Page 30 of On Broken Bonds

The next team is three massive shifters, who come running out onto the floor, showing the kind of macho I’ve seen down in some of the fighting rings east of the city. They wave their arms and get the crowds to cheer for them. One of them, calling himself Hugh, shifts into a hulking, massive gray wolf, slobbering and howling.

I watch the spectacle and wonder if Osric and I were supposed to put on more of a show. Elswyth, the only other woman in this competition other than Lady Nocturne, is a beast of a thing, her hair cut short like a man’s, her arms beefy enough that I think she could crack a pumpkin between her bicep and side.

Valtor and Terranis seem to like the shifters, but the other gods are bored by them. They’re named The Ashen Hounds and sent to stand next to us as well.

Next come a bunch of metal-clad, stiff warriors, their swords hanging long by their sides. They matter-of-factly detail their skills, their histories in training and fighting for various noble armies, and catch the eye of Eryndor, who asks them most of the questions. They’re named The Hollow Blades and sent to us.

Warlocks come out after them, following in the shifters’ path, using their magic to cast beautiful and terrifying glamours around them. There’s a bad taste in my mouth instantly at the thought of the warlocks who came to take my family. Warlocks are who the slavers usually send, some of the only beings powerful enough to handle us in our berserker form.

Once again, I force myself to focus as they introduce themselves, knowing this information could be useful later. Their names all sound vaguely erudite, and they likely come from the land far north of here, where it snows constantly and the people have nothing else to do but huddle in their castles and read. Magnus, Ulric, Halwin, Antone. They’re named The Vultures, a fitting name with their black robes, sharp beards, and pointed noses, and sent off the floor.

A team of four vampires stride out, sleek and beautiful. If there were such a thing, they might be the antithesis to a berserker, all about refined, restrained power. To me, all of them look the same, and it doesn’t help that they all have typical vampire names: Eamon, Oswyn, Behanta, and Talon.

There’s no demonstration from the vampire team, thank the gods. I don’t think any of us are looking for a blood bath here tonight.

The next group is three brutish, human fighters. They’re named The Stone Serpents after detailing their fighting history and sent away.

And finally, the last team is called out.

The only other team that consists of just two, like Osric and me. When they emerge, I can’t stop myself from staring at her in those fighting leathers, which fit her like a glove. She walks with a confidence that makes me think she might win this competition through sheer will alone.

At first, I think I imagine the hush that falls across the room, as though my surroundings are reacting to my focus on Lady Nocturne.

But I’m not imagining it. Everyone, even the Valtor, goes still. The smile slips off his face and everything quiets at the sight of this team.

Lady Nocturne and her companion stand tall in the center of the throne room, their backs stiff, looking up at the gods with an expectant air to them. In the silence, I can hear my heart beating, feel my curiosity rising up inside me at the reaction to this pair.

Is it for Lady Nocturne? Surely the crowd, the gods, they’re all thinking it’s not right for a woman like that to sacrifice her life in this fight. That there should be some other way to free her sister.

Nobody moves, and even my breathing grows shallow.

Then, in a burst of light and sound so intense it shakes me to my core, Valtor begins to laugh.

10

Nyx

At first, when the room falls silent, I assume Thorian and I must have committed a terrible faux pas. Perhaps we entered incorrectly, stood in the wrong place, or broke a sacred rule of palace etiquette I was never taught. It is the only explanation that makes sense. But as my mind races back over every step since we entered, I find no obvious mistake.

My next thought is far less comforting. Perhaps they’re staring at me, at the absurdity of a woman my size standing here with only a single man at my side, foolish enough to present herself as a serious contender in the trials.

Yet even that explanation begins to unravel as I study Thorian more carefully. There is something in his posture, in the sudden rigid set of his shoulders and the way his entire body seems to lock at the first low rumble of Valtor’s amusement.

He knew this was coming. Or at the very least, he understands it in a way I don’t.

Then Valtor begins laughing harder. The sound booms through the throne room, rich and thunderous, and the tension breaks at once as laughter ripples outward through the crowd. The hilarity is apparently such that even Soryn lifts one dainty hand to her mouth, a quiet giggle escaping her lips.

It’s humiliating, even though I have no idea what in the world the laughter is about.

As a girl, I would sometimes have nightmares about coming to a grand dinner with my parents and forgetting my gloves, or entering a ball and realizing I’d not even brushed my hair, let alone taken the time to put it in the elaborate braiding required for an event. In those dreams, I would always burst into mortified tears at the realization.

Now, I stifle that feeling, biting hard at my tongue to keep the rush of tears from taking over me. The last thing I need is to start weeping before the gods, and show Thorian at our first test together that I’m not capable of standing up to scrutiny.

I channel my mother. I keep my chin high.

Mentally, I race through the past ten minutes, desperately trying to figure out what could have possibly caused a reaction like this.

Valtor’s laughter is grand and grating, a loud boom like thunder rolling over the hills and shaking all the crystals and China in the house. It reverberates through the room and feels like an imposition, like the boastful clatter of someone at another table, speaking not for the benefit of their table mates, but with the hope that they’ll be overheard.