“Just not the family power.”
She pulls me aside—right next to a charred suit of armor that doesn’t exactly inspire confidence about the family business—and grabs my shoulders. “I don’t believe that. You shouldn’t, either.”
I sigh and take a step back, slipping out of her grip. “I’ve tried. Whatever makes you and Father so amazing just isn’t in my repertoire.” I shrug. “I don’t have the magic.”
Celeste glares at me. “You don’t want it, you mean.”
She’s starting to sound like Torrin. “Yeah? And so what if I don’t? Why should I?” I gesture to the charred suit of armor looming next to us. “So I can end up in here? So a new generation of paladins can stare at what might as well be my mangled corpse and be inspired to go get themselves killed, too?”
“They were killed protecting the kingdom, our home. You want to hide in these barracks all the time and rely on other people to keep you safe? Fine. But don’t forget that people like them”—she waves at all the suits of armor lining the hall—“and people like me are the only reason you have that luxury. It’s a dangerous world out there, and some of us have to live with that.”
“If I wanted a lecture, I would have asked Father.”
“You have to want the magic. If you wanted it badly enough, you’d find it.”
“Right. It’s my fault I’m a dud because I just don’t want it enough. Being defenseless against my worst fear is my choice. I want everyone to make fun of me and for Father to have to raffle me off to the highest bidder because I’m not good for anything else.”
“You’ve still got two weeks until your birthday. Father’s made up his mind, but if you had the family gift, if you had real magic, he couldn’t force this on you.”
“No, then I’d just have to go out dragon hunting and risk my life on a daily basis. Until I came back gutted or maimed or burnt to a crisp. And don’t tell me that wouldn’t happen, because you might be able to survive out there, but even with magic, I’m not cut out for hunting dragons. So, let’s face it, Celeste, this marriage is kind of my only option.”
Celeste tilts her head and gives me a look, but she doesn’t say anything and instead marches me onward toward my fate.
We turn the corner and move past a few more suits of armor—these ones are intact and have been polished to such a bright sheen that it almost hurts my eyes—and then through the heavy wooden doors and into the Ceremonial Room at the end of the hall.
The room is structured kind of like a chapel. There are ornately carved wooden benches lining both sides, with an aisle running between them that leads to a stone dais. This is where the Families gather to hold elaborate ceremonies to honor their heroes. It’s where the last rites are given over the bodies of those who don’t come back alive. It’s also where we hold weddings.
A fact that isn’t lost on me as I trudge down the aisle with Celeste, toward our waiting father and my new husband-to-be. I gulp down a mouthful of air, suddenly feeling like I can’t breathe. It’s worse than I thought. He’s worse than I thought, because standing there, next to my father, is a thin, bony old man. He’s completely bald, with a wispy white beard that hangs off his chin in tufts. He’s dressed in a tailored suit and stands stick straight, his mouth a grim line as he watches me approach. Appraising me with cold, hard eyes.
I’ve seen him before—one of Father’s friends—and my mind races, trying to remember his name, but the more I scramble to remember, the more I draw a blank.
“Virginia,” my father says, “you remember Lord Varrens?”
“Of course,” I lie. For a moment, I think maybe this isn’t really happening. Maybe he has a son my age—or at least closer to my age—and that’s why he’s here. He can’t possibly intend to marry me himself, can he? “Is your son here?”
Celeste elbows me hard in the ribs, and Father purses his lips in a scowl.
“I have never been blessed with any sons,” Lord Varrens says in his reedy old-man voice. “Many daughters, but no sons.”
“Silly me,” I mutter. “Your grandson, then?”
“Vee!” Celeste hisses, her eyes going wide.
Father’s eyes narrow until they’re just two little dark beads staring down at me. Lord Varrens must be hard of hearing—no wonder, at his age—because he doesn’t seem to notice I said anything.
Father clears his throat. “Lord Varrens has graciously offered to take your hand in marriage. This way you won’t have to go far from home. It’s the perfect match.”
Lord Varrens nods, looking me over. “Perhaps she can give me the son I’ve always hoped for.”
