“There’s no more time to be had. You know the gate only opens twice a year. Today’s the day, my friend.”
“What if I wait six more months? I can go when the gate opens then. I can get the training I need and go later.…”
Dax folds his arms in front of his large chest. “Don’t be absurd.”
“Why is that absurd? The Elites receive years of specialized training in case they are Chosen. Why send someone like me without it?”
“Because you’re the one the Oracle chose. For this time and this purpose.”
“But what if I’m not the right choice? Rowan is right. I’m predictable in my impulsiveness. I’m weak.”
Brim sinks her claws into my knee.
“Rowan is wrong,” Dax says.
I glance at him.
“Don’t listen to a word that koprophage says. I know you better than anyone. Yes, you’re impulsive, but that doesn’t make you weak. It means you listen to your emotions.”
I suck a breath in between my teeth. That’s an insult if I’ve ever heard one. Emotions are something to be stamped out, controlled, not listened to.
“What I mean to say is that you are equipped with unique traits that make you well suited for the mortal world. They’re the reason why the Oracle chose you—I’m sure of it.”
I shake my head. He might as well have called me a human—and meant it as a compliment. Dax has never been the same since his time in the Overrealm. It’s as though being declared a failure permanently altered his psyche. I want to laugh at him but something stops me. “They should declare the Oracle addled, just like you,” I mumble instead, “if she thinks the entire future of the Underrealm lies on my shoulders.”
“Did she tell you that?”
I nod. “Obviously, she’s gone insane.” I pick up a rock from the ledge—probably something one of the owls brought up here—and chuck it toward the moat below. Brim tenses and follows the rock with her eyes, but she knows better than to jump from the window to chase it. Her getting wet wouldn’t be good for anyone involved. “Perhaps I should tell the Court that I resign as Champion. Tell them to send Rowan in my place.”
“You will do nothing of the sort,” Dax says. “This is your chance, Haden. Your chance to show them who you really are. They think Rowan is the best in your age group, but that’s only because they ruled you out long ago. Make them pay attention now.”
“They’re never going to look at me as anything other than the embodiment of disgrace.”
“You don’t know that.…”
“Stop.” I glare at him. “We both know the truth. There’s no point in coating it in siren songs. What would you know about success anyway? You were kicked out of the Court altogether. You’re barely better than a filthy Lesser.”
Brim yowls. She never likes it when I harden my voice at anyone.
My harsh comments are meant to hurt Dax, but he barely lifts an eyebrow. Six years ago, Dax had been considered the best of the Elite. As Lord Killian’s son—the Underlord credited with bringing back an entire sorority of Boons from his quest—great things were expected of him. He’d been Chosen by my father to bring back a Boon who had been hand selected for Dax by the Court. But six months later, when the gate opened for the return, he had been the only Champion to come back alone. He’d failed, and suffered the wrath of the Court as a consequence. He’d been stripped of his rank, cast out of the Underlords, and had lived as a servant ever since.
“It’s time to go,” Dax says, like he won’t take no for an answer.
I pick up another rock, toss it up in my hand, and catch it. Dax’s words about this being my one chance to prove myself start to edge into my despair. Isn’t that the reason I’ve always dreamed of being Chosen in the first place? Ren had even said that if I succeeded, he’d grant me back my rightful place at his side.
But he’d also made it very clear what would happen if I don’t succeed. His oath to my mother prevents him from casting me out of the ranks of the Underlords as he did with Dax. Which means if I fail, he can do something much worse. My jaw clenches as I remember the feel of Ren’s knife on my throat.
I fling the rock out the window. It flies so far that it misses the moat and disappears into the treetops of the orchard. I turn back to Dax.
“What if I fail?”
“You won’t,” he says so definitively that I don’t want to argue. Dax has always had that power over me. “Besides, you’ll have me to help you.”
I really look at him for the first time since he entered the roost and see that instead of his servant’s robes, he’s dressed in strange dark blue pants made from a thick cloth, and a short-sleeved tunic, which has a picture of something that looks vaguely like a horseless chariot on it. It reminds me of the odd garments many of the Champions and Boons are dressed in when they return from the Overrealm. Over his shoulder, Dax carries a satchel that looks like it’s packed to capacity.