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Galen climbs the steps, and I force a smile back to my face. He deserves it, and I’m happy for him. I wanted him to advance. It was too much to hope we’d all make it, not that it kept me from praying for it anyway.
At least it’ll make the final easier, whatever it is. Only one of my friends to defeat. Just the thought has my throat tightening.
To get my wish, Galen can’t have his. Neither can the other finalists. Unless I can convince Sigurd to grant them somehow. If he’s able. Though it might not be possible for all of them.
It’s almost enough to make me want to quit. Almost.
But then I think of Gran, and I simply can’t. Not when I’ve come so far. I’m in this. I’ve committed and come so far. I have to see it through no matter what.
Chapter 28
ThedressMoriaselectedon my behalf for the ball is a work of art. Shimmering fabric rolls down my body in waves of blue, fading from bright sapphire to darkest night. Lacy, sheer sleeves bare most of my arms, save the ribbons tied around my wrists to act as decorative cover-ups for the bond Sigurd and the others have tried hard to hide. Though, with all he’s done, I can’t see how that would harm his reputation any further.
For days, I’ve worried about what monstrosity she decided on for me, but I couldn’t have chosen better myself. There’s a deep V down the front—figures—but little strands of beads in silver, black, and various blues hold the sides together. More strands of beadwork drape down my back, holding the dress together. My boobs won’t be escaping tonight. Good thing, since the cut leaves no room for a bra and the fae don’t seem to believe in pasties. Or maybe they do, but Uncle Mark’s face flushed beet red when I tried to ask about them, so I gave up. Too bad Moria still isn’t here for me to ask her.
Or Sigurd.
I sigh and smooth my hand along the shimmering skirt of the gown. I’ve never looked so grand, and of everyone, he’s the only one here I care to impress.
It’s been over a day since the last competition, but they’re still preoccupied with whatever is going on at the borders. The tug on our bond has been relentless, sometimes almost painful, even waking me up once in the night. Whatever is happening, it’s nothing good based on the dark circles under Hawke’s eyes and how little I’ve seen of him the last few days too. He’s been locked in meetings, or so Uncle Mark said.
Hawke would prefer to skip the ball, and the rest of the competition for that matter. But keeping up appearances is part of his role in the royal family, particularly with Sigurd and Moria absent. He suggested moving up the ball, and the finale of the games, but was told in no uncertain terms that such grand events could not be rushed. The message that would send could be more damning than the alternative.
In a way, it’s a good thing. No sooner had Uncle Mark and Hawke retrieved me from the arena after the last event than a bout of nausea brought me to my knees.
Oh, the antidotes worked, or so they said. But those aren’t always enough to prevent some ill side effects. Freaking figures. Thankfully, a little fae medicine, a touch of healing magic, and a day in bed have me back to normal. Mostly. All the semi-finalists are expected to attend, and my absence could be considered grounds for disqualification.
There’s no way I’m letting that happen. I’d have gone even if it meant spending the whole time vomiting into a flowerpot.
“Almost ready?” I ask as Hawke fiddles with something on Uncle Mark’s jacket. Leave it to me to be the first one ready. Though I had some help. Uncle Mark had some women work wonders on my hair and apply makeup with such perfection that any model would envy.
Another reason I wish—
Zale flies into the sitting room to perch on the back of a sofa.
My heart leaps.
“Sigurd.” His name is a whisper across my lips. I race to the eagle and turn to the side just enough for him to see the front and back of the dress. “What do you think?”
He squawks. Warmth blooms in my chest, and I scratch at his feathered head. No messages are clutched in his talons today, but at least he’s seen me and the wonder they’ve made me into.
“Are you going to be there tonight?” I ask him, with a stroke down his back.
I want him there. I want to tell him that I understand, to explain what his messages meant to me, what he means to—
“I don’t think an eagle will be a welcome guest.” Hawke’s nose wrinkles as he takes in my companion.
“Well, no, not him exactly, but I assumed Sigurd might—”
Hawke’s brows rise, cutting off my words.
Uncle Mark nods, a smile creeping to his lips. “I see.”
See what? I surely don’t.
“It’s true. Sigurd sometimes looks through his eagle, but he isn’t now.”
Warmth crawls up my neck. “How do you know?”
