All I can see are the hundreds of other fae on boats just like ours, bedecked in their finery as they chatter and laugh.
This is entertainment to them.
Do they not realise that their queen is gambling with their lives? Do they simply not care?
“Rhoswyn,” Kitarni murmurs. “You are breaking my hand.”
I release her, apologies springing to my lips, but she waves them away.
“It is natural to be nervous, but Jaromir is a trained knight. Whatever rival Aiyana brings against him, I have confidence that he will triumph.”
Me too, I just… “Something feels off. Perhaps it’s nothing… I just…”
Kitarni doesn’t brush aside my concerns. “We’ll keep our wits about us.”
Perhaps I’d feel better if my full Guard was here, but Jaro snuck away before I woke up, and so did Caed’s rescue party, which leaves only Drystan, Bree, and Wraith to stand guard behind us as we travel. I know, logically, that all the members of my nascent court are powerful fae and able to take care of themselves, but I suspect I won’t feel reassured until we’re all safely out of here.
“Are the horses packed?”
The dryad nods. “We can leave the second the spring queen swears her vow.”
Good.
The stone arena looms ahead, the huge boughs of the trees surrounding it partially obscuring the delicate architecture from view. There are so many spectators attempting to reach the island that the water below is almost invisible beneath the throng of boats. As they realise who we are, the crowd parts, lining our route with curious stares and cries of “Goddess bless the Nicnevin” and “Goddess bless the high priestess.”
Deep breaths, I remind myself, trying to focus on my friend instead.
Fisting the skirts of my outfit until my fingers go numb, I have to work to release the fabric, then smooth away the creases as we drift to the dock. Stern-faced soldiers usher us quickly up carpeted steps and into the royal box; a pergola hung with heavy clouds of blooming jasmine which has a front-row seat of the dusty pit below. The stone walls beneath us are splashed with the dark stains of dried blood, and interspersed along them are huge metal gates, all of which are closed except one.
Kitarni notices my hesitance, but says nothing, nudging me toward the three thrones which wait in the centre of the box. Given the ornate blossom carvings across the one in the centre, it must normally be Aiyana’s, which means that the two either side are intended for Kitarni and me. Another slight, seating herself foremost when we all know she’s not the real power here.
She must be nearby, because my guides have been absent since we docked, but she’s yet to show herself. In her absence, I turn my attention to the rest of the arena.
It’s clear the lower levels, closest to the action, have been reserved for the very wealthy. The stands around me are mostly full of high fae, wearing so many glimmering fabrics and gems that they twinkle in the patchy rays of the sun. In the rows above them, more under fae are scattered, and in the topmost rows—farthest from the sand—it’s hard to spot any high fae at all. Regardless of their affluence, they all wear the same expression of glee.
They’ve all come to watch Jaro fight for his life, and they consider it entertainment. Danu’s presence stretches inside of me, a lioness flexing her claws.
Not here,I beg her.Not now.
We need this to go well, but if Aiyana’s stupid trial brings Jaro harm, neither Danu nor I will be able to take that lightly. It’s bad enough that the Goddess is still angry over Caed’s imprisonment.
Perhaps I stare at the sand a little too fiercely, because Kitarni coughs pointedly, and I take that as my sign to retreat back to the throne that’s waiting for me.
“She’s late,” I say, taking a seat on the largest throne.
If I accept that lesser position as Aiyana intended, it sets a dangerous precedent. Is it bitchy? Probably. But giving Aiyana permission to continue slighting me—even in this small way—seems the more dangerous option.
They all keep telling me I’m a Nicnevin. I suppose my first meeting with the spring queen drove home the point that I need to start acting the part.
“Careful,” Kitarni notes. “Take a breath. Feel the way the air changes from cold to warm as you breathe out.” I frown, but do as she says. “Good. Now, who feels this irritation? Is it you? Or is it Danu? You need to take care to separate the two if you’re to retain control.”
It’s both, but mostly Danu, and I admit as much, before I ask, “But don’t you serve the Goddess? Why would you want me to control her?”
“If what Danu wanted was a vessel for her own whims, she would never have given the Nicnevins any autonomy. The Goddess chose the Nicnevin to rule in her place. Besides, just because someone feels rage, doesn’t mean they should act on it. The Goddess herself likely wouldn’t. Her emotions are simply so much stronger than any normal fae’s that they overwhelm you. They will continue to do so until you master them, which is something that took the previous Nicnevins years of careful training.”
“Good for them,” I mutter.
“Nicnevin,” Aiyana’s silky smooth voice cuts through whatever Kitarni might’ve said. “So generous of you to spend your time on such a trivial matter.”
