The Goddess Test
Page 72
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“Do I have to wear shoes?” I said, glancing at the heels Ava had picked out for me.
“Your gown is long enough that the hem should hide your bare feet,” said Henry. He hesitated, then said in a low voice, “Kate, are you sure?”
“Sure I don’t want to wear shoes? Yes. I can barely walk.”
“No, I mean—are you certain that you do not wish to take me up on my offer?”
Never seeing Henry again or returning to Eden. I couldn’t think of anything I wanted less. “Positive,” I said, leaning against him. “If we don’t leave now, we’ll be late. I’m not exactly in any shape to be sprinting down the hallway.”
“Do not worry about that.” He brushed his warm fingertips against my cheek. “You understand the consequences of passing and failing?”
“If I fail, I go back to the real world with my memory wiped.” And Henry would fade into nothingness. “If I succeed, I hang out here with you for six months a year.”
“For eternity, unless you wish to end your life,” said Henry. “You will forever stay as you are today, and you will be granted immortality by the council. It is not an easy thing, immortality. You will form connections with mortals, and you will live well beyond their lifetimes. There will never be an end. Your life will be continuous, and eventually you will lose touch with humanity. You will forget what it was to be alive.”
The thought of forever was daunting—it took away the one certainty in life, and that was death. But what good did dying bring? All it brought was pain, and I’d had enough of that to last me the next thousand lifetimes or so.
“Well, then I guess it’s a good thing my best friend is already dead, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” he said dully. “You are quite lucky.”
“No one ever said this was going to be easy,” I said. “I know that.”
“Indeed,” he said, his eyes focused on something I couldn’t see. “And you do understand that success also means that you and I will be married?”
I didn’t know if the shiver that ran down my spine was out of excitement or nerves. “Yeah, I sort of picked up on that. You don’t mind, do you? I mean, I know it’s a little fast and all.”
He cracked a smile. “No, I do not mind. Do you?”
Did I? I wasn’t ready to be anyone’s wife or queen, but it meant I would get to keep him. He’d said that I would be free to be with others and live my own life during my six months away if I wanted, and while I couldn’t imagine finding anyone who could compare to him, it helped alleviate the feeling of being trapped. I shook my head. “Just as long as you don’t make me wear a dress for the ceremony.”
Henry gave me a look. “Why do you believe you are dressed in white?”
“Oh.” I made a face. “That’s not very fair, you know.”
“Yes, I know.” He wrapped his arm around me, the weight of it familiar and comforting. “Now we must leave, else we truly will be late. Close your eyes.”
I did as I was told, wishing my stomach would stop doing somersaults long enough for me to get through this without ruining my gown. When I opened them, we were in the ballroom. It was empty, except for fourteen magnificent thrones arranged in a circle, all from the ball in September. Each was unique: some were made of wood, and others of stone, silver or gold. One looked like it was even made out of branches and vines, but I couldn’t get close enough to get a good look.
Waiting for me in the center was a padded stool. We appeared only a few feet away from it, and Henry helped me to it and didn’t let go of my hand until I was settled. “Comfortable?” he said.
I nodded, and he pressed his lips to my forehead for a lingering moment. “No matter what happens, I will always be there for you, even if you do not remember who I am.”
As his eyes searched mine, I forced a small smile, too nervous to really try. Beneath me the lace of the cushion was irritating, but I didn’t trust myself to move. “There’s no way they could make me forget you,” I said. “No matter what they do to me.”
I saw a glimpse of the sadness in his eyes before he looked away and stepped back. “I will see you shortly,” he said. “Do not move.”
I blinked, and he was gone. I examined the thrones to keep me busy, trying to figure out what the owners might be like. The largest one, looking like it was shaped out of glass, sat directly in front of me. Seeing all fourteen circled around me made my heart pound and my palms sweat, and I fought to keep myself as calm as I could. Instead I looked around, trying to figure out which one belonged to James. Not the one made of seashells. Silver or gold, perhaps, or maybe the one that glowed like an ember.
Thinking about James gave me a headache, so instead I closed my eyes. This was it. There were no more chances and nothing I could do to change the council’s mind. The thought was strangely comforting, knowing that whatever they’d had in store for me was over. For better or for worse, I’d survived. Barely.
But my mother hadn’t, and losing her darkened everything I did now. It felt wrong to be here knowing she was alone. She was the most important thing in my life, and to think about something other than missing her—it felt like a betrayal. I hadn’t moved on, not after only a week, and I was afraid she thought I had.
It was stupid and I knew it—this was what she’d wanted for me, wasn’t it? Would she still be proud of me if I failed? Would she still have given her life for mine if she’d known it wouldn’t do any good?
