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.”
20
Wind whipped Andreus’s skin. The falling snow and setting sun painted streaks of pink and purple speckled with white. The crowd lining the road waved and bowed. Here and there he saw a banner of yellow, but the majority had turned blue.
For Carys.
It seemed impossible that she had reached the ground safely. He’d watched her lose her grip and plummet. She should be lying on the flagstones at the foot of the battlements—broken. Beaten.
But then the wind had—
What had it done, Andreus? he chided himself. Had the winds come to slow Carys’s fall? Had they protected her—come to her call?
No. It was preposterous.
No matter what had actually occurred his sister reached the bottom intact.
And part of him—a part he hated—had been glad.
It was a momentary weakness. One Imogen had worried about. Well, it was the last time he’d be that weak. After this trial, Andreus’s subjects wouldn’t raise Carys’s banner again. Imogen deserved justice and Andreus needed to prove that he was the man he’d promised her he could be.
He glanced back as he passed through the main entrance of the city. Carys wasn’t there. But she would get on her horse and ride to the tomb. His sister didn’t give up unless someone made her.
Tugging on the reins, Andreus turned his horse toward the mountains. The trek to the tomb of the Kingdom of Eden’s rulers had been a two-hour journey when they’d escorted his father and brother to their resting places. Without the wagons and the stately pace he should make it in half that time. Cole had been exercised by the grooms regularly. Andreus was sure he would be able to make the journey in good time. Unless, of course, the snow that was thickening with each passing minute slowed them down. The swirling white made it harder to see as the sun disappeared from the sky. And as the sun sank, the temperature dropped.
Andreus shivered and urged Cole to return to a gallop as they moved toward the mountains and away from the safety of the illuminated walls behind him. The faster he traveled, the faster he would get back to the lights.
A screech filled the air and Cole slowed his gait. Andreus held his breath and reached for the sword he’d taken from a member of the guard before riding out of the city.
There was another screech—like a rusty hinge being opened.
The Xhelozi were awake and coming down from the mountains to hunt
. If he wasn’t careful, he would be their prey.
His horse’s pace slowed to a trot as he turned toward the southwest. Andreus looked behind him for a glimpse of his sister. The dark and the snow made it impossible to tell if she was back there. He would deal with her later. For now he would focus on completing this trial so his subjects would have something to cheer.
“Come on, Cole,” he said, blowing warm air onto his hands before clutching the reins. “We have to move.”
Cole’s hooves pounded the ground. Andreus ignored the tightening in his chest as he pulled the cloak snug around his body. Every few minutes, Andreus looked back to Eden’s orb shining like a beacon above the castle to make sure he was going the right way.
A gray fox darted out of a distant grove of trees. Normally the darkness would shield it from view, but against the white of the snow the fox was easy to spot. Just as Andreus would be if anything on the mountains was watching.
Cole was tiring. Andreus slowed him to a walk. If he didn’t the horse would be too spent to race back to the castle after Andreus succeeded in the trial.
The snow continued to fall. His breath turned to smoke in front of his face. The mountains grew larger as the ground under Cole’s feet shifted from grass to dirt and stone.
Almost there and still no Carys behind him.
The pulse of the tomb’s windmill filled the silence as he reached the entrance and dismounted.
His legs buckled and he grabbed the saddle for support. The trek down the wall and the hours in the cold had taken their toll. But he’d be fine. He would endure as he was supposed to. And he would win.
He took a deep breath and stiffly led Cole into the entrance that, unlike the tomb beyond, had no wind-powered lights. Good thing the small stones he needed to connect the windmill power to the door were smooth and easy to find by feel next to the other rough rocks.
Massive steel doors rumbled. Light flooded the darkness, blinding him as he stumbled forward into the tomb.
Death filled his nose. Rotting decay that he gagged and choked on. He forced himself to look around the first of the series of chambers that made up the tomb. In the center of the largest of the stone rooms was a small but perfect replica of Eden’s orb, surrounded by seven stone statues depicting the seven virtues. At the foot of each statue was the vice one must overcome to achieve the light. Benches carved into the walls were covered with dusty shrouds. These crypts housed the very first of Eden’s royal families.
Andreus threw off the shrouds. Beheld the bones they hid.
None of those long-dead rulers had the crown he sought. He would have to go through the passages that wound underneath the mountain range.
The smell of death grew stronger the farther he traveled in the dim light. Shadows pursued him as he peered into each burial shelf carved into the walls. But as much as he hated the enclosed spaces filled with death, he was grateful for the lack of wind and snow.
The jagged stone floor slanted downward as he retraced the steps the guards would have taken to lay his brother and father to rest. There. The gold-and-sapphire crown caught the light. It was sitting on top of his brother’s shroud as though to remind him that it was Micah who was supposed to be King.
Andreus laughed. The Elders were toying with him. Only it wouldn’t work. Micah was stuck rotting in here and Andreus was going to rule.
He grabbed the crown, turned, and went back through the passages. First at a walk. Then at a run. He wanted to get back to the castle with the crown that was rightfully his.
He crossed into the cold darkness of the entryway, activated the doors, and watched them slowly close, blotting out any light. When the grinding of the gears ceased, Andreus attached the crown to his belt and then walked toward Cole. The horse was shifting restlessly. He nickered and blew out air and Andreus patted his flank to settle him.
He heard something shift. Andreus went still. A rock skittered across stone. Something was moving behind him in the darkness.
Carys?
