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Then, “I’ll be back soon,” he murmured, his lips nearly touching mine, and was gone.
I took his seat, stretching out my arms and resting them along each armrest. Every inch of me was warring with myself.
Part of me was furious with how Draven was treating me.
Part of me was furious for liking it.
Part of me knew he had tried to warn me–though not as explicitly as he might have done.
And another part of me was simply undeniably curious about all of the pomp and spectacle of the Siabra court.
I focused on this last and watched as a dozen candidates, all strong and radiant men and women, made their way down to the floor before the dais below where for the first time I noticed the long stone slab table in the middle.
There was Lyrastra. She was the first to reach the bottom steps and to stand before the throne near the edge of one side of the table. With her jet-black hair and serpentine eyes, she was a manifestation of striking beauty and cool confidence. Her tall, willowy figure was garbed in a gleaming green silk dress that reminded me of the precise color of Draven’s eyes.
As Draven reached the bottom and stood directly across from his sister-in-law, I wondered if Lyrastra had worn the shade on purpose. They made a striking couple, standing so near to one another.
I spotted tawny-haired Avriel, looking sickeningly arrogant as he took up a place right next to Draven, almost too close for comfort. He lifted his chin in greeting to his cousin, then Lyrastra, and then, to my surprise, met the Queen Regent’s eyes and gave a cocky smile.
The queen returned it with a small smile of her own.
Was Avriel a favorite of the queen? Shouldn’t Draven have been his mother’s favorite of all the candidates, if anyone?
I thought of Draven’s complicated family dynamics. Murdering his elder brother must have made the relationship between him and his mother somewhat strained.
Slowly, the Queen Regent stepped down from the dais and came to stand before the stone table and the twelve contestants.
A simple chalice that seemed to be made of a plain dark wood had appeared on the table before her and now she lifted this up.
“Let the chalice be their witness,” she decreed, her voice carrying upwards. “Let the verdict be swift.”
“And merciless,” those in the seats all around me finished, as if saying the words by rote.
I shivered.
Without another word, Sephone passed the cup to Lyrastra.
For a moment, Lyrastra held the chalice in her hands, staring into it. Then she lifted it to her lips and took a deep sip.
When she lowered the chalice, I thought her hands were shaking a little, but I couldn’t be sure.
She looked across the table at Draven, then held out the cup.
Draven took it and did not hesitate. He lifted it to his mouth and sipped.
The chalice was passed to the contender standing next to Lyrastra. She was a small, agile-looking young woman with long, curling blonde hair and delicate horns that furled away from her temples. She reminded me a little of Pearl, the girl Avriel had killed in the training room.
Odessa leaned towards me. “Rhea. She’s a distant cousin to Lyrastra.”
I nodded, surprised that Odessa was being considerate enough to tell me the contestants’ names.
Rhea lifted the chalice daintily to her pretty lips and took a small sip. A moment passed and she smiled, then carefully held out the cup to Avriel.
“Treacherous bastard,” Odessa muttered from beside me.
I quite agreed, but said nothing.
Avriel snatched the cup and sipped. The longest swig anyone had taken yet. Then he lowered it and reaching across the table, passed it to a wiry man who looked older than most of the other contestants, with sharp, bird-like talons in place of his fingers.
