Carys waited for her brother to look at her. She needed another chance to explain—to warn him in case something happened to her—but he kept his eyes forward and she knew one thing was certain as she blinked back the tears. She’d lost him. Imogen’s poison thoughts had rooted themselves in Andreus’s brain. And her death had insured they flourished.
Gods.
The ache in her heart mirrored that of her body. Every muscle screamed from a need she couldn’t fill. She wiped her wet palms on the pants Larkin had created and delivered along with the ball gown last night. According to Errik, Larkin said she’d made the outfit as an expression of her faith in Carys. It was Larkin’s way of showing that she believed Carys was as good as any prince or king.
Only the desperate need to warn her brother, Larkin’s and Errik’s faith in her ability, and the willow bark tea Juliette encouraged her to drink gave Carys the ability to climb out of her sweat-soaked bed where nightmares plagued her every time she closed her eyes. Her face bloody and unrecognizable. Her brother with his sword raised. A wind cyclone like the one from when she was twelve barreling down the mountains, destroying everything in its path. Ready to destroy her.
Errik asked no questions about her illness and refused to leave his post in her solar even when she ordered him away. He said nothing to her about her brother, even though she heard Andreus’s voice yelling from the next room.
Imogen.
She had taken the secret of her coconspirator’s identity to the grave and in death had turned the person who Carys depended on against her.
The wind swirled around her. She flinched. She could swear she could hear it calling to her, which wasn’t possible. It was the illness from the withdrawal that made her think the wind was whispering—asking her to set it free.
“Princess Carys,” one of the Masters near her platform said. “It is your turn to speak.”
She stepped closer to the edge of the platform—to the threshold of the battlements—and her stomach rolled as she looked down. So, she pulled her gaze up and kept her eyes on her brother as she tried to decide what to say. She was supposed to speak to the people. And she would. But it was her brother’s stony face and the love that had caused her to shield him all these years that pulled the first words from her.
“I have always tried to be strong. I’ve done my best to stand by you in my way—the only way I know. Am I perfect?” She laughed. “Gods no. There is no one in this kingdom who would believe me if I said I was. I have said the wrong things, unsettled people with my choices, and have often been seen as . . . unpleasant. The one thing I have done right in my life is love you.”
Tears swelled. Her legs trembled beneath her. The wind swirled.
“I will never be perfect. I will make mistakes just as you have. If you give me a chance and believe in me I will learn from them. Our arrangement, this way we live, cannot be sustained. We strain too hard at our predetermined places, our prescribed roles. We want more. We deserve more. We should be freer to choose the path we desire.
“That desire for freedom—to speak, to live, to feel as I choose—is perhaps what has made me who I am. Made us what we are. But no matter what we are, I dream of what we can become. When this trial is over, all I know for certain is that I am supposed to be at your side. It is my fate to stand in front of you, to shield you when the darkness comes. My life has been pledged to you since the day I was born, and no matter what you decide—I will be here for you. I will reach with you for that better way, for freedom—a freedom that we may share—until the day I die.”
Her shoulders groaned as she straightened them. Then she braved a look down at the mass of people standing silently beneath her and realized her words—all the phrases she had just spoken to her brother—also belonged to them. They were the people who stood in front of the lords when a battle began. They were the ones who were flogged while those above them were set free. She understood them. She was them. Now she wanted them to understand her.
“No matter how these trials end, my heart is yours. My life belongs to you. I am Princess Carys . . . daughter of Ulron . . . Keeper of Virtues and Guardian of Light. He might be gone, but the commitment of his blood runs true. I give you my oath.” She glanced at her brother. “Even if I am pushed away or pushed down, no matter how bloody or beaten I might be, I will rise and fight again. Because I will be fighting for you.”
Her brother stared straight ahead. No one—nothing below the battlements—seemed to move. It was as if everything was frozen in time. Then Carys saw banners of blue in the center of the crowded main square lifting up toward her. Then more. Blue near the front of the square. Blue from people lining the streets snaking through the city.
She blinked back the tears blurring her vision as the blue banners began to wave and what sounded like her name floated up on the wind. Louder. Then louder still, telling her that they had heard the truth of her words.
Her stomach cramped. Every step she took made her muscles weep, but as much as she wanted to sink to the ground she would fight—for her brother’s soul, for her people.
She braved a glance at her brother as the next set of gongs sounded. He didn’t bother to look her way as he moved to the edge of the platform, got down on his knees, and took hold of the top of the hemp ladder in his hands. He reached back with his foot, found a foothold, and shifted backward onto the top of the wall. With the next move his legs went over the battlements.
A cheer went up from the people below. Then only his head was visible. Finally, Andreus spared a look at her. There was hatred there. Not just distrust. Not just betrayal. Hatred. As if she was the curse he had waited his whole life to kill.
Then he was gone and Carys had to follow.
Swallowing down a metallic taste in her mouth, she inched forward and carefully lowered herself to her knees. The braided hemp ladder was narrow and was shifting back and forth in the wind. Flurries of snow landed on the platform next to her as she shivered from cold and terror.
