Several passersby offer me a glance, only to wrinkle their noses and scurry away as if poverty were contagious, yet I pay them no mind. The High Hold. This is where Kay belongs. And I will get her here, even if it’s the last thing I do.

Though first I have to figure out where I’m supposed to be going.

While the rest of Wrohelm is divided into rings, the circle of the High Hold is divided into arcs fanning out from the palace at the centre. While I’m pretty sure the Rettlings aren’t going to be in the temple arc or the courtier arc, I don’t know for certain, and annoyingly, there’s no big sign with ‘Retterheld’ written on it, directing me. Which means I’m going to have to ask someone.

As I search out a friendly face among the scores of people milling about in their finest furs, I spot a priestess of Yordenrin – Goddess of Chaos – dressed in a purple cloak. Priestesses feel like a safe bet to ask for help. With a slight grunt, I hoist my bags firmly back onto my shoulder and hurry over to her.

‘Excuse me.’ I wait until she’s looking at me before I continue. ‘Do you know where the Rettlings are supposed to go?’

The elderly woman tilts her head to the side, and the purple stone within her forehead gleams like fire in amethyst. Rather than speaking, she merely points towards the palace.

It’s not the most helpful direction I’ve ever been given, but I do as she directed, walking between two large buildings with great colonnades while trying to keep my mind on the task at hand, rather than getting distracted by all the wondrous sights around me.

I know it’s been fourteen years since I was here, but my memory has grossly failed me. Either that or it deliberately tried to forget how truly magnificent it was so as not to make me ache for it more. Everything feels like I am seeing it for the first time.

To my right, a large pond is set in front of a red brick building, and waterlilies grow above broad-plated leaves. To my left, a group of red cloaks – priestesses of Niairah, Goddess of Air and Fire – stand in silence around a vortex of swirling flames. I assume the building behind them is a temple to the Goddess. Just as I’m starting to think I never spent any time in this part of the ring, I spot a large wall behind the temple and a spark of recognition alights within me.

Is it the barracks beyond there or the courts? No, the courthouses were in the eastern arc, I’m sure of that. So that would be the barracks, wouldn’t it? And for some reason, I suspect that’s where I’m meant to go. I turn, hoping to find another guard or priestess I can ask, when I hear my name called.

‘Rose? Rose Kultavaris?’

The man calling me is dressed in a tight white top and a pair of equally snug dark black trousers that sure as hell leave nothing to the imagination, though from what I can see, that’s the point. Not wanting to be caught staring, I draw my eyes up his torso. Shadows curve around his abs and his shoulders have to be equally broad as Ruben’s, only far more filled out. But it’s his face that holds my attention. His warm sandy hair, his amber eyes that hold a hint of familiarity, and his soft smile. A corkscrewing that has nothing to do with nerves ripples through my stomach as he strides towards me.

‘Rose Kultavaris,’ he says, embracing me – or rather, engulfing me with his arms. When we break away, his grin is replaced by a frown. ‘I can’t believe it,’ he says. ‘You, a Rettling? Honestly, when I saw your name …’ He lowers his voice slightly, eyes lingering on my hair. ‘You’re still stripped, right?’

‘Jonas?’ I feel my lips break into a grin as I finally place him. ‘Jonas Lorathin?’

The last time I saw Jonas, he was a scrawny boy, desperate to prove himself. To grow some muscles and fight with the men. Well, it sure as hell looks like he succeeded in that.

His face is partially hidden by a full, neatly kept beard, and the top half of his thick blond hair is tied in a knot, while the remainder is in a thick braid that passes his shoulders. The type of braids I could imagine getting a good hold of as I pull him⁠—

‘You’re staring,’ he says, a slight quirk on his lips. ‘Is that a good thing?’

His voice cuts into my inappropriate thoughts before they can fully form, and I clear my throat to buy myself a moment.

‘It’s an … odd thing.’ I say truthfully. ‘It’s weird, you know? In my head, you’re still a little kid.’

‘Yeah, same.’ A smile flickers into a smirk, and good Gods, it’s cute on him. Reassuring, comforting … flirtatious. I must remember to thank Dinah for putting those extra dealun seeds in my bag.

‘Most of the other Rettlings are sparring in the battle yard.’ Jonas’s voice once again stops my daydreams in their tracks. ‘Everyone’s keen to get acquainted with their opponents and explore the king’s weaponry store, which he’s opened for our use. You know, work out the best ways and tools to beat them.’

Fuck. I was so focused on getting as much time with Kay as possible that I didn’t even think about the advantages that would have come with arriving early. Well, there’s no point wasting time now.

‘The aim of the Retterheld is to win the challenges, not kill the other competitors.’ I’m not sure why it seems so important to say this. I’m not normally naïve, but a part of me had just hoped.

His smile widens. ‘I like your optimism.’

But it’s foolish. The words go unsaid but hang in the air regardless.

‘Do you know whether your father has my sister?’

He blinks. ‘Should he?’

Panic grips me. ‘I … I asked if he would keep her nearby.’

He shrugs. ‘Then he probably did so. I haven’t been able to see him since I arrived last night.’ His tone is vaguely apologetic.

I force a smile. ‘No problem. Can you take me somewhere to dump this stuff, then to the battle yard?’ I ask. ‘I guess it’s time I got practising.’

‘Sure thing.’ He lets out a slight chuckle as he tosses me another glance. ‘Rose Kultavaris,’ he mutters again. ‘In the Retterheld.’ He shakes his head in utter disbelief.

I tighten my grip on my bags. I’m going to prove him wrong. Prove all of them wrong. I deserve to be here, and I can win.

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Chapter 9

As we walk through a series of archways and corridors, Jonas tells me about people he thinks I should remember. People who are in the Retterheld. Those who tried but didn’t make it as far as the offering. Those who made the offering but didn’t get selected.

‘You remember Lora, right? You two used to be friends. She tried to enter but got bitten by a dire wolf outside the temple. Luckily, she had a team of healers on standby, so she’s fine.’

I’m glad that Jonas is happily talking away to himself. It means he isn’t looking at me. Lora. That’s a name I’ve tried to push from my mind in the last decade and a half. He was right. We were friends. But that was before.

‘Florian was a baby,’ she said when she saw me after the queen’s death. ‘You should be grateful it wasn’t you or Acacia the king decided to kill instead.’

Gratitude for the murder of my brother. That’s what my best friend thought I should feel.

That was the last time I spoke to Lora, and I’m more than a little delighted that she wasn’t able to get into the Retterheld.

‘We’re all in the eastern arc,’ Jonas says, walking through a large gate set into yet another wall and leading us across an open courtyard. ‘The king’s guards had to give over one of their barracks and training grounds for the Rettlings. It’s basic, but comfy enough.’

The eastern arc is a part of the High Hold I’ve never been in, though I used to dream about it often enough. I dreamed about being selected to become a guard. About training for four long years before being sent to the Afaven Forest to bond with a dire wolf. Now though, I can’t help but wonder how many knights there are going to be in the competition.