Crush the King (Crown of Shards #3)(110)

His gaze locked with mine. “And that is one of the things that makes you such an excellent queen.”

“I don’t know about that, but I try. I suppose that’s all any of us can really do in the end, even Winter queens.”

Sullivan stared at me, love and understanding filling his blue, blue eyes. I leaned forward and kissed him, breathing in his cold, clean vanilla scent. His arms snaked around me, and he kissed me back, even as the warmth of his body soaked into my own.

“Come to bed,” he murmured.

I did, and we spent the next hour making each other forget about all the dangers waiting for us in the arena tomorrow.

Afterward, Sullivan drifted off to sleep, but I couldn’t rest, so I got out of bed, put on some clothes, along with my sword and dagger, and left the tent. The guards stationed outside started to follow me, but I waved them off. I wasn’t going far.

I ended up on the rise at the edge of the Bellonan camp. Down below, the Perseverance Bridge gleamed like a sapphire arrow pointing toward Fortuna, while the ships anchored in the harbor bobbed up and down like golden and silver fireflies dancing on the surface of the water. More lights gleamed on the island, although the Mortan side of the river was largely dark.

It was a cold, clear December night, and the moon hung like a silver shield in the black arena of the sky, surrounded by the bright, tiny drops of blood oozing out of the stars. I drew in a breath, tasting all the scents swirling through the air. The smoke from the campfires. The last lingering hints of grilled chicken, fish, and more from people’s dinners. The frost slowly forming on the ground.

But above it all, I could smell this rich, dark scent—crushed stone mixed with cold dirt. The scent that was truly, uniquely Bellona.

I crouched down. Aisha had healed the gash in my left palm, so I dug my hands into the ground, moving past the grass and grabbing two handfuls of earth. Then I drew my hands up and inhaled deeply. The scent of stone and dirt flooded my nose again, bringing with it a sense of strength, peace, and above all, determination. I was fighting for this land and its people, so they could be safe, happy, and free, and I could never, ever forget that.

I let the dirt slowly trickle through my fingers, then got to my feet. I stared at the island in the distance again, then turned and headed back to my tent and Sullivan to get what sleep I could.

*

The next morning, I sat in front of the vanity table in my tent, staring at my reflection.

Calandre had made me exactly what I’d requested. She must have worked on the outfit all night, but she had kept her promise.

I was wearing fighting leathers similar to the ones I’d worn at the Black Swan arena—a tight, fitted sleeveless shirt, a knee-length kilt, and sturdy sandals with straps that wound up past my ankles. The leathers were a deep midnight-blue, and Calandre had stitched my crown-of-shards crest in glittering silver thread over my heart. My tearstone sword dangled off my belt, and my shield was sitting nearby, waiting to be strapped to my forearm.

Calandre’s sisters had also done their part, painting my face to make me look like a swan. But not a black swan this time. That was Serilda’s symbol. No, I was a tearstone swan, a Bellonan swan, a Winter queen swan.

Dark blue shadow rimmed my eyes in thick, heavy circles before tapering off to sharp points. Bright silver paint had been streaked over the blue, creating shard-like feathers. Blue and silver crystals had been glued at the corners of my eyes, and silver glitter had been dusted all over my neck, arms, hands, and legs. My black hair was pulled back into three knots that bristled with blue feathers, and for a final touch, my lips had been painted a dark blue.

I had started this journey as a gladiator, and I was going to finish it as one.

“Well, my queen?” Calandre asked. “What do you think?”

I looked up and smiled at her, along with Camille and Cerana, who were hovering nearby. “It’s perfect. Exactly what I wanted. Thank you again for making it on such short notice.”

Calandre bowed her head. “It’s been my honor to serve you, and I look forward to doing so for many more years to come.”

Her confidence surprised me. Warmth and gratitude flooded my heart, and I got to my feet, reached out, and hugged her.

I drew back. “Thank you. It has been an honor to have you as my thread master.”

Calandre wet her lips, as if debating whether she should say what was on her mind, but she finally did. “I’ve already lost one queen to the Mortans. I would hate to lose another one.”

She curtsied to me in the traditional Bellonan style, then left the tent with her sisters trailing along behind her.

I stared at my reflection a moment longer, then grabbed my shield and left the tent as well.

My friends were waiting outside. Sullivan. Paloma. Serilda. Cho. Xenia. Auster. The last time we had done something like this had been the night of Vasilia’s coronation. I hoped that today went as well as that night had—and that I was able to save Bellona from the Mortans.

So many things needed to fall into place for that to truly happen, but I was more optimistic about my chances for success than I had been in months. Plus, my friends were here to see this thing through with me—even if it led to our deaths.

“To the end?” I asked in a soft voice.

“To the end,” they replied back in unison.

“Then let’s finish this.”

My friends and I headed toward the rise at the edge of camp. Leonidas was also here, once again sandwiched in the middle of the large contingent of guards who flanked us. To my surprise, the boy had asked Auster if he could attend the royal challenge, although his face was pale, and I could smell his worry.