“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.
One more and she would begin.
She gazed out over the water—a wide bay encircled by low black cliffs. The water was calm as glass.
But it would not be calm for long.
Well, said Corien, here we are.
She almost jumped out of her skin. Corien! I haven’t heard from you since— She set her jaw against the sudden, wild hope that he could somehow provide her with an exit from this horrible day.
I can’t stop this. You’ve played right into their hands.
I don’t want you to stop this.
He chuckled lightly. You can’t lie to me.
She loosened the ties of her cloak. I’m showing them they have no reason to fear me. They will love me for it.
They will kill you for it.
If all you’re going to do is try to make me afraid, she told him icily, then stay away from me.
I’m trying to help you see the truth.
She stepped forward and let her cloak fall to the ground.
The crowd gasped. Murmurs broke out like waves cresting across the shore.
Rielle couldn’t help a small, genuine smile.
She knew the costume was a good one, a form-fitting suit made from a stylish, brightly colored new fabric Ludivine had ordered from Mazabat. It would keep her warm in the water but was flexible enough for her to swim with ease. Waves embroidered with glittering thread swirled across the fabric in the temple colors of the Baths—slate blue and seafoam—and the fabric itself clung to her curves like a second skin. Mesh boots, light as air and with slightly elongated toes, rose to her knees. The suit’s collar was high in the back and low in the front. Ludivine had dusted her skin with shimmering paint, and with her hair piled on top of her head and held in place by shell combs and pearl-tipped pins, Rielle knew she looked like Saint Nerida herself.