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Talysse

“ Y

ou all know the rules of this sacred tournament, given to us by the Elders themselves, as many of you have been raised for this moment.” The voice of the white-haired hag with the creepy all-black eyes drags me back to reality. WPP and her admirer look around proudly, and I roll my eyes.

“The rules are quite simple, Talysse,” Gale whispers in my ear. “We have to retrieve some magical artifacts from deadly locations or perform some dangerous task. Everything is allowed to recover the magical artifacts, so expect many to come after you if you happen to find them first.”

I scoff. “Wouldn’t expect anything less. So killing is encouraged.”

“Killing is encouraged and celebrated, indeed.” He giggles.

“Of course. They’re Fae.”

“Silence,” the Odryssian man shushes us, and we all look back at the mage.

“You will walk with only the faith in our Elders in your heart, may it be your greatest weapon,” she continues.

“She means we’ll be searched for weapons before we leave,” Gale translates. “But once out there, in the night, you can use whatever it takes to win.”

I remain silent, weighing all the possibilities. I’m confident I’ll find something out there, even if it’s just a simple club.

“To prove your valor, you, honorable contestants, are going to search for the magical objects only at night. And a long night is coming.” She waves a pale, bony hand at the entrance of the tent.

“How does she know that?” I ask Gale in dismay. Just a handful of mages were able to foretell the duration of the night.

“This is Aernysse Stargaze,” he whispers back, and silence reigns in the tent, disturbed only by the crackling of the candles and the crystalline vibration of the tiny snowstorm above us. My jaw drops. The ancient court mage, older than the Hex! By Atos, tonight, I am seeing legends come to life.

“I wonder what her game is,” Gale leans closer to whisper in my ear and draws the cold gaze of the Unseelie Prince. His dark brows, beautifully contrasting with his long silver hair, pull together as he watches us from across the table. He’s probably annoyed that I am already forging alliances. I shrug and shift my attention back to Aernysse. She spreads her arms in another dramatic gesture, her long white sleeves sweeping the carpet-covered floor of the tent.

“Join me for a prayer, children of the Elders, and you, lateborn!”

Crossing my arms, I spit on the floor at the condescending term she used for us humans. The WPP raises a fine blonde brow at my not-so-lady-like reaction and elbows her friend. If those two behave like this in the night out there, they’ll be dead within an hour. The “lateborn” tag is a theological theory feeding the Fae philosophy of supremacy. Their holy books state (though no human has ever seen them) that the Elders created the Seelie and Unseelie first, and because the two kinds were quarreling all the time, they shaped the humans to give the Fae someone to watch over, to care for, and distract them from their squabbling. No wonder all their egos are hyper-inflated. They’re probably fed this bullshit since the cradle. Human priests tell a different story: of us, created together with the Seelie and the Unseelie, each kind blessed by a different Elder with different abilities.

I’d rather enter the hell pits of Atos’s rift than pray with these bigots. Moving my lips as if I am praying, my eyes inexplicably drift to the prince, who has leaned back into his chair, his face hidden in the shadows, his eyes flashing in a predatory way. My heart takes a small leap when I realize he’s probably looking at me. What is this maniac’s obsession with me?

The last words of the prayer swirl heavily in the air and Aernysse opens her strange eyes, scrutinizing each one of us. Both human and Fae shuffle in their seats, probably wondering what follows.

“You will be blindfolded and taken to Teír Mekheret now.” Her voice has changed as if it comes from depths unknown, not out of the frail ancient body. “You will all be released not far from the city walls.”

Murmurs ripple among the contestants.

“Teír Mekheret!” Gale drawls and whistles. “Elders know what lingers in the ruins of the cursed city!”

I shush him as the mage continues.

“There, one of you should retrieve a flint.” The hag pauses, and we all look at each other, wondering if we heard right. “Not just any flint, but a piece of the Heart of the Sacred Mountain. With the right skill, it can start a fire that would keep Shadowfeeders at bay.”

Everyone gasps. If this is not just another Fae lie, such an artifact would be priceless.

The mercenary clears his throat, and all eyes land on him. “If someone else finds this flint first, can we take it from them?” The sinister smile on his lips hints at what he means by “take.” The Fae Huntress cackles. Gale was right; these really are a bunch of murderous freaks.

“Anything is allowed. Valor and piety shall prevail. When the night ends, you are not to harm any other contestant until the next trial begins. And before you think of it,” she adds, “if you run away or abandon the Trials, your next of kin will be punished in a way Elders see fit.”

The hairs on my nape stand up just thinking of the countless ways these monsters could hurt my sister. Not that I plan on backing down. I will do my best to wipe all their smug smiles off.

“It’s a battle of talent and magic, so get ready to be thoroughly searched for weapons and blindfolded. Pray and prove yourself worthy of the Elders’ blessing. May only the best see the dawn.”