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It should be able to remove our bond. Moria believes it. Uncle Mark and Hawke believe it. Their faith is enough to convince me it will work.
The winner receiving their blessing is the start of the celebration. I could see the preparations from high in the castle before Uncle Mark and Hawke brought me to the arena. Tents and makeshift structures were erected all around the great stadium set in an open field within the valley. Masses of fae have swarmed to the capital, to the arena, for the final of the games and the partying to follow. It’s their Super Bowl, and these fae seem to love nothing more than a good celebration, looming war or not.
But then, the party is part of the act. Distract the people with enough fun, and hopefully they’ll forget the shit they’re in, if even for a day. Moria assured me there are plenty of guards stationed in the arena and the surrounding area. No enemies will attack the games. It would be suicide.
That’s not quite what has me on edge though. This moment, this game, decides my fate. I could leave today or be stuck here, and the decider of my fate is a game I have no knowledge of.
Moria dressed me in a simple but elegant tunic and pants outfit of silver and blue, not even bothering with hidden weapons. Based on her outfit choices for me, it can’t be a fight to the finish—thank God for that—but she’s given nothing else away, if she even knows exactly what it is.
The remaining competitors, including me, each approach from a different entrance on the field. Our destination is obvious, despite no one telling me where to go. A large navy tent awaits in the center, cloth covering the roof and all sides. A raised area sits nearest us, the announcer of the games already standing on it, surrounded by other fae dignitaries. Beyond the massive tent, I can just make out the edge of what looks to be another raised area on the far side of the arena. This one is larger, more grandiose, and though we’re not that far apart, I can almost feel a tug on our bond telling me that Sigurd is there. He waits for the winner to emerge, the cauldron likely close at hand.
I meet Galen just before the stage. He gives me a hard look from the corner of his eye, nose wrinkling with distaste.
“You stink,” he whispers.
I bristle, standing a little straighter. I scrubbed in the bath for almost an hour this morning before being a little too liberal with the floral perfume Moria loaned me. Frankly, I haven’t smelled so nice in ages. “I quite like flowers.”
He snorts. “You smell of him.”
An unbidden flush rises to my cheeks.
“Not surprising, given your disappearance from the ball…and who left not long after.”
I swallow down the hard lump in my throat. I whisper back, “It was that obvious?”
“Only to those who bothered to look.” He glances down the short row of remaining competitors where we’ve come to a stop in front of the stage and shrugs. “Most didn’t.”
But Galen did. He saw, he knew, and he didn’t like it one bit. A deep hurt burns in my chest, and though I try to will it away, to push it down, it’s persistent.
We were allies. Maybe friends? I kind of hoped we were. After today, though, we may not see one another again. If he wins, he’ll ask for his freedom and leave here. Same if I do. The only way we could possibly remain together is if we both lose. But then I’d still choose to be with Sigurd, and it’s clear that’s a choice Galen cannot abide.
The announcer calls for quiet, somehow managing to bring the raucous crowd to silence. He begins another of his famous speeches about the history of the games, some kind of magic or fae ingenuity amplifying his voice for all to hear.
Galen shifts on his feet, inching closer to me so that he can lean my way and whisper. “Interesting he didn’t forego the games and just let you have your wish of the cauldron.”
“He wouldn’t do such a—” I start, ready to defend Sigurd.
“But then that wouldn’t work in his favor, would it? It benefits him to keep you here, just as you are.”
Fury prickles under my skin, and I rub at my chest, trying to force it down. “He’s not like that. He supports me in this.” I gesture vaguely to the arena around us.
Galen raises one brow, his gaze straight ahead on the announcer. “Does he, or does he just want you to think that?”
Stop trying to get under my skin.My teeth dig into my bottom lip, barely holding the words in. If Galen’s trying to mess with me, to unsettle me before this final game, it’s working. “You hate him so much you refuse to think he could be honest in this or with me.”
“Yes.” He cuts his gaze to me. “I do.”
My body nearly vibrates with rage. “Then I’ll prove it. If the cauldron doesn’t grant your wish, I’ll ask him to remove your oaths. He can do that, right?” I don’t know why I need to prove to Galen that Sigurd isn’t as horrible as he thinks, that hecanbe a good person, a good king. Their history is their own. But Galen has pulled me into their messy web, and now I can’t leave it alone.
Galen has gone utterly still. For a minute, I’m convinced he’s not going to answer and I’m going to be left wondering, just listening to the announcer finish his speech, one he clearly has no intention of wrapping up quickly from the way he gestures to the crowd and has them laughing and cheering in response to his comments.
“You truly think he would do that because you ask him?” he asks, so quiet I almost miss it.
The comment emboldens me, and I turn my head to stare at him as I respond. “You said you still smell him on me. What do you think? He said he would remove my bond if he could, but he cannot. Do you truly think he would deny me a request?”
I teased Galen with this promise once before. Then it was really to gain his trust, and I wasn’t sure Sigurd would bother with a request on my behalf.
Now, I believe differently, and I needGalen to believe it too.