Andreus reached for the sword on his belt and drew it slowly, trying not to make a sound. The metal whispered its release from the scabbard. Cole’s hooves clattered on the ground as he started forward. Ready to be off.
Slowly, Andreus turned and squinted into the shadows in the cave, but he could see nothing. Feeling foolish, he grabbed the pommel of the saddle and was pulling himself up when the sound came again.
He glanced behind him and that’s when he saw it. Claws. Teeth. Thick gray scales across the chest. White fur. Long arms on the narrow but terrifyingly tall and powerful body.
Xhelozi.
Cole jerked forward. Andreus almost lost his grip and slid sideways. His heart pitched with his body and fear spiked hard as he pulled himself up, dug his heels into Cole’s side, and yelled, “Go.”
A loud screech came from his left as the horse raced out of the cave and onto the slick, snowy path. Cole reared as another rusty cry echoed in front of them.
Oh, Gods.
Andreus raised his sword and urged Cole forward. The horse balked, but Andreus dug his boots deep into the horse’s flanks as another screech cut through the night. Behind him. To the side. In front. Cries came from everywhere as they raced forward through the darkness. Away from the mountains. He had to get back to the castle and the lights.
A shadow darted out of the trees. Fire raked across his leg as something slammed into the horse from the side. Cole whinnied and reared. Andreus clutched the pommel with one hand and swung with his sword. The blade struck flesh. A shriek of agony cut through the air, making the horse rear again. Andreus lost his grip and slammed to the ground. Hoofbeats raced away from him.
Another screech came from somewhere to his right as the thing in front of him snarled.
Dark liquid stained the white fur on its arm. It snarled again and leaped forward. Andreus scrambled backward and rolled to his side as the creature landed on the spot he’d just vacated.
He lashed out with his blade and connected. Then he clambered to his feet and hobbled to his right. The monster turned back toward him with teeth bared and hooked claws extended.
Blood trickled down Andreus’s left leg. He could barely put weight on it. The creature reared back on its powerful legs and sprang.
Andreus dropped to the ground and rolled under the attack, swinging the sword as hard as he could. The blade bit into the Xhelozi and sliced across the midsection. The air shook as the thing screeched.
Through his panic, triumph flared. Andreus scrambled to his feet, balancing all his weight on his right foot, and lunged at the wounded creature. It snarled and started to rise just as his sword punched into its chest, sending the Xhelozi back to the ground. He pulled out the sword and stabbed through the mass of white fur and scales again. The Xhelozi gurgled once. Then, for a moment, everything went silent.
Finally, Andreus braved a look at the leg cut by the Xhelozi’s claws.
Blood. He leaned on his sword to help him balance as blackness swirled in his eyes and the world went in and out of focus. Three deep gashes running from just below his knee to halfway down his calf oozed and bubbled with blood that spilled onto the white of the snow.
A rusty cry came from the left. Then one from behind.
Close. They were close. And he was surrounded.
He ripped off the bottom of his tunic and tied the swath of fabric tight around the wound.
Another cry. This one somewhere to his right. As if they were hunting him in a pack.
He clenched his jaw as he limped away from the dead Xhelozi and whistled for Cole. But there was no time. Could he hide from them? Maybe. There were stories travelers told of surviving the Xhelozi by burying themselves in the snow. It supposedly concealed their scent and the heat of their bodies. But Andreus wasn’t sure he believed those tales, and even if he did, the bandage on his leg would only help for so long. He had to get back to Garden City.
Leaning on his sword, Andreus licked his lips and whistled again. He sagged with re
lief as he heard a whinny from somewhere over the hill. It took him four tries to pull himself onto the stallion. Twice the Xhelozi calls made the horse buck, but he held tight to the reins and eventually pulled himself on as a tall shadow appeared in the trees to his left.
“Go,” he said, leaning over the horse’s neck. Cole bolted forward like an arrow out of a bow. There was a snarl behind him. Then another, followed by a grinding metallic shriek. The Xhelozi were giving chase.
Andreus looked around the white landscape, trying to get his bearings. The castle was to the northwest. The fastest route was the foothills and meadows he had come through the first time, but those were mostly out in the open with no place for him to take cover. The forest was straight ahead. The Xhelozi might give up the chase in there.
Blood trickled down Andreus’s leg as he headed for the tree line.
Cole dodged over hills and around massive trunks, never breaking stride. Andreus glanced behind him at the shadows that were darting in between the trees. From the left. The right. The Xhelozi smelled his blood. They weren’t giving up and Cole wouldn’t be able to keep up this pace for much longer.
Andreus angled the horse toward the high riverbed that had yet to freeze over. There was a path—not easily seen and fairly steep—behind some rocks not far from here. He and Carys used to scare their nurse by hiding there safe from sight. Maybe the same trick would work now.
Cole plunged into the icy water and splashed across the wide riverbed. Andreus looked over his shoulder. He could hear them calling, but they were still deep in the trees.
He urged Cole up the embankment and then around the rock formation he remembered from his childhood. The horse picked its way up slowly. Too slowly. Andreus was certain they were going to be found and in the tight path, caught between stone and dirt, there would be no escape.
Finally, the horse crested the incline. Andreus bit back a shout of victory, nudged the horse forward, and heard a soft nicker.
Turning, he spotted Carys’s brown mare tied to a low, scraggly bush. The horse shook snow off its head and Andreus looked for his sister. If her horse was here, she had to be as well.