She was scared. Never before in her life had she known this kind of naked fear. Her palms sweating, her body weak, and hundreds of feet between her and the ground. She was unlikely to survive this trial. But there was a chance she would. And that was how she convinced herself to wipe the moisture from her hands and grip the ladder as her brother had already done.
Wind gusted snow into her face and pulled her hair. Her heart pounded hard and fast against her chest. This was just like playing on the ladders in the stables, she told herself, trying to forget that she fell off those ladders when she was seven and broke her arm falling from eight feet up.
She tested her grip, then tested it again, before backing up to the edge of the battlements. Gritting her teeth, she slid her leg over the edge to search for a foothold.
A cheer from below floated up as she found one, held her breath, and forced herself to lower her other foot over the edge. The narrow platform shook as a gust of icy wind tugged at the hemp rope. She clutched it tightly and leaned against the wall, knowing she had to move. The longer she was on the rope, the weaker her aching muscles would become. Fear screamed to go slow, but she knew that would kill her. So she used the fear and the sound of the blood pounding in her ears to drive her all the way over the edge.
Her foot searched for the next rung and found air. She closed her eyes tight and squeezed her fingers so the hemp bit into flesh as she felt nothing beneath her. The rope had to be there.
Yes. Sweat trickled down her neck as she found the rung and slid her foot onto it.
Don’t think, she told herself. Just go and don’t stop.
Facing the white wall she had always hated, she clenched her teeth against the pain in her arms as she shifted her foot and lowered herself down the ladder. One rung. Two. Never looking down. Never letting more than a few seconds go by before feeling for the next rung, or the icy knot in her stomach would overwhelm her and she wouldn’t be able to move at all.
One foot on the next rung. Move one hand. Next foot. Then the next hand, tightening her grip when she couldn’t find the next foothold for several seconds. The rungs weren’t evenly spaced. Some were over a foot apart. Others were just inches. Each time her foot found a rung she let out a sigh of relief before her insides once again clenched with fear.
The snow fell harder. The wind blew, turning her fingers to ice and making it more and more difficult to grip the braided rope. Her arms trembled as she lowered herself down another rung. Her calves cramped and Carys bit her lip with the new wave of pain. Gods help her. Her body wasn’t going to be able to hold on much longer. She had to go faster.
She found the next rung. Then the next as the crowd cheered.
The cheers sounded louder than before. She had to be getting closer.
Wrapping one arm around the rope to give her scraped, freezing fingers a rest, Carys braved a look downward. Still over half the distance to go. Glancing to her side, she could see Andreus fifteen feet below. His ladder dangled two arm lengths away from hers. He was reaching down toward his leg. Were his muscles cramping from the cold? Or was it something worse?
If he had an attack up here . . .
Carys wiped the dampness from one hand on the sleeve of her tunic, gripped the ladder as tight as she could, and resumed her descent, determined to catch up with her brother. He might hate her, but he would hate the idea of falling to his death more.
She descended two more rungs. Then two more, flexing her fingers each time, trying to make sure she could still hold on. She ignored the spasms in her arms and the pain shooting up her back. She leaned her head against the coarse hemp and choked back a sob as a tremor shook her body, making the rope ladder swing.
Keep going. She had to keep going.
Carys lowered herself down another rung. Below her, Andreus didn’t appear to be moving.
“Dreus!” she yelled, blinking against the snow. “Are you all right?”
Her fingers closed around the next rung. She stepped down, then down again until she was even with her brother. “Andreus! What’s wrong?”
Her brother looked up at her. “My boot. I can’t get it free.”
Stuck—fifteen feet above the stone below. Her own fingers were barely hanging on. His would be stronger, but the cold would eventually make him lose his grip.
From here, she couldn’t see his boot well enough to tell what the problem was so she clenched her jaw and forced herself to move several feet lower. Squinting into the swirling snow, she spotted the problem. A piece of hemp had come free from its braiding and had caught on the ties to his boot.
“I’m going to cut you free.”
“What?” he yelled.
She wrapped her right forearm around the ladder and drew the stiletto from her belt with her left. “Don’t move,” she yelled.
Oh Gods. She swallowed hard and leaned to her left, pulling herself away from her own ladder so she could reach the one Andreus was on. Her left foot slipped and her stomach lurched and she hugged the ladder and found her footing again.
She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and ordered herself to try again.
Swallowing hard, she shifted her weight and leaned toward her brother again. The snow fell. The air was still as she held her breath and tried to reach the rope that was keeping her brother from continuing his climb. “Can you move?” she yelled.
“What?” he yelled back.
“Kick your foot away from the ladder so I can cut the rope that’s holding you.”
He looked down at her for a long second, then gave a slow nod as she braved leaning a little farther. Her arms shook. Sweat streamed down her back as she shivered and told herself not to worry. She could do this. She’d get her brother free and make it the next twelve feet to the plateau’s surface.
Andreus kicked his foot away from the rope and the ladder began to sway.
