“I don’t know,” I moaned, fighting a yawn. “He had a crown of ice. Green eyes… the color of emeralds…”
Someone gasped. “Nothar!”
“My dear princess, the God of Snow and Cold guided you,” Gilead whispered, voice tinged with awe. “Rest now. You’re home.”
Those words wormed their way into my heart, warming me from the inside out. I didn’t know why they meant so much to me, but hearing them sparked a tiny flame in my soul. My eyelids drifted shut as I sank into serene oblivion—the dark abyss a welcomed embrace.
“Therefore, the high court will be calling you to meet on occasion.”
Anderz droned on while I studied my reflection in the polished silver mirror. I traced the fading pink handprints framing my face. The impressions were elegant, marked by long, delicate fingers, thumbs pressed against my nose, and palms cradling my cheeks, with fingertips stretched toward my temples.
Riders set out to retrieve Adastrus, Grimm, and the accompanying priest. They found them a few hours from Wynterborne, riding eastward, away from the castle.
I hadn’t laid eyes on him since his return, but the servants’ hushed tones and nervous demeanor spoke volumes about his mood.
“I wager my brother is thrilled,” I muttered.
“Beyond measure,” Anderz replied dryly. “The council has requested a formal gathering to celebrate your victory over the second rite.”
“I haven’t passed the third. Isn’t it a little early to celebrate?” As I wandered over to the table, I caught Sainte’s gaze, his intense stare leveled on me. Butterflies fluttered low in my belly.
Anderz leaned on his elbows, his golden eyes roaming my face. “The third rite involves a test of the gods’ choosing. We will summon Nain and Yail to call upon the deities for their response. However, it’s evident you already have their favor.”
Sainte strode over, pulling out my chair for me. I offered a small smile and settled into the seat, amused by the unnecessary gesture.
As if I couldn’t have pulled the thing out myself.
“Are there any rumors that the priest or my Valahant touched me during the trial?” I asked.
Anderz rubbed his jaw with a glint of mirth. “A man’s hands couldn’t have made those marks, let alone those of a mortal.”
I sighed, knitting my fingers on the table. Emotions swirled within me, a mix of confusion and reluctance. Winning the rite felt hollow, and leading a kingdom seemed meaningless. Despite my hatred for my brother, I couldn’t bring myself to embrace the idea of ruling. The evil he embodied made it impossible to give up, yet I hesitated to move forward.
Survival was the only thing driving me.
“Tell me about Nain and Yail,” I said, lifting my gaze to Anderz. “What are they?”
“The names given to the God Stones. They’re remnants from an ancient era when rulers sought guidance from Nothar, their father.”
I pressed my lips into a flat line, remembering how Nellie alluded to there being divine blood in mine and Adastrus’ lineage.
"They illuminate when a descendant of Nothar seeks counsel,” Anderz continued. “Nain for no, and Yail for yes. Quite straightforward.”
“And if the answer’s complicated?” I asked.
“Then there will be no answer. Such questions are for the high court to address.”
“Comforting.”
In Tilamuik, citizens practiced a laid-back approach to religion, invoking their favorite deities when it served their needs. In Wynterborne, residents were devout. Even minor events were seen as divine responses. With that logic, it seemed anyone could shape their own ‘favor’ with the gods.
“The question should be simple: ‘Am I favored by our great father and god, Nothar, to lead his people?’ The council will finalize the wording to prevent any misinterpretation.”
“And you’re sure these stones will glow? You’ve seen it?”
“Princess,” Anderz started, with a solemn shake of his head, “for generations, the gods have been little more than a formality. You have sparked something profound in the people, a quiet yet fervent belief in an essence more powerful than themselves. The gods’ judgment has been neglected and elusive within my lifetime. If legend holds true, Nothar will answer.”
Legend? That’s what all this boiled down to? Sheer luck and lore.
