Garden of Serpents (The Demon Queen Trials #3)(39)

21





ROWAN





Evening of the trial.

Rosy sun rays spilled through the trees, and the forest’s shadows grew long. As nerves tightened my muscles, I wished I had something to do with my hands.

Twilight was the most powerful time to lower the veil between the worlds.

After I’d recovered my sanity, I’d had three full days to practice. And that was about how long it had taken to summon Goody Pendleton, and to successfully bind her with magic. Just as Kas had promised, she’d been very good-natured about the whole thing, so I’d summoned her and bound her again and again, until my throat was hoarse and Legion yelled at me to get some rest before I lost my mind all over again.

I closed my eyes.

I’m ready.

I’d memorized the spells, and I could rattle them off fluently. I knew the exact memory to conjure up to summon just the right amount of magic.

I doubted that Orion had practiced at all, which had been my hope. He leaned against a tree, his arms folded, hair falling in his eyes. Insouciant as ever. His gaze slid to me, but his expression was unreadable.

Focus on the trial, Rowan. Not on him.

If I let his pretty face distract me—and the memory of his abs flexing under my fingertips—I’d lose. No question about that.

I scanned the grove of mossy oaks, my heart beating a little faster. When I’d practiced, I hadn’t had an audience. But today, half the city was out here in the forest to watch the start of the trial. There was no way to know where this competition would lead us today, but seemingly everyone in town had left their homes and lined up in the woods and city like they were waiting for a parade, hoping to get a glimpse of the moment that might fell a king or crown a queen.

Mist snaked around the ancient boughs and trunks.

I closed my eyes again, mentally reviewing the spells. I didn’t need to review them at this point, but it kept me from looking at Orion’s eyes, and from remembering the feel of his strong hands on me—

Focus.

My jaw clenched. Practicing, I mouthed the words like I was murmuring a prayer for salvation.

The sound of footfalls crunching over twigs pulled my attention from the spell. The dean of Belial crossed into the grove. Mistress Blacknettle, a stunning mortal woman, wore a crown of bluebells and white bloodroot flowers over her long silver curls.

Standing ramrod straight, she lifted her chin. “It has been centuries since a shadow scion has challenged a king. Two Lightbringers, each blessed by Lucifer, vie for the crown tonight, according to the ancient rules of the trials. At dusk, in the boundary between the world of the living and the dead, we will begin. And as night falls over the ancient city, the gods shall decide who will rule the City of Thorns.”

A shiver skittered up my spine. Did the gods really have anything to do with this beyond Tammuz’s fervent desire to create chaos?

Mistress Blacknettle pulled out two small vials of blood, one for each of us. Inhaling deeply, I pulled the cork open, then dipped my pinkie into the blood and leaned over to draw the star on my forehead.

“Whoever is able to first summon Alaric will have a bond with him, and the other competitor will not,” the dean declared. “But the bond does not guarantee a win, only an advantage. The trial will not be concluded until the crown is in someone’s hand. Understood?”

As I painted the star onto myself, the shadows thickened around us, and the sultry breeze picked up, catching leaves in the air. Distant thunder rolled across the forest.

The dean took the vials from us and stepped away, her gray eyes flitting between Orion and me.

I inhaled the forest air as I started to summon my magic. Over the past few days, I’d discovered the perfect memory for invoking just the right amount. In my mind’s eye, I thought of a happy memory—one filled with love but tinged with just a bit of sadness to keep me from destroying everyone.

I remembered being sick one night with a fever, and Mom lay next to me in bed. The moonlight streamed in the window, and Mom made a shadow puppet in its light. There were two she could make, a dog and a rabbit. She told a little story with them, and it didn’t make a lot of sense. But the important thing was that she’d been lying next to me. Thinking of how she looked after me, love bloomed in my chest, and magic glowed faintly from my body.

And as soon as the dean spoke the single Demonic word that heralded the start of the trial, a sense of calm spread over me.

I launched into the spell I’d memorized, desperate to form the bond with Alaric.

As I spoke, the air chilled, mist rising from the frozen underworld. Around us, spirits began moving between the trunks, their forms silvery and transparent. I was pronouncing each word with precision, the words flowing as quickly and fluidly as the Acheron River. It was as if the gods were inhabiting my body…

Shadows pooled in the grove, and a warm fog slid between the gnarled, mossy trees. I no longer worried that Orion would distract me. In fact, I had the power to throw him off course. As I recited the spell, I looked up at Orion and gave him a sultry wink.

His eyes widened just a touch. I heard him trip over a single syllable.

With a half-smile, I finished the last word of the spell—Alaric.

I’d done it. With that final word, magic crackled over my skin, heralding the arrival of the Visigoth somewhere in the city.

An invisible thread formed, connecting me to him, tugging me north.