“Again,” she yelled, judging the distance and the angle like she would a target she wanted to hit with her blade. Andreus followed her command. The movement sent the ladder an inch closer to her. Then another as it swayed on the wall.
Carys could hear the gasps from the crowd. Her heart pounded as the coarse hemp dug through the fabric of her tunic and into her arm, which was beginning to weaken more. If she didn’t want to fall, she needed both hands to hold on.
She judged the sway of the ladder as Andreus kicked his boot again and slashed with her blade knowing it was the only shot she had.
The blade caught the rope, but not enough. It was still attached to Andreus’s boot as she grabbed her own ladder and hung on for dear life.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her brother kick again, trying to break the rope’s hold on him. She heard him shout something. Then out of the corner of her eye, she saw his boot a second before it slammed against her hand.
She let go.
The stiletto dropped from her hand.
Her feet slipped and suddenly there was nothing beneath her.
She dangled from the rope by her forearm and desperately reached for a rung with her left hand when another blow struck the side of her head.
Pain swirled. Lights flared behind her eyes and her forearm slid down . . . then free.
A scream clawed her throat as she fell. The air around her swirled harder, then harder still, pushing her toward the wall—toward the ladder—as her fingers tried to grab hold of something. Anything.
The crowd below jeered.
Her hand latched onto a rung, jerking her arm, stopping her descent before her fingers slipped again.
Only this time she didn’t fall. The wind swirled under her feet—keeping her from falling long enough for her to grab the rungs one more time and find the loops with her feet.
All at once, the wind stilled completely, as though it had been sucked into the windmills. She willed herself to hang on for the next rung. And the next. And one more, until finally, she crumpled into the snow on the ground.
Everything inside her clenched and screamed and pulled and trembled as she tried to rise but couldn’t. Not even when she heard her brother step from his ladder. Not even when she heard him whisper that next time she wouldn’t get so lucky.
She heard Lord Errik calling to her—asking if she was okay. Garret crouched in the snow a few feet away and held out his hand and she shook her head.
No. She had to get up on her own. The people had seen her fall. They would see her rise. She would show them—show her brother—that she would always get back up as she promised. She needed them to see it so they would remember.
Placing her scraped, raw hands into the snow, she pushed slowly to her knees. Then, using the ladder, she pulled herself to her feet and sound exploded around her.
Blue banners waved against the snow and the darkening sky. People cheered and stomped and called her name.
Her brother’s eyes burned as Elder Cestrum pointed up to the scoring board on the wall where two blue pegs were being lowered in. Behind the board, atop the highest tower, the orb of Eden glowed bright.
Trumpets sounded and the people fell silent as Elder Cestrum stepped forward and announced, “The trial of strength is complete with Princess Carys as our winner. While I am sure they are tired and would like to rest, monarchs often do not have a chance to rest in between decisions that must be made. Duty always calls and they must have endurance to answer that call. Tonight, Prince Andreus and Princess Carys will demonstrate that endurance. For this trial, they must travel to the Majestic Tomb of Eden. The Council has hidden the crown of virtue in the tomb. The one who finds the crown and safely returns to the castle will win. Your attendants have prepared your horses. Good luck to you both because this trial begins now.”
Now.
Tears slipped down Carys’s face.
The crowd shouted their encouragement as Andreus raced toward the large staircase.
Carys could barely take a step. Her head pounded. Her arms throbbed. And she was cold. So very cold as she willed one foot in front of the other—as fast as she dared.
The wind began anew. It pulled at the strands of her hair, which had come free from its binding as she squinted down to the bottom, where her brother was already mounting his horse. She couldn’t beat him in this challenge. She wasn’t sure she’d even be able to survive it.
The cold.
The pain.
The way her legs trembled beneath her, telling her no matter how much she willed them she would soon no longer be able to stand.
The darkness and the mountains where the Xhelozi hunted.
And Andreus who had tried to send her crashing to her death. She had survived his anger once. Unless she could outthink him, she wouldn’t be able to survive another attack.
She wanted to lie down, to give in to whatever her fate would be if she did so. But the blue banners kept her standing. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, thinking about the Trials. Then she stiffly walked down the steps to where Errik stood waiting.
“Your brother tried to kill you,” he said, draping the cloak she’d discarded earlier around her shoulders. “If you follow him out of the city he’ll try again, and there will be no one there to stop him.”
“I know,” she said, marshaling her strength before looking deep into eyes that warmed her more than the cloak she now wore. Putting her hand over his, she leaned into his touch. “I have to go, but I need your help.”
He stared at her as if memorizing her face, then leaned close and placed a gentle kiss on her lips. “Ask of me anything.”
The sounds of the crowd were all around her, but as the snow fell harder it felt like she and Errik were alone. She should be angry that he’d kissed her in the open, but she was glad for the moment. Because that moment might be the last bit of tenderness she ever had.
Stepping away from his touch, she looked out at the city and shivered. An image from her nightmares flashed before her eyes: a bloody face. Whose?
Quietly, she said, “If my brother comes back and I do not, there is something you need to know and there is something I need you to do.”