“Yes,” Father says. “A good strong paladin son.”
This guy? On top of me? I don’t think so. “Was there seriously no one else?”
“What?” Father says, sounding incredulous. Like he can’t believe I would be so bold.“I said, was there no one else? No other suitors? You didn’t have any other friends who were closer to my age that you could pawn me off on? Any that were still breathing?”
“Virginia!” Father’s face turns bright red.
This time I know Lord Varrens heard because his mouth drops open and he looks from me to my father in disbelief.
Father takes a step toward me, his voice low as he speaks through gritted teeth. “After that debacle last night, you’re lucky to have anyone willing to even consider asking for you.”
“Asking for me. Right. Like I don’t know you’re behind this. How much did you have to promise him? How much gold and armor? Or was my blood enough?”
“How dare you speak to me like that!”
“And how dare you sell me to someone like him! I know you hate me—ever since Mother’s death—but this? Did you at least tell him I’m a dud? That I don’t have the family magic?”
“Virginia!” Father raises his hand, ready to slap me.
I brace myself, almost wanting it to happen. To let everyone see how much he hates me. And yet part of me—a big part—really hopes Celeste will come to my rescue and intervene.
But it’s Lord Varrens who grabs Father’s hand to stop him, while Celeste only gapes at me. “Please,” Lord Varrens says. “I only want a son before I’m gone. I don’t care about his bloodline.”
So that’s it. He doesn’t even want me for my family. Which I should be relieved about, but somehow it just makes me feel even more useless. I glare at my father, my face hot with shame, tears prickling my eyes. “How could you do this to me?” I turn on my heel and walk away from him.
“Virginia! Don’t you dare!” he shouts, but he doesn’t lift a finger to stop me.
Celeste grabs my arm. “What do you think you’re doing? You can’t just walk out!”
“Watch me. I didn’t see you trying to stop Father just now. So don’t try to stop me, either.” I twist out of her grasp, just as pissed at her as I am at Father, and make a run for the door.
4
I’VE ALWAYS HAD A SOFT SPOT FOR VIRGINS
I can’t hide in my room, because that’s the first place everyone would look for me. And the last thing I want right now—besides marrying Lord Varrens, obviously—is to have Celeste find me sobbing under my covers and tell me I have to honor my duty as a St. George. Being a St. George is all great and wonderful for her, but not so much for me. And she might be brave enough to fight dragons, but she’s too scared or just too blindly obedient to ever stand up to Father.
So when I get to the staircase, I don’t go up to my room. It’s only a matter of time before Celeste comes to drag me back to my fate, and I hate the idea that she knows exactly where to find me. Or at least that she thinks she does. I go down the stairs instead, down to the dungeon, the last place anyone would ever think to look for me.
A few torches line the walls, their light dim, and I’m grateful for the darkness as the tears start to fall. I wish I could be stronger and braver, like Celeste. If getting married off to some bony old man was her lot, she’d take it with her chin held high. No running and no tears. She definitely wouldn’t be hiding in the dungeon, feeling sorry for herself.
But I am not my sister. And now that I’m alone, hot tears fill my eyes and spill down my cheeks. My shoulders shake, and a loud sob escapes my lungs, echoing off the dungeon’s stone walls and empty jail cells. I lean against one of the walls, my hands pressed to my face. The stones are cold and harsh, unforgiving, just like everything else in my life right now.
Then a chain jingles in the cell to my left. Metal scrapes across the floor. Cold fear floods my entire body and makes my heart race.
Great. Just when I thought I was alone with my misery. If there’s anything worse than Celeste finding me crying my eyes out, it’s got to be this. Because I know we’ve only got one prisoner right now. One I thought would be in an interrogation room with a crew of paladins extracting information from him. Not here, in a cell, listening.
Amelrik comes up to the metal door, right up to the barred window, and I hear him sniffing the air. My tears are all dried up, replaced with terror. I’m frozen against the wall, unable to move. And then I remind myself that he’s chained up and locked in a cell. He can’t hurt me, and even if he could . . . isn’t he the one who told me to run last night? Didn’t he try to save me from Lothar?