The officer tilts his head. “Who?”
“The one who was running with me.”
His grin widens. “Ah. The troll. Don’t worry—you’ll see him soon enough.”
Two of the guards seize me by the arms. The other two strip the remains of my singed and soiled wedding gown, leaving me bare. I yelp and attempt to cover my body. They toss a heap of sand-colored leather at my feet. It’s armor—thin and ceremonial.
“Dress,” the officer orders.
I glare, but my defiance lasts only until one of them reaches for me. I move fast, pulling on the armor piece by piece. The leather sticks to my skin, and it’s stiff, as if recently made.
Once I finish putting on their sandals and tying the laces, they clasp a shackle around my wrist. The other end dangles in the open space, and I hold out my other hand, waiting. They ignore me and drag me out of the cell.
I stumble behind them as they guide me through winding hallways.
“Will I be fighting beasts?” I ask, trying again as I look all around me, past dozens more cells carved out of stone, hidden from view. There is nothing that anchors me to this place. No familiar landmarkthat would save me from getting lost should I need to run through these walls together.
No one answers me.
My mind fills with thoughts again as they drag me along. Fear soaks over my skin like the water flowing down the damp walls of the dungeon.
Vann.
His face is a ruin of bruises and dirt. He doesn’t look at me at first, only at the floor as they fasten the other cuff to his wrist. The chain hums between us, light threading through the metal like veins of fire.
I jerk my arm away. “You have to be joking.”
The officer smiles. “The crown demands unity in judgment. Tethered fighting is a long-standing tradition. You will either win the trials, or die together, as you tried to kill the king and abandon your marriage.”
One of the guards lifts their helmet to spit at my feet.
“And what exactly are we going to be doing?” I snap.
Vann finally looks up. His voice is low, rough, almost gentle. “Don’t make this worse.”
My throat tightens with fury. “You already did.”
They ignore my question again and drag us up the rough-hewn steps, twisting toward light. The air grows hotter, thicker, filled with distant noise. At first it’s just a hum. Then I realize it’s cheering.
When we emerge into the open air, the sound hits like a storm.
An arena. White and gold, ringed by terraces filled with elves. On the ground level, there are even more of the lower classes, cheering once we come into view. Vann and I are handed rusted swords. Mine in my dominant hand, but I can’t help but notice he is given one in the opposite hand he fights with. He tugs the chain as he brings up his arm to hold on to the sword with both hands.
I, who know only the very basics, move to do the same, though I don’t see any immediate threat yet. Are we to kill the five elven men around us?
They don’t move with aggression, so I turn back to the roaring sound of shouts from the arena. I am turned around violently, andthat’s when I see Arion, above the terraces, seated on a raised dais. His crown burns with some magical light.
He sits upon the Throne of Living Wood. It seems to burn beneath him, as if it’s pulsing with its divine connection to his god.
I wonder if the marriage ceremony was fully completed.
I can’t help but look at Vann, and I realize that his Fuegorra is shining bright in his chest as he looks back at me. A bitterness flows up my throat. Does he hear the mating song? Something I only experienced briefly?
Then I see the two shining white dots on the side of his neck again. Mating marks.
A bitter rage settles in my belly, and look away.
I think of Mrath, though I don’t see her on display anywhere. I wonder if she’s dead for real this time.