I’mhaunted.
That well of anger churns.
More rain filters down, pattering off the cloak draped around my shoulders as Rosie trots up a small hill. Cresting the peak, I catch sight of a blue-stone structure through the thinning foliage ahead and draw a deep, shuddering breath. With the end in sight, I’ve become painfully aware of my inner-thigh chafe and my back muscles pinched from sitting upright for over eight hours straight.
As we tread closer, the jungle gives way to a much wider path, and the palace comes into full, breathtaking view. The windows are trimmed with gold filigree, a stark contrast to the swirling blue of the walls, blocks of lapis lazuli stacked upon each other—all straight lines and square tops.
I gaze in awe at the sight.
It doesn’t look as big as Castle Noir from this angle, and seeing a structure that’s anything other than coal black is hard to wrap my head around.
Am I dreaming? Will I gasp awake in my bed at Stony Stem, breathless and sweating, fingers stretched toward a bottle of caspun?
Hooves clop against the hard-packed soil as Cainon’s regal, white stallion canters past, narrowly missing another launching nip from Rosie.
“That horse really wants a piece of my ass,” he says, winking. “She’s got good taste, you know.”
I offer him an overly sweet smile. “You have a rather high opinion of yourself.”
“Hoping it’ll catch on,” he belts back, racing ahead, and someone behind me tries to cover up a laugh with a forced cough.
I peek over my shoulder at our plodding entourage, catching Zane’s eye—sitting on the ass of a fluffy, brown horse, hands wrapped around the waist of a stony-faced Gun.
Wet hair pasted to his forehead, he gives me a lopsided smile that warms my chest.
A bell tolls, ripping my gaze forward, and the clank of shifting chains prefaces a mammoth, crosshatch gate lifting from the soil like a square mouth preparing to scream at me.
A nervous breath stretches my too-tight lungs.
We filter through, filing into a courtyard three times larger than Rhordyn’s ballroom and protected from the elements by a lofty stone roof.
The stark space fills with the echoing clop of hooves that litter mud all over the polished stone ground. The walls are tall and bare, buffed to a gleaming shine, the gold veins marbled throughout the stone standing out in stark contrast. A gold gate at the far end is twice the size of the one we just rode through—perhaps leading to the city Cainon told me about.
Aside from the stretch of stoic-faced servants, maids, and soldiers lined up by a large set of gold-brushed doors, there is no welcome party. The tight band of tension strung around my chest loosens a little as I breathe a sigh of relief.
Perks of being ushered in through the back door like some dirty little secret.
A man steps forward, boasting pressed blue threads and golden epaulets that make his shoulders proud and serious to match the look in his eyes. He bows, then reaches for Rosie’s halter, almost losing his outstretched fingers to the snap of her teeth.
I steady her dancing feet, throw my leg across her back, and leap down, giving her sodden flank a rub while she paws at the stone. “Thanks, but it’s okay. I’ve got her.”
His eyes widen, and he swiftly lowers his gaze to the ground and concedes to his spot in the line while the rest of our convoy dismounts. I get to work unknotting my sack, watching from the corner of my eye as a footman carrying a golden plate laden with scrolls dashes toward Cainon, who pinches one off the top and breaks the seal. Brow buckling as he skims the script, he mutters a curse.
“Kolden.”
A soldier with bright blue eyes that crinkle at the corners breaks from the quiet line, his hair only half pinned up, the rest hanging around his broad shoulders. “Yes, High Master?”
“Offer the future High Mistress some refreshments, then take her to meet Elder Creed. It’s important we introduce her to The Bowl right away so she can start wrapping her head around the trial,” Cainon says, splitting the seal on a second scroll.
“Wh—” I move to step forward, but remember my horse hates everybody and think better of it, securing her reins around one of the holding posts. “Whattrial?”
“The one you must pass to prove the Gods find you worthy of being Bahari’s High Mistress,” Cainon murmurs, concentration split as his eyes chase the scrawl of another opened letter. “You’ll begin practicing for it first thing in the morning.”
I’ll begin—What?
“Nobody told me this …”
Cainon glances up. “Tradition, petal. Our coupling ceremony will be on the next full moon, and the trial takes place earlier that day. Unfortunately, there can be no ceremony unless you complete the task. You weren’t aware?”
