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“You’ll stay with Huey until it’s over?” I ask, stroking my fingertips along his feathers. He gives a soft, sad hoo at my leaving, but he can’t come with me either. Not until it’s finished.
The brownie nods, her ears drooping to send her many hats, bonnets, and caps slipping. “Hudyakis and I are old acquaintances. We’ll be here waiting for you. Sure you won’t eat a bite before you go?”
“No.” My stomach rolls, and its growling gurgle echoes my answer. I can’t think about food. My nerves have been a tangled, jangled mess all day, waiting for the sun to set.
“We’ll have a celebratory feast when you return,” she says.
“It’s time, love.” Jace opens the door for me.
I’m on autopilot as I walk with my mates toward the Bridge. My body’s numb, but my mind races, and my heart beat sprints along behind it. “I didn’t have time to listen to the recordings Truman made,” I blurt out, hoping I don’t need whatever knowledge was on there to win the trials.
“It’s fine,” Atticus murmurs. “You don’t need them. You don’t need anything but to be yourself.”
“I should have tried harder to read those textbooks you pulled for me.” The ones with the letters that swam and the words that made no sense.
“Stop stressing, love.” Jace smooths his tail along my spine, tracing the runes hidden by my plain black jumpsuit. Finally I’ll match the sea of monochrome that is the rest of the gargoyles’ keep. I miss my colorful crystals and their rattle and clinks. “Just go win.”
“Yeah, no pressure,” I mutter.
“Not for you,” Atticus says. “You’re our everything. No plans needed.”
“Right.” I nod, swallowing around the knot in my throat. The elders wait beside the Bridge. The platform and stage have been torn down, and the removal only makes the crumbling Bridge look smaller, sadder. How will I ever be enough as its queen if it’s already so broken?
“I love you,” Jace says, sounding so damn sincere.
“We love you,” Atticus corrects.
My heart does a sudden swoosh like the drops in my belly when they played catch tossing me from one lover to another. They love me. Both of them. Hearing it out loud from Atticus has me wanting to kiss them, to cheer, to celebrate what I’ve found with them. Emotions overwhelm me. My eyes burn, and I blink back the sudden pressure of tears. I can’t cry while going into the trials. I sniffle and open my mouth to tell them I love them too. Oh so much. I couldn’t have gotten through half the crazy stuff that has happened since meeting them if I wasn’t completely gone on them.
“All candidates must report now to the Bridge for the trials to commence,” a voice booms.
No, no, no. I need more time. We need more time.
“You’ve got this, love,” Jace whispers.
“We’ll be waiting for you, little queen,” Atticus says. “And if you ever doubt yourself, if it’ll get you through, remember we have complete and total faith in you. Just as you are.”
At least they do.
I don’t.
The other candidates walk toward the Bridge. Except for the wyvern attack and the blind queen’s destruction of it, I’ve never seen anyone on the Bridge. I should’ve asked Rona what she meant about the gargoyles needing the queen’s permission to attack the wyvern there. Too late now. Maybe they save the mystery of being up there to scare us even more than my current terror.
Cutter’s candidate strolls onto the Bridge as if she’s already won. Mildrake’s snarls at him before stomping her way onto it. Norrie nods at me, a bit of my fear reflected in her eyes. I join her, and we walk onto the Bridge together. A few steps on the rough stone with its cracks and bumps, and the gargoyles’ keep disappears.
A black wall towers in its place with scattered ledges and crooked ladders that skip several levels. It’s a freaking obstacle course that goes straight up. Great. It’s Jace’s cliff challenge with all of the torture and none of the sexy flying fun.
I swallow a groan. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“We’re not on the Bridge anymore,” Norrie whispers.
“No shit,” Cutter’s candidate tells her.
“Really—?” I cut off my snarky response, flinching as I realize I don’t know the woman’s name due to the gargoyles’ stupid rules. “Calling you Cutter’s candidate seems dumb.”
She sneers. “I like being called Cutter, but I’ll let you call me Your Majesty.”
Norrie taps me, and I follow her gaze instead of being pulled into Cutter’s drama or worrying over Mildrake’s rocking. She’s staring at the sign full of crooked letters that swings above us. Great, they start the trials with a reading test.
