mockery behind that smile, which seems to be able to melt the snow caps of the Holy Mountain. Just genuine curiosity.
“You mean after my parents were executed by the Fae, my sister was sold to the highest bidder, and I was forced to fend for myself when I was seventeen? Yes, it was hard to find shelter, so after weeks of being bitten by rats, nearly raped, and stabbed a couple of times, I managed to find refuge in a stable. It appeared to me grander than a palace.” I chew on my piece with delight, looking him straight in the eye.
His amber eyes soften. “Apologies. I didn’t mean to sound snobbish, Talysse, and I have respect for a fellow survivor,” he lowers his voice. “Anyways, we’ve disclosed that Aydalla is to be avoided, but so is this one.” He points with his knife without bothering to conceal who he is talking about at a very unusual Fae.
“What is she?” I whisper, glaring. A tall and slender female sits behind a glass of plain water, her frame almost ethereal yet menacing. Her skin, a deep, bark-like hue, is veined with pulsating dark green lines that hint at the power coursing through her. Her hair cascades like twisted vines, a tangled mass of deep green and black tendrils, some of which move and slither with a life of their own. Her eyes, glowing an eerie emerald, are fixed somewhere ahead in a quite unsettling way. Dark, leaf-like patterns adorn her limbs. Foreboding energy buzzes around her, and the seats on both sides of her are empty.
“Is she—”
“A Dark Dryad? Yes. Dark Dryads never speak, so nobody knows her name or why she has volunteered for the Trials. No need to tell you to steer clear of this one. Dark Dryads—”
“—can summon roots and vines and crush their foe or poison them as they have powers over venomous plants.” Gale nods, and his lips stretch in an approving smile, displaying the even row of his teeth.
“I see you know your Fae. Unexpected for someone living in stables,” Gale says softly, ensuring the WPP and her friend don’t overhear.
I raise an eyebrow and reply with a smirk. “What can I say? The horses have excellent taste in bedtime stories.”
We both chuckle, and I lean closer to him. “Why are you telling me all this, Gale? Why are you so kind?” I ask, shoving a spoonful of purée into my mouth. Friar Ben always said I was too direct, but it has served me well so far.
“It doesn’t hurt to have allies in the hell we’re about to enter, right? And the other humans look…not so trustworthy,” he says, gesturing subtly at the blond nobles and the mercenary sitting nearby.
I chew thoughtfully, then nod. “You’ve got a point there. Plus, I hear mercenaries have a habit of vanishing when things get messy.”
Gale chuckles. “Exactly. And I’d rather not rely on someone too afraid not to mess up their hair or stain their clothes.” He points his chin at WPP and her friend, who are too focused on their food to notice.
“Smart move,” I say, grinning. “So, what’s your story? Did you volunteer, tempted by their promises of riches and power?”
“Of course. Who wouldn’t be? And let’s just say the Trials would give me a chance to settle an old debt,” he replies with a wink, but there is a darker nuance to his words. He remains silent for a moment, the clanking of cutlery and the voices of the others filling the awkward silence, then lifts his glass and downs it in one go, crimson droplets staining his richly embroidered cotton shirt.
“So, Talysse of the Stables, back to our Fae. You’ve already met the Dryad and the Huntress. Now behold Lord Woodrick, busy with this enormous piece of raw meat—”
I nearly choke on a mushroom when I spot the enormous Fae male across the table and the ferocity with which he’s tearing at the meat. Sweet Cymmetra, he’s even growling and gnawing on the bone! His spiky black hair is stained with blood, and so is his leather vest. Every now and then, he quickly scans the tent, his eyes the color of old gold. His vertically slit pupils dilate when he catches me glaring. He lets go of the meat, then nods and smiles, his lips revealing blood-stained and unnervingly sharp fangs.
“And you’ve caught the attention of the lord, the one thing you were supposed not to!” Gale throws his hands in the air dramatically.
“Great, just what I needed,” I mutter, unbothered, continuing to study the Fae. An amulet carved from dark wood hangs around his neck. Unusual, as Fae prefer more complex and luxurious pieces. It is a rough wolf head. The hairs on my neck stand up when I realize what it means.
“Is he—”
“Yes, he is,” Gale confirms. “A shifter. No need to warn you to stay away from him, right? Stay away from all of them, Talysse. They’re here to hunt humans. And they don’t fear death. Let me tell you, after you’ve lived for some centuries, the halls of Atos seem like a good alternative to all this.”
“Note taken. My father used to say that the longevity of Fae messes up their heads, and some take their own lives, but many go mad and decide to go out in a blaze of glory. Surely, some of them are at this point right now.”
“Bingo. And speaking of insanity, is this—” I strain my eyes to make sure that I’m seeing right, “is this a child?”
Sitting deeper into the tent, where the light is more scarce, sits a boy no older than eleven. He’s clad in black, and the shadows around him thicken. Something is disturbing behind this look of innocence as if something old and foul is trapped underneath this pristine skin. The boy’s irises glow bright red under the chestnut locks draping his forehead, and his playful smile cannot conceal the aura of danger his whole being emanates.
“It is anything but a child, Talysse, and something tells me he’s the most dangerous of them all. Stay—”
“I know, Gale. I’ll stay away from him.” The boy snaps his head in our direction, his deep crimson eyes anything but childlike. There’s sadness there, collected over centuries, and hot, barely-leashed frenzy. Praised be Atos, some servants swarm the tent bringing trays with more food and hiding the odd child.
“Yep, just keep to your lemony cake and leave the ancient horror alone,” Gale says, leaning back and sipping on his wine as if he’s at a friend’s gathering, not about to enter the deadliest Trials on Phyllesia.
