AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Shall I read it again?” The announcer unrolls the scroll and reads through the clues again, but all I can think about is the woman’s answer and how love seems so perfect.
I glance around the tent. The woman on the far side has her brows knitted in concentration, staring at nothing. Galen, however, looks directly at me as the announcer reads, almost as if he wants my attention.
To distract me or something else?
Galen inclines his head ever so slightly in a brief nod. Then he reaches for the golden earring he always wears, one that must have been given to him by the woman he loves, for he touches it almost every time he speaks of her. When his fingertips graze it now, he’s looking at me, something written in his gaze.
And then it hits me, sending a wave of tingles racing across my skin.
He knows the answer.
But he wants me to figure it out. He’s…trusting me.
I slam my hand on the table in front of me as if it’s some kind of buzzer. “Trust!”
Galen’s eyes widen. Good or bad? A heady buzz of adrenaline surges through my veins, and I can hardly process that I’ve spoken, much less his reaction.
I twist toward the announcer, who has startled at my outburst, his hands fumbling as he rerolls the paper. But then he blinks, and the look is gone. His hands still in their motion, and a slight smile curves his lips.
“Correct.”
I blink at him. A groan of despair from the other woman fills the air. It takes a minute for the word to soak in and realization of what it means to have me swaying on my feet.
I’ve won.
Chapter 33
Igoalonethroughthe exit on the far side of the tent, the winner’s exit. Apparently, the others will depart the way we all came in and meet me in front of the stage, where I’ll claim my victory.
The light is blinding as I step out into the sun. I pinch my eyes closed then blink against the change. Roars erupt from the stands. It’s so loud it shakes the ground under my feet. The air vibrates with the force of their excitement, a power so tangible it has me standing a little straighter and adrenaline zipping under my skin like an electrical current. If this is how pro athletes feel when they step onto the turf, I understand why they do it—why they stress and risk their bodies. Okay, the money doesn’t hurt either, but the feeling is a high unlike anything I’ve felt.
Without thinking, I raise my hand to the crowd, still a blurred colorful mass to my adjusting eyesight. The simple action feeds the frenzy. I’m probably supposed to go somewhere, advance on the stage, but the force of this moment keeps my feet rooted to the ground.
Finally, my vision clears, and I get my first glimpse of said stage. What I spy there nearly brings me to tears. Sigurd stands at the very edge, a broad grin on his features as he beams with what can only be pride.
I knew you could, I see him mouth, the words lost in the chaos.
I swallow down the tightness in my throat and give an answering nod. He believed in me, a simple human that the odds were surely against.
I don’t know how long I stand there taking it all in, lost in the wonder of the moment and unable to move, but suddenly the announcer is there at my side, escorting me to the stage. Sigurd waits for me there, hand outstretched, and the announcer passes me off to him like a father delivering the bride to the altar.
The roar of the crowd finally dims. All eyes are on me, and without their boisterous cheers, anxiety grips me in a death vice. Sigurd must sense it because his hand tightens on mine.
“You did it, Wren. You won,” he says, only for me.
I stare up at him, and the moment becomes less intimidating. If I stare at him, only him, I can almost forget the massive crowd filling the stands and the other important fae sitting in rows of chairs at the back of the stage—Uncle Mark and Hawke included.
But there’s something else on the stage I cannot ignore. Placed in its center and bound by heavy chains of gray metal stands what must be the cauldron. It’s smaller than I expected, not too much larger than a gumbo pot, but this is no cooking tool.
Strangeness radiates from it, pulling my attention and beckoning me near. Beyond the noise of the crowd, I can almost hear a strange song, both harmonious and discordant all at once, and I know deep in my bones it’s coming from that black metal cauldron. So deceptive in its appearance, but the sight is misleading. If even a human like myself can feel its power, it must be vast, a tool for granting wishes if ever there was one.
“The cauldron,” Sigurd confirms, turning me toward it.
I nod. That much I’ve deduced, but one thing I have not. “Why the chains?”
He leans in, his body brushing mine. “It would be most unfortunate if a fae were to attempt to steal it by simply grabbing it and shifting away.”
My brows rise. Unfortunate indeed. And if these fae are as similar in nature to humans as they seem to be, I’m sure it’s been attempted.
