Ari and the shadow knight

The copper Taste

The Copper Taste

The silence in the Great Hall was absolute.

Nobody moved a single muscle. The two guards I had slipped past stood frozen near the door with their swords half-drawn. Up in the gallery the noble lords leaned over the polished wooden railings like hungry vultures waiting for meat.

Duke Varn stared down at the leather-wrapped dagger resting on the stone altar. A tiny muscle twitched in his pale jaw. He looked from the steel up to my face.

"A dramatic display," Varn said flatly into the cold room. "But bringing drawn steel before the High Council without leave is treason—"

"It is a right," Cassian's voice cut through the air.

Cassian stepped away from the base of the dais. He did not touch his own sword hilt. His heavy leather boots clacked against the stone floor in a slow steady rhythm. The nearest guards stepped back instantly.

"Under the Blood Law of the Third King," Cassian said, stopping beside me. "A claimant facing the Test of the Chalice has the right to place their champion's steel upon the altar. The dagger is mine. The girl merely carried it to the stone."

Cassian paused and looked right into Varn's cold eyes.

"Unless the Lord Regent wishes to dispute the ancient laws?"

Varn's pale eyes narrowed in dark anger. He glanced up at the gallery. Several of the older lords were already nodding their heads in firm agreement. They remembered the old laws.

"Very well," Varn snapped through gritted teeth. He flicked his hand at the guards. "Sheathe your steel."

The guards slid their blades back into leather sheaths with a collective metallic sigh.

Duke Varn turned back to the altar. He picked up a heavy silver pitcher and tipped it over the golden chalice.

The liquid was not red wine. It was thick and dark like the deep purple of dried liver. A heavy smell of old copper and wet earth drifted out of the cup. It was thick enough to weigh down the cold air around us.

"The blood of the First King," Varn announced loudly to the gallery.

He lifted the heavy golden cup with both hands and held it out to me. The raw rubies carved into the rim caught the bright torchlight.

"Drink Arianna of Lowen," Varn said softly. "Let the old magic speak."

I stared down at the dark dull surface. My stomach twisted into tight painful knots. I remembered the gray poison eating through my bedroom rug three days ago. I remembered the three empty chairs of the dead heirs behind me.

If they could poison the wine in my private room they could easily poison this chalice.

I looked over at Cassian. He stood perfectly still with his broad arms crossed over his chest. He gave no reassuring nod. His amber eyes remained fixed on the golden cup.

Do not show them a girl from the slums, I told myself. Show them a queen who survives the dirt.

I reached forward and closed my cold fingers around the heavy gold cup. The metal was freezing against my skin.

I lifted the chalice to my lips.

The smell of raw copper hit my nose first. It was so strong my eyes watered.

I tilted the cup back and drank.

The liquid was thick and slimy. It tasted of bitter salt, heavy rust, and a strange oil that made my throat lock up instantly. It felt like swallowing melted iron.

A fierce white-hot heat bloomed in my chest. It spread straight through my veins like wildfire. It felt as though my blood was boiling inside my skin, trying to tear its way out.

It is poison, my mind screamed in pure terror. They got you.

My lungs locked up completely. The room tilted sideways. The faces of the lords in the gallery blurred into smears of gray and white.

I wanted to drop the heavy cup. I wanted to claw at my burning throat. I wanted to fall to my knees and scream for help.

Then my eyes caught Duke Varn.

He was leaning forward over the altar. A tiny cruel smile twitched at the corner of his thin mouth. He was waiting for me to choke. He was waiting for me to fall dead on the stone.

I forced my jaw shut.

I swallowed every single drop of the bitter burning liquid. I tipped the chalice until it was completely empty then slammed the heavy gold cup back onto the stone altar.

The sharp c***k of the gold hitting the stone echoed off the vaulted ceiling.

Silence fell over the hall once more.

I stood motionless before the altar. My chest rose and fell in short fast breaths.

The fierce tearing pain in my chest did not kill me. The burning heat slowly settled into a deep heavy warmth that spread through my arms and legs. It left me feeling solid and grounded.

I looked down at my hands. They were pale but steady. My skin did not turn black. My throat did not swell shut.

Duke Varn's cruel smile vanished completely. His face turned the ugly color of old lard as his eyes moved from my face to the empty cup.

"She lives," a lord whispered from the high gallery.

"The blood is true!" another called out, his loud voice breaking the quiet. "The line of Lowen stands!"

A sudden loud murmur swept across the entire gallery.

I ignored the shouting nobles. I took two steps forward until I was standing inches away from Duke Varn.

"The fourth chair is still empty Duke Varn," I said in a rough voice. "But I don't think I will be sitting in the crypt today."

Varn said nothing. He took a slow step backward and hid his trembling hands inside the long velvet sleeves of his robe.

"The trial is complete," Varn announced weakly to the room. The strength had completely left his voice. "The High Council recognizes the claim. Lady Arianna is the rightful heir."

Without another word Varn turned on his heel and rushed down the steps. His four guards hurried after him as he disappeared through the heavy side doors.

Cassian climbed the dais steps in quiet heavy strides. He reached out his large hand and picked up his leather-wrapped dagger from the altar. He slid it back into his belt with a soft click.

There was no pride on his face. There was no relief in his dark eyes.

"You survived the first cut," Cassian murmured softly as the lords began filing out of the hall. "But do not celebrate."

He looked toward the dark doorway where Duke Varn had just fled.

"Now that they know magic cannot kill you," Cassian whispered into the cold air. "They will stop using cups."