Jordan returns to my quarters that evening at dinnertime. She’s glowing, but I barely have the chance to say two words to her before the message arrives from the Elven Command about the next trial.

Elise reads from the delivered parchment: “The next trial will be a game of wits, designed to eliminate one champion. The champions are to present themselves to the…” She pauses, throwing a questioning glance my way. “…to the War Room at the ninth hour tomorrow morning. Only the Elven Command and the champions’ advisors may be present.”

She rolls up the parchment, frowning at it. “That’s all it says.”

“So it’s a test of intelligence in the War Room?” I shrug it off. There’s no way I’m going to let it darken my last few hours with Jordan. I slap my hand over my knee. “Well, I’m not going to get any smarter overnight and I’m pretty sure I can handle a trial and a wedding in the same day so… I order no more talk about it tonight. Let’s eat and enjoy our time with our Storm Commander before she gets married tomorrow evening.”

My ladies break into smiles and cheering. Jordan glows all through the meal, but she’s also full of purpose. Finishing her food opposite me, she says, “You need a new Storm Commander.”

“Jordan, it’s fine. Elise will put in a request once you’re married. Thanks to you, the Storm Command works like clockwork. It can wait a day.”

She nods and tops up my glass of water. I give her a look: she doesn’t need to wait on me hand and foot.

She says, “You did this amazing thing for me. I can’t ever repay you.”

“All this talk of repayment. Be happy. That’s all I want.” I click my tongue. I can’t help it. I say, “And maybe name one of your children after me.”

She turns bright pink, stacking her dishes in a pile on the table. By the time she’s done rearranging the cups and plates, she’s become very quiet. “I’m going to miss you, Marbella Mercy.”

I bite my lower lip. “Hey, you said my name.”

“I did.”

“I’m going to miss you too, Jordan.”

She clears her throat. “All right then, I’m still in charge here so I’ll stay tonight and—”

“Get ready here tomorrow? I’m sorry that I have to go out in the morning for the trial, but I’ll be back in the afternoon. What are you going to wear?”

“Um…” She glances down at her gray suit.

“Oh no. Nope. Not that.” I push my plate away and stand up on my chair. “Storm Command, attention! We have an emergency.”

All ten of them swivel to me and I’m seriously impressed with how quickly they drop their knives and forks. They’re ready for anything. Which is good because…

I grin. “Jordan needs a dress.”

For the next few hours, I forget everything except my friend’s happiness. My ladies show me just how multi-talented they are when they pull together enough material to not only sew a dress, but also make it on the spot with the same craftsmanship they used to make my armor. It’s a fine green silk with a bodice that hugs Jordan’s curves and flows gently from her hips. At midnight, when they’re finished and Jordan tries it on, Elise adds the final touches by spellcasting one of the silver candlesticks into fine filigree to adorn the skirt and rest across Jordan’s shoulders.

My ladies hug each other and some of them start to cry. “Happy tears,” they say. I know this is a side of them that nobody else will ever see—that they will never let anyone else see because they are warriors to their core. But they’re also friends and aren’t afraid to show their emotions around each other.

As Jordan twirls in her new dress, she gives me a grin and her true character shines through when she hitches up the skirt to reveal a weapons belt just like mine around her thigh and knee.

“I approve,” I whisper, as my ladies surround her, and I wish I could hug them instead of keeping my distance.

Finally, Elise points at the ornate clock on the wall. “You need to get some rest.”

“Is it too much to ask for tomorrow not to arrive at all? I’d like to stay in this moment for a while longer.”

“I understand. But really, it’s time for sleep now.” She gives me her stern look, the one I know comes from concern for my wellbeing. The Elven Command’s message about the next trial was obscure. I know the time and place but not much more. I’ll need all my wits about me if I’m going to succeed. Which means I need rest. Reluctantly, I leave my friends, not sure how much sleep I’ll get ahead of tomorrow, finally falling asleep to the patter of rainfall outside.

I’m the first to arrive at the War Room. I leave the Storm Command at the door and only Elise accompanies me inside, one step behind me. The Elven Command waits in a line at the front of the room behind the War Table. The whole space looks very different to the last time I was here battling my Storm Command and learning how to fight again. There are three chairs spaced apart in the open part of the room, but otherwise, it’s empty.

