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“There’s nothing in that pit,” Harok snarls. “Throw me in if you wish. All it contains is bones of dead Solwen given to that demon.”

“We will see,” Lymok says. “What better way to test your claim to have killed the God of the forest.”

Harok looks at his vile cousin. How many chances to kill that creature had Harok let pass him by?

Now Lymok is lounging on his throne, wearing his crown and his ring. He notices he has Demonica in his belt. Harok doubts Lymok knows the significance of it. He sucks his bottom lip. Perhaps there is still a chance. If he could get that blade to Suskara. “Very well,” says Harok. “But send the kushir back to his people. Send him back to Azuria.”

“Oh no, Harok,” Lymok drawls. “I have strict instructions that he is not to be allowed to leave this place alive.”

Harok growls and tries to stand, but heavy hands press onto his shoulders and a blade is put to his throat.

“So, I ask,” Lymok says, “before we begin, does any Solwen wish to stand for their false Irgo?”

There is a pause, before a voice rings out. “I do.”

Harok looks in the direction of the voice with a sinking heart. His mother has stepped into the centre of the room. Her green robes swirl around her. Her face is pale. “Lymok, Harok is your blood. You are meddling with things you cannot begin to understand,” she says in a low, even voice. “Irgo Harok’s body contains⁠—”

But before she can finish her sentence, Harok bellows, “No. Mother.”

Yaelin stops talking and Harok can see shock on her face, but what good would come of revealing that now? Lymok and the Exceli would not believe it. It would likely get her killed for heresy, Verilissia or not. Harok feels nausea rise in his gut. He cannot protect them. His kushir, his mother, his Solwen. He cannot do his duty.

I will kill them all.

He’s so close, voice louder, clearer than ever.

Harok is sure his mother would have tried again, but Lymok says, “For once, I agree with the heretic. We have no need to hear from you, witch. Take her to her chambers. Lock her and the other Verilissia away. I will deal with her when I am finished with her son.”

Yaelin tries to say something else but she is grabbed by two guards and escorted roughly from the hall.

“No,” Harok roars, rattling the chains that hold him. “Do not touch her.”

He is hit in the face by the hilt of a sword, so hard that for a moment he loses himself.

Not long now, Solwen. Not long now.

32

TOBI

Tobi watches as Harok is forced back up to his feet and taken from the Sacred Hall out into the dark courtyard.

Lymok, smiling, walks down from the dais. “Come, kushir,” he says, “you will sit at my side for the first trial. The Trial of the Beasts. A place of great honour. Lymok beckons the guards beside Tobi and they pull him up to his feet. Tobi is marched behind Lymok into the courtyard.

A cold wind blows across the wide open space. The snow has stopped but it still covers the ground, sparkling in the dark. There are torches lit everywhere. In the zhilvar, Tobi can see the remains of the feast. Was it really this same night he ate and drank with Harok, thinking of nothing but his Irgorye’s bed? The tables are still set. Lanterns still lit. He looks around for Harok, but he cannot see where he has been taken.

Tobi only wears his alit. He is offered no cloak, but he barely feels the cold, even the icy cobbles beneath his bare feet. He feels numb all over. He thinks of the sword he held in his hand. He was going to kill Harok. Lymok has that blade now. He glances at it tucked into Lymok’s belt as they cross the courtyard, the purple stones in the hilt glittering. It’s too long for Lymok to wear it in such a fashion., Even Harok wore it on his back. The point almost touches the ground. They reach the circular pit. Torches blaze all around the top of it. Mereli had mentioned this, hadn’t he? The pit is used for the first trial. The Trial of the Beasts.

Tobi’s guards lead him behind Lymok, up the steps on the outside of the pit to a viewing platform at the top. Parts of it that were ruined have been draped with rich fabrics to hide the damage and decay. At the top of the steps a viewing platform has been set up with chairs and cushions.

Lymok sits himself on a tall wooden chair. He places his sword across his lap. Tobi looks at it. He has never felt such a feeling about a weapon before. He has heard of fabled swords in stories. Blades that were meant to be wielded by one man. But he is the last person who would be meant to use an enchanted sword. He was never good at warcraft.

Tobi is placed on a low stool beside Lymok’s chair. It reminds him of the stool from the stable. The one Harok would sit upon to watch him with Baby. Perhaps it is that very stool. There are more Solwen on the platform, crowded on benches, looking down into the pit, a large circular hole with a dirt floor and timber walls.

Lymok reaches out and puts a hand on Tobi’s thigh. The touch is possessive and unpleasant, but Tobi is cold and Lymok’s hand is warm. “When Harok is sacrificed, all that is his will become mine. I will take you as my own kushir,” he speaks Artemian, his voice a low purr.

Tobi’s belly seizes. “Me? Why would you want me? You do not have the taste of the deep earth, you told me so. You could have any kushir you wished.”

“I would make an exception for you. And I want an Azurian prince at my side.”