Then again, it is not as if anyone expects me to be Chosen, either.
The Lesser boy must’ve noticed my gaze on his twisted strap, because he turns slightly and tries to adjust it. Something about the side of his face makes me feel as though I should know him, but I do not make it a habit to associate with many Lessers. His green-stained fingers fumble with the twisted strap. I know he won’t be able to fix it on his own. He looks at me for a second, seemingly asking for my help. I snap my gaze above his head, pretending I didn’t see him. Helping a Lesser. Like I need that on my record.
A nagging pain twists in my gut and I am suddenly reminded that I would have had the same life as a Lesser if it hadn’t been for the oath my mother had made my father swear when I was born. That oath was the only reason I had not been cast out of the ranks of the Underlords completely when my father disowned me. The day I lost my honor …
The Lesser boy gives up on fixing his strap just as the Oracle glides into view again. She starts up our row, and I see now that she doesn’t walk but floats slightly above the ground. I try to forget about my bad memories and focus my thoughts on something that would impress the Oracle if she chooses to look inside my head. I run through my accomplishments and land on the memory of my hunting down and killing the hydra for the Feast of Return last spring. It had eluded even Master Crue and my other teachers, but I had tracked it into the cliffs above the river Styx. I was the one who had carried it into the Great Hall on my shoulders … only to have it taken from me by Rowan and his cronies before the Court witnessed my victory.
I was so angry. Almost as angry as the day my mother collapsed and I sent a Lesser to fetch my father. He was so slow in coming, I …
I shake my head and try to find an untainted memory as I watch the Oracle pass Underlord after Underlord, drawing nearer. I cannot let her see my shame. I silently curse the boy in front of me for dredging up memories of my darkest moment, when the Oracle comes to a sudden halt beside him. Her face is still veiled but I can tell that she is staring at him. He twitches under her inspection. I watch the way he tries to make himself appear bigger in his oversized armor. She tilts her shrouded head as if listening for something, and stands there for so long, I feel the crowd straining with anticipation.
The Oracle is so close to me now that I can feel the icy chill that emanates off her body. Gooseflesh prickles up on the parts of my arms that are not bound by the leather and bronze of my armor. She is only two steps away from deciding my fate. I can’t bare to watch her. I glance at King Ren while he sits waiting at the edge of his ebony throne. He looks annoyed and expectant. Then I notice Moira, Ren’s latest queen, sitting beside him. She is draped in a gown made from shimmering fabric and jewels, but it does not hide how pale and withered she has become—like a bony shadow of her former self. She holds a silver scepter—the weight of it looks like it might rip her thin arms from her body. She will die soon, just like every other Boon who has been brought to the Underrealm. Just like my mother …
No, no, no, I scream silently at my mind’s betrayal. I cannot think of this now. I will not.
I suck in a deep breath and rack my brain, searching for my proudest moment. The Oracle steps abruptly away from the Lesser boy’s side and closes in on me. I shake as her glittering blue hand reaches toward my face. I close my eyes and concentrate on the image of myself slaying a chimera in the arena in just thirty-one seconds, besting the other Underlords in my age group by half a minute. Surely that was my proudest moment. My greatest victory. The crowd had even cheered for me.…
All except for my father and the Court … They did not see my accomplishments because they did not care to look. No matter how hard I tried, they will not forget what I did to earn my disgrace.…
I feel the Oracle’s icy touch land lightly on my skin, just between my eyes. My vision flickers black for a moment and then I see myself at the age of seven—as if gazing into a mirror from the past—sitting in my bedchamber. I hear my mother’s hollow voice as she cries out.…
I feel a sharp, stinging sensation in my forehead, like someone is pulling a string through my skull, and I am snapped back into reality. My vision focuses and I see the Oracle drawing her pinched fingers away from my forehead. And I know what memory of mine she holds.