Osian Valor is the first of the Elven Command to greet me. I’m sure that’s intended to throw me off balance given what happened with Rhydian. He gives me a thin smile. “Welcome, Princess. Please take a seat while we wait for the other two champions.”

Jasper and Baelen arrive at the same time, their advisors in tow. I assess the gap between us when they sit down, conscious that they are both doing the same. None of us trusts the Elven Command not to turn the tables on us.

Our advisors take their places behind us as Osian Valor clears his throat. “For this challenge, we have invoked the power of the Heartstone Chest. It is able to discern from the heartstones contained within it, your minds’ true thoughts and your hearts’ true desires. But this game is not about knowing your own thoughts. It is about knowing your enemy’s.”

He claps his hands and from nowhere, barriers shoot up between the three of us. There are now walls between us stretching from floor to ceiling. I can’t see Baelen or Jasper, but I can see the Elven Command in front of me.

Elise whispers at my back, “Steady, Princess. Don’t react.”

Osian waits with one eyebrow raised as if he expected one or more of us to protest. When we don’t, he claps his hands again. Less alarming this time, a small table appears in front of me.

He says, “For this challenge you will be presented with two cups. Each cup will have a certain… meaning.” He paces the floor, taking his time. “You must choose which one to drink. The only way to remain in the game is to choose the same cup as one of your opponents. As soon as you choose a different cup from the other two champions, you will be eliminated and the game is over.”

I take deep breaths as my head spins about the rules. I have to choose the same cup as Baelen or Jasper. If I’m the odd one out, I’ll be eliminated.

Osian grins. “Oh, and just to make things interesting, the substance you’ll be drinking won’t assist clear thinking.” He waves his hands at the War Table. “Much like the fog of war and decisions made in battle.”

He claps his hands again and two goblets appear side by side on the table in front of me.

“You may not lift up a cup unless you are prepared to drink from it. You will know when one of your opponents is eliminated because a bell will chime. Now, make your choice.” Osian Valor steps back in line with the other Elven Commanders and I’m guessing that’s all he has to say.

I assess the goblets in front of me. One is gold. The other is silver. Otherwise, they’re identical in shape and form.

Gold or silver? Which would Baelen choose? What about Jasper? I only have to choose the same as one of them. But which one should I try to copy?

Although… what if they don’t choose according to their own instincts? What if they choose the one they think I would choose? If that’s the case, then I should choose the one I would pick, not the one they would pick.

Umm…?

My brain is already boggling.

Okay, focus Marbella. Concentrate on what you know. I take a deep breath. I know that Baelen’s bound himself to me and that that compulsion will urge him to pick the same cup as me. Jasper is loyal to Baelen so he would follow the same footsteps. Which means, I need to know which one I would choose.

Which is…?

One of the Elven Commanders shifts and I catch the movement from the corner of my eye. The others haven’t moved, but they’re all staring at me. Is it possible that I’m the last one to choose or are they trying to psyche me out by making me think I am?

Ignore them.

Would I spin gold or shelter silver? Would I welcome the morning sun or pay homage to the moon? Would I spill blood or dig a grave? I come from poverty so I would never dare drink from a gold cup, yet even silver is too valuable for the House of Mercy. The golden husks of the shimmer beetle plate my armor, but the silver threads from the Elyria spider line it…

I gasp. The image of the gargoyle’s cave is suddenly bright in my memory: those silver threads that only glowed once the golden lamp was extinguished, their beauty hidden except by the light of the moon.

Shelter silver.

I pick up the silver goblet before I can second-guess myself. The clear liquid inside it bites my tongue as it slides down my throat. It’s sweet and cloying, sticking to the insides of my cheeks like syrup. It’s not alcohol. At least, not like any alcohol I’ve ever tasted.

I place the cup back on the table and wait to hear if the bell chimes—if it does, it means that one of us chose differently. If it doesn’t, it means we all chose the same.

There’s a moment of pause. The Elven Command doesn’t look pleased. Osian Valor claps his hands.

The cups disappear. A moment later, two new cups replace them.

Since we’re going another round, that means we all chose the same, which means Baelen and Jasper are trying to choose like me. As long as I’m true to myself, then I can’t go wrong. Unless… I’m wrong about that and they chose the silver cup for reasons personal to themselves and it’s all a big fluke?

Stop it, Marbella. Focus!

Both of the new goblets are made of red glass. They’re transparent enough to see that there’s an object resting inside the bottom of each of them. The scrape of chairs nearby tells me that Baelen and Jasper have stood up to see inside the cups.