“Your gown is long enough that the hem should hide your bare feet,” said Henry. He hesitated, then said in a low voice, “Kate, are you sure?”
“Sure I don’t want to wear shoes? Yes. I can barely walk.”
“No, I mean—are you certain that you do not wish to take me up on my offer?”
Never seeing Henry again or returning to Eden. I couldn’t think of anything I wanted less. “Positive,” I said, leaning against him. “If we don’t leave now, we’ll be late. I’m not exactly in any shape to be sprinting down the hallway.”
“Do not worry about that.” He brushed his warm fingertips against my cheek. “You understand the consequences of passing and failing?”
“If I fail, I go back to the real world with my memory wiped.” And Henry would fade into nothingness. “If I succeed, I hang out here with you for six months a year.”
“For eternity, unless you wish to end your life,” said Henry. “You will forever stay as you are today, and you will be granted immortality by the council. It is not an easy thing, immortality. You will form connections with mortals, and you will live well beyond their lifetimes. There will never be an end. Your life will be continuous, and eventually you will lose touch with humanity. You will forget what it was to be alive.”
The thought of forever was daunting—it took away the one certainty in life, and that was death. But what good did dying bring? All it brought was pain, and I’d had enough of that to last me the next thousand lifetimes or so.
“Well, then I guess it’s a good thing my best friend is already dead, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” he said dully. “You are quite lucky.”
“No one ever said this was going to be easy,” I said. “I know that.”
“Indeed,” he said, his eyes focused on something I couldn’t see. “And you do understand that success also means that you and I will be married?”
I didn’t know if the shiver that ran down my spine was out of excitement or nerves. “Yeah, I sort of picked up on that. You don’t mind, do you? I mean, I know it’s a little fast and all.”
He cracked a smile. “No, I do not mind. Do you?”
Did I? I wasn’t ready to be anyone’s wife or queen, but it meant I would get to keep him. He’d said that I would be free to be with others and live my own life during my six months away if I wanted, and while I couldn’t imagine finding anyone who could compare to him, it helped alleviate the feeling of being trapped. I shook my head. “Just as long as you don’t make me wear a dress for the ceremony.”
Henry gave me a look. “Why do you believe you are dressed in white?”
“Oh.” I made a face. “That’s not very fair, you know.”
“Yes, I know.” He wrapped his arm around me, the weight of it familiar and comforting. “Now we must leave, else we truly will be late. Close your eyes.”
I did as I was told, wishing my stomach would stop doing somersaults long enough for me to get through this without ruining my gown. When I opened them, we were in the ballroom. It was empty, except for fourteen magnificent thrones arranged in a circle, all from the ball in September. Each was unique: some were made of wood, and others of stone, silver or gold. One looked like it was even made out of branches and vines, but I couldn’t get close enough to get a good look.
Waiting for me in the center was a padded stool. We appeared only a few feet away from it, and Henry helped me to it and didn’t let go of my hand until I was settled. “Comfortable?” he said.
I nodded, and he pressed his lips to my forehead for a lingering moment. “No matter what happens, I will always be there for you, even if you do not remember who I am.”
As his eyes searched mine, I forced a small smile, too nervous to really try. Beneath me the lace of the cushion was irritating, but I didn’t trust myself to move. “There’s no way they could make me forget you,” I said. “No matter what they do to me.”
I saw a glimpse of the sadness in his eyes before he looked away and stepped back. “I will see you shortly,” he said. “Do not move.”
I blinked, and he was gone. I examined the thrones to keep me busy, trying to figure out what the owners might be like. The largest one, looking like it was shaped out of glass, sat directly in front of me. Seeing all fourteen circled around me made my heart pound and my palms sweat, and I fought to keep myself as calm as I could. Instead I looked around, trying to figure out which one belonged to James. Not the one made of seashells. Silver or gold, perhaps, or maybe the one that glowed like an ember.
Thinking about James gave me a headache, so instead I closed my eyes. This was it. There were no more chances and nothing I could do to change the council’s mind. The thought was strangely comforting, knowing that whatever they’d had in store for me was over. For better or for worse, I’d survived. Barely.
But my mother hadn’t, and losing her darkened everything I did now. It felt wrong to be here knowing she was alone. She was the most important thing in my life, and to think about something other than missing her—it felt like a betrayal. I hadn’t moved on, not after only a week, and I was afraid she thought I had.
It was stupid and I knew it—this was what she’d wanted for me, wasn’t it? Would she still be proud of me if I failed? Would she still have given her life for mine if she’d known it wouldn’t do any good?
