Rielle stood her ground even as he advanced upon her. She could feel her braid slipping, sense how sloppy and small and foolish she appeared next to Lord Commander Dardenne. The man somehow looked unruffled even in his muddy training uniform. She bit down hard on her tongue.
“This is no joke, Rielle,” her father continued. He re-knotted the ties holding the thin leather padding in place around her torso, straightened her collar, tucked loose hairs back into her braid so roughly that it hurt her scalp. “The earth trial was nothing compared to what the Magisterial Council will engineer for you next. This is only the beginning of a long, hard path. Your life as you knew it is now over. You understand this.”
Rielle’s cheeks flamed. What must her guard think of him scolding her as he would a small child? “Yes, Father,” she said quietly. “I understand.”
“If you fail, they will kill you. They might kill me and Tal as well.”
Rielle looked at her boots through a film of tears. “I’ve thought of that.”
“Have you? We can’t know the council’s mind, nor the king’s. These are extraordinary circumstances.”
“Yes, Father.”
He removed one of his gloves, used his bare hand to turn up her chin. She stared at him, eyes full, until his mouth twisted and he walked away. He sat on the ground by the mud pit, found his canteen in the grass, and took a swig of water.
“Sit,” he said, handing the canteen to her. “Drink.”
She obeyed, saying nothing. As she drank, she stole glances at her father, noting the gray at his temples and peppering his thick, dark hair, the lines around his stern mouth. She realized, with a swift turn of sorrow, that she couldn’t remember what he used to look like, before her mother’s death had stolen his smile.
“Do you remember,” she asked, “that lullaby Mama sang to me?”
Her father was gazing out at the mud-spattered obstacle course, the unsmiling ring of soldiers around it, the dense pine forest beyond that. Rielle watched him, examining his profile. She ached, suddenly, to hold his hand and ask him if he was as afraid as she was.
She curled her fingers through the grass instead.
“I don’t remember any lullaby,” he answered tonelessly.
Rielle couldn’t be sure if that was a lie or not, but she nodded anyway and looked out into the forest just as he did. She drew in a deep breath and began to sing.
By the moon, by the moon
That’s where you’ll find me
By the moon, by the moon
We’ll hold hands, just you and me
We’ll pray to the stars
And ask them to set us free
By the moon, by the moon
That’s where you’ll find me
When a few moments of unbearable silence had passed, she added, “I can’t always remember things about her. How she smelled. The feel of her hands. But I remember her voice, and I remember that song.”
As soon as the words left her lips, her father rose to his feet, dusted off his trousers, retrieved her pack of stones, and handed it to her. She could read nothing on his face except for the same quiet resolve it always wore—the certainty of Rielle’s wrongness and of his own long suffering at her hands.
“Again,” he said. “Back to the beginning.”
? ? ?
Rielle didn’t know how many people were outside waiting to watch her battle the ocean, but from the sound of them, it must have been a lot.
She shifted in her new boots and fought the urge to fiddle with the hem of her heavy cloak, the cords of which she had tied around her throat and torso, to keep her costume hidden until the last minute.
The costume had been Ludivine’s idea; keeping it hidden had been Audric’s.
Ludivine had tugged Audric proudly into her rooms late last night once her tailors had completed their final fitting and proclaimed, beaming, “Isn’t she stunning, Audric?”
Rielle had made herself look right at him. Why wouldn’t she? There was nothing strange about showing off her fancy new trial costume to one of her oldest friends. Was there?
But her cheeks had burned, her heart pounding so fast she thought she might choke on it, and then he’d suggested, “I don’t think you should show your costume until the very last moment.”
Surprised, she had managed to ask, “Why?”
He’d smiled softly at her. “Because then they’ll spend the whole trial hoping desperately that you survive, if only so they’ll have the chance to see you again.”
Rielle shivered now to think of his soft words.
Outside, Grand Magister Rosier’s voice boomed over the Forged amplifier:
“My brothers and sisters, citizens of Celdaria, a few words before the trial begins…”
As he described the trial and its rules and reminded everyone that there was no need to worry for their safety—every acolyte from his temple was in attendance, ready to harness the waves should the candidate lose control—Rielle closed her eyes and recited the Water Rite under her breath: “O seas and rivers! O rain and snow! Quench us our thirst, cleanse us our evil—”
The flap of her holding tent opened. “And here I thought you hated praying.”
“Tal!” She turned into his arms without a second thought, blinking back a rush of tears. “I thought you said the Archon wouldn’t let you see me alone.”
“Sloane’s just outside.” He stroked her hair, kissed her brow. “In her endless generosity, she’s allowed us two minutes to talk.”
“I heard that,” came Sloane’s dry voice from outside.
Rielle closed her eyes, breathing deeply. Tal smelled of firebrand smoke and temple incense, a welcome contrast to the briny salt stench of the ocean outside. She could almost pretend they were back in his office, ready for a lesson.
“I do hate praying,” she said, pulling back with a tight smile, “but right now? I’ll try anything.”
Tal carefully searched her face. “You’re frightened.”
“Frightened? Me?” She shrugged, trying not to let her teeth chatter. Why did the ocean make everything feel so damned cold? “It’s just that some stuffy old magister once told me praying helps my concentration.”
Tal smiled sadly, then scrubbed a hand over his stubbled cheeks. “I can’t believe this is happening. I keep waiting to wake up.”
“Don’t start moaning to me. I’m the one about to do this, not you.”
“You’re right.” He folded her hands into his own, bent down to look her in the eye. “I’m sorry, love. I just wish we’d had more time.”
A horn blasted outside, reminding Rielle of the Boon Chase starting line. That day already seemed ages past. The thought that she had been scared of a horse race was enough to make her want to laugh—or maybe cry.
“Lady Rielle?” The head of her personal guard, assigned to her by the king, opened the tent flap. She was a solid, broad-shouldered woman named Evyline, whose pale face wore a permanent stern frown. “They’re ready for you.”
Rielle stole one last glance at Tal. She knew what he was thinking. She was remembering the same thing:
Let’s go over here, Rielle! Here, under the willow tree, where the water is warm and quiet.
Tal’s hands tight around her throat, holding her under.
She shuddered, swallowing hard.
“Don’t hesitate to fight this time,” Tal said softly. His hands flexed at his sides, as if he longed to reach for her. “This is not about proving yourself. This is about staying alive.”
“No one knows that better than I do,” she replied.
“Lady Rielle?”
Without another word, she stepped past Tal and stone-faced Sloane, who surprised her by grabbing her hand and gently pressing her palm.
“Be safe,” Sloane murmured.
Then Rielle emerged into the sun.
Spectators sat in hastily erected wooden stands surrounding the bay, the nearest ones close enough that Rielle could clearly see the curiosity and suspicion on their faces. There must have been hundreds of them, thousands—practically the entire capital and anyone who’d heard about the trials and was able to travel to the coastal city of Luxitaine in time.
They were all watching her in silence.
Her guard following close behind, she walked to the edge of the pier and forced her head high beneath the hood of her cloak. A lonely gull cried out overhead. At the edge of the pier stood two acolytes, their castings in hand—a broadsword and a metal disk engraved with waves.
The horn sounded a second time.