As soon as I do the same, I realize it’s a mistake. The blood rushes from my head and I sway, dropping back into my seat. I sense Elise shift behind me, but the Elven Command lift their hands in unison.

“Advisors step back. You may not assist your champions.”

They’re talking to all the advisors, which means it’s not just me that’s been affected by what we just drank from the silver goblet. Whatever was in that drink has left me light-headed and woozy.

I find my seat and the world stops swimming as soon as I sit down, but that’s not going to help me because I still can’t see what’s inside the cups to know how to choose. Curses.

I rest my chin on the table and peer hard at each goblet. From the brief glimpse I had from the top, the two objects were both circular, but different, so I can’t simply choose between left and right. I need to know what’s inside the cups and I can’t tilt them toward me because that would mean lifting them.

I remember the speech I gave Jasper on the mountain when I thought he was belittling me. I’d told him not to make the mistake of thinking I was fragile. Which means I have to stand up and work through the pain. Baelen and Jasper would too.

Gripping the table, I brace myself against the oncoming dizziness. I see inside only one of the cups before the world spins so hard I have to sit down again. It was a coin.

I brace and go again. This time the nausea is worse and I barely make it up far enough to glimpse the second cup’s contents: a miniature rose.

I thud back into my chair, closing my eyes and waiting for the world to stop spinning. A choice between a rose or a coin is a choice between beauty or wealth. Two vices that could define an elf’s motivations.

Unless… the rose isn’t a symbol of beauty but of something more personal. Jasper told me that his sister made roses from silk. On top of that, Baelen was the only one who came from a major House and enjoyed the benefits of wealth—yet he’d turned his back on it to disappear for three years.

I drink from the cup with the rose in it and once again, the sugary syrup lines my mouth. I swallow as little as I can this time and wait for the chime.

Once again, there’s silence.

Osian Valor claps his hands.

Two new cups appear. My vision blurs as I try to focus on them, but the distinction is clear enough I don’t need to examine them that carefully: one is large and one is small. I swallow a laugh and reach for the small one. Maybe it’s not a reference to my height—I’m sure there must be some deeper meaning, like the large cup representing gluttony or something like that—but the small one is the one for me.

I take the smallest sip and the Elven Command is definitely not happy. But neither is my head. Up might be down for all I know right now. After drinking from that cup, the table warps at the edges and the figures of the Elven Command bend and sway in the distance like grass in a gentle breeze. Osian Valor’s head looks like a fleshy blob on his shoulders and his robe appears to melt into the floor. Whatever, they’re giving us to drink, it’s definitely messing with my head.

Two more cups later, Osian Valor claps his hands and the sound thuds through my head like drums. I swear, if that male claps his hands one more time… I’d like to believe I’d leap up and make him stop, but actually, probably what I’ll do is hurl. Every sound, even the quiet scuffle of feet, thrums through my head like a sledgehammer.

As two new cups appear, I can barely focus.

I slide from my chair, resting my chin on the table to try to see what’s in front of me. If this is how Baelen felt at the compatibility test, it’s no wonder he needed help finding the door. I squeeze my eyes shut, open them, and give everything to the effort to focus.

Each of these new cups has an image engraved on it, but both engravings are faint, fine, and hard to see.

As I focus on the one on the right, the image lifts off the surface of the cup, coming alive. It’s a rope, twisting and twirling. No, not a rope, something more elegant, more precious. It’s a ribbon, swirling loose in the air, floating away before I can catch it. It’s a blue ribbon stolen by the wind.

I reach for that cup, dragging it from the table as I slide to the floor. I take a sip before I hit the ground, lying on my side, shutting my eyes and hugging the cup close, not caring that the liquid makes a puddle on the floor beside me.

The bell chimes.

My eyes shoot open. The chime means someone chose differently, but… who?

I refocus on the cup I’m holding.

Oh, no… It’s not a ribbon. It’s a… fish hook?

I drag myself upright, clinging to the table, focusing on the other cup before Osian Valor can clap his hands and make it disappear. The other goblet is etched with three wavy lines curling at the end like waves in the sea or… no, it’s a representation of wind in the clouds. I drop my head into my hands. The other cup had a symbol of the storm. Baelen and Jasper would have chosen that one because it represents me.

I chose the wrong one.

I’m eliminated.

I’m out of the trials.