He had done nothing to prevent his friend from cursing Umma. He had simply watched, then ripped me away to a land I could never leave.
I tossed and turned throughout the night, considering all the ways I might escape the Mortal Trials, and coming to the same end result each time.
Death.
Even if I managed to make it to the edge of Lortan, I would not be able to leave. I was imprisoned here, and no one was coming to save me.
That was fine, I decided with a huff, flipping onto my back and staring furiously at the ceiling. I would just have to save my own godsdamned self.
I fell asleep, restless and annoyed, and awoke to a shrill ringing in the morning. “What is that godsawful noise?” I groaned, rolling onto my side to pull my pillow over my head.
Calendula seemed chirpier this morning as she flitted to perch on the corner of my bed. “It’s the breakfast bell.”
Breakfast? It felt like I had just shut my eyes ten minutes ago.
“You’d better get ready if you want to eat before the day’s activities. The first week is always the hardest for you mortals.”
“You don’t know me,” I snapped. The anger that had been simmering last night threatened to boil over. “I don’t know what you’ve got against me, but I’m not like the others.”
Sure, I may not be experienced on a sparring mat or as worldly as Lana, but I was no stranger to hard work. I had worked every single day of my life, perhaps twice as hard as others, to earn my keep as an abandoned stray in the governor’s house.
Calendula’s silver eyes widened for a fraction of a second before narrowing with hostility. “Fine, mighty mortal. If you think you know better than I do, I won’t burden you with useless information.” She shook a tiny fist at me before turning tail and zooming off into the shadows.
I sighed. Grabbing some toiletries and a new set of clothes for the day, I got ready and made my way outside, stopping to knock on Lana’s door. When she didn’t answer, I traced our steps from yesterday down the hallway to the doorway beside the sparring room. A set of staircases curled up and down.
The mess hall, one floor above our dormitories and the sparring room, was full. Four rectangular wooden tables filled the length of the space, one of which was occupied by mortals, separated into our groups from yesterday. Elven crowded the other tables, keeping a wide berth from the rest.
I approached my group. Lana and Moric were opposite Anama, their plates piled high with scrambled eggs and bacon, slices of toast and fruit. All untouched. Jars of pale, creamy butter and glossy jams were placed in the middle of the table, with sets of shiny cutlery. Perched atop Moric’s shoulder sat a curvy sprite, her figure the perfect hourglass shape. She was made of vine and green moss. Brown branches snaked along her legs. Her wings were lime green and looked as delicate as Calendula’s.
Lana shot me a look of relief as I slid into the seat beside Anama. “I was worried when you didn’t answer your door this morning.”
“You came looking for me?” I reached for an empty saucer. As soon as I set the plate in front of me, food appeared, the same items that sat untouched before the others. “I must have been in the bathroom. I tried your door before I came up too. Why’s no one eating? You don’t all still think it’s poisoned?”
Three pairs of sheepish eyes stared back at me. I shook my head at them and reached for a fork. Spearing a piece of pineapple, I put it in my mouth, then chewed and swallowed. Five seconds passed before I said, “It’s tangy.”
That was all the confirmation Lana needed. She dug into her food with a fervor, ravenously shoveling eggs into her mouth. Moric and Anama were a little more dignified, but both seemed equally starved.
“Didn’t anyone come for dinner last night?” I asked, popping a grape into my mouth. Its sweet juice coated my tongue as I bit into it.
Anama shook her head, her mouth full.
“We were a bit preoccupied with our sprites.” Moric gestured to the green sprite on his shoulder, who had an annoyed look on her face.
“I told you the food wasn’t poisoned,” the sprite said in a tinny voice.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled through a mouthful of toast.
“You’re going to have to start trusting me if you have any hope of making it through the Trials.” The sprite folded her arms across her chest, then stomped the length of Moric’s shoulder. She settled at the base of his neck, curled on her side and closed her eyes.
“Is sheasleep?” Lana eyed the sprite.
“Sprites are notoriously low on energy,” Anama said. Her voice was soft, like she hadn’t quite gotten used to speaking to us yet. “It’s because their bodies are so small, and they expend so much energy flying. They either need to eat a lot or sleep to maintain themselves.”
“Did yours tell you that last night?” I asked.
Anama shook her head. “I’ve worked for many years in the Great Library of Kraventhorn, with little to do but read. My sprite is very… shy. She’s hardly spoken to me since arriving.”
Much like Anama herself, I couldn’t help noting. If our sprites had been chosen for our personalities, I shuddered to think what that said about mine.