“You know,” I say, stretching over the table to help myself to some lemony cake with gold leaf on top, “for a guy about to face certain death, you’re remarkably chill.”
“Gotta enjoy the little things, Talysse. Like cake. And not being eaten by a wolf-man or a demon child.”
“Well, here’s to surviving the night then.” I raise my fork, offering a mock toast.
“To surviving the night,” Gale echoes, clinking his wine glass against my fork with a grin.
“Wait,” I say, licking my fingers covered in glaze. “Something’s not right. Five Elders, five provinces, five humans.” I point my sticky fork at us both, the blonde WPP and her chevalier, and the mercenary. “There should also be five Fae, right?” A creepy child, Lord Woodrick and his bone, the tattooed Huntress, and the silent Dryad. Four. The Fae wine hasn’t messed with my senses. “Where—”
A crowd of Fae courtiers spills into the tent. The silky fabric shakes with a sudden explosion of cheer, and the air thickens with the scent of perfumes.
“Oh, great,” Gale mutters, rolling his eyes. “Here comes the circus.”
Someone important is coming.
All eyes are glued to the entrance, and I nearly spit out my last piece of cake when, at the center of the crowd, sharp, beautiful, and deadly as a sword, stands Governor Aeidas.
“What threads of fate is Seuta weaving right now, and for what purpose? Why is this prick here?” I whisper, my voice tinged with both dread and curiosity.
A Fae female who appears frail and ancient—if you can judge age with their kind—leads the group. She steps forward and spreads her arms in a dramatic gesture. The wide split sleeves of her white silk gown sweep the floor like the wings of an odd, old bird. Sacred symbols are tattooed on her forehead, in even rows down her cheeks and neck. A thick golden disk hangs on a massive chain on her sunken chest, bearing the sacred stamp of the Elders; this must be a mage of the highest rank. Her long white hair shimmers like gossamer, and her eerie eyes, entirely black, surrounded by long white lashes, seem to reflect the lights like a dark lake. Her pale lips draw into a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. Silence reigns before she starts speaking. Even Gale is glaring at her, his fingers nervously playing with his massive golden earrings.
“Welcome, honored ones, and blessed be the sacrifice you make in the name of the Elders! Welcome to the Nightfall Trials,” she announces in a sweet, serene tone, sweeping those too-long sleeves in a well-practiced gesture. This Fae seems to be quite the performer.
“Now, welcome the last Fae contestant, Prince Aeidas of House Nightbriar, the heir to the Unseelie Throne!”
Deafening applause shakes the tent and rolls over the Unseelie camp. If Atos opened the ground beneath my feet and I plunged into the darkness of his halls, that would be far more preferable to the nightmare unfolding before my eyes.
The murderer of my parents is the fucking crown prince?
“He was serving as Governor of Satreyah when his brother perished. Now he’s the heir to the Unseelie throne,” Gale informs me coldly, making an effort to appear unimpressed by this display of power and excess.
“You mean when he poisoned his brother,” I correct him, my eyes glued to the Fae who single-handedly destroyed my life. The jealous younger brother, raised in the shadow of the throne heir, decided he had enough and poisoned him on his coronation day.
“And this one, Talysse,” Gale cocks his head pointedly at the Unseelie Prince, who looms over the crowd of courtiers, “this one you should avoid at all costs. If you have to choose between this cold-blooded killer and a Shadowfeeder, you’d better take the Shadowfeeder. At least you know what to expect.”
I nod in silent agreement, still trying to untangle my feelings. Oh, isn’t it ironic that Seuta has brought us together in this deadly contest, where I could slit his throat while he’s sleeping and not hang for it? My lips curl up in a mad, anticipating smile, and right at this moment, the prince’s intense gaze crashes into mine. Recognition ripples across his ridiculously handsome features. The Elders were too cruel, creating the cursed Unseelie so beautiful. And this murderer shines like the first sun rays after a long night, like a green shore before the eyes of a drowning man.
“A predator designed to trick and exploit,” Gale mutters, echoing my thoughts.
Yet I cannot help the fluttering of timid butterflies in my stomach, so I drown them in wine. The realization that the murderer of my family will sit on that cursed throne, wielding unlimited power over the fates of all humans in the five provinces, disturbs me in ways I cannot even fathom.
When he leans back in his tall chair, his eyes seek mine again, and for a fleeting moment, something passes between us. I cannot put my finger on it, but I feel the pull, the undeniable allure of danger and darkness that has brought so many to an early grave. It’s a velvety smirk in the dark, long fingers ending with sharp claws, able to caress or murder, depending on the mood of their owner.
“Talysse, are you drooling?” Gale teases, snapping me out of my reverie.
“Shut up, Gale.” I toss a piece of cake at him. He deftly dodges and responds by throwing a grape, which I manage to catch with my mouth. We laugh, but the sound feels hollow against the undercurrent of tension that hangs over us.
Despite our playful banter, the reality of our situation presses in. The festive air in the tent is a fragile facade, barely concealing the gravity of what’s to come. Around us, Fae courtiers move with a sense of anticipation, their eyes gleaming.
As the mage’s dramatic announcement fades, it’s clear that we are on the brink of something. The delicate balance of power and the intricate webs of alliances and enmities all seem poised for a drastic shift. The Trials are not just a test of survival; they are a stage for a much larger, darker play.
Gale’s fingers toy nervously with his golden earrings. At this moment, it feels as if the very fabric of the world is being rewoven, each thread pulling us inexorably toward an unknown fate. The gears of some ancient, unfathomable mechanism are grinding forward, set to alter the course of all our lives.
And there we stand, at the heart of it all, caught between laughter and fear, ready to face whatever the Trials have in store.