Page 18 of Court of Twisted Angels (Cruel Beautiful Angels of Aerasak #1)

18

KYRIE

S unlight streams through the open courtyard that I have grown used to training in. My muscles burn from hours of repetitive movements, practicing the forms needed to channel magic through my conduit. The band around my palm pulses weakly, nearly drained from constant use. Something I'll need Azrael to remedy. Or I can bring it among other things with magic to imbue it again.

Around me, other trial participants move through their own exercises. A woman with braided silver hair conjures ice crystals that shatter against practice dummies. Two brothers duel with enchanted wooden swords, their movements so fast I can hardly follow.

It seems after the third trial yesterday, they are wanting to give more humans an advantage. Like me. They want a real fight at the end.

If they get a victor at all.

But my attention keeps drifting to the empty space where Azrael usually stands, critiquing my form with those piercing blue eyes. The memory of last night burns hot in my mind - his touch, his wings curling around me, the way his magic felt coursing through me. And I swear I have never come so hard in my life, but holy fuck - he knows what he's doing.

I slam my palm against the training dummy harder than necessary, channeling a burst of borrowed magic that leaves scorch marks on the enchanted wood. The effort drains my conduit completely, the metal band growing cold against my skin.

"Damn him." The words come out as a snarl. A nearby trainee glances over, then quickly looks away when he catches my expression.

I grab my water skin and storm farther away from the others, tipping my head back to look up at the sky. The great spires of New Solas pierce the clouds above, their white stone gleaming in the sunlight.

Somewhere up there, in those pristine towers, Azrael is probably going about his day like nothing happened. Like I haven't become part of his routine.

My fingers trace the scar on my neck as I watch a group of xaphan nobles glide between the towers, their wings catching the light. Of course he wouldn't show up. What was I thinking?

He finally got what he wanted from me, right? I was good entertainment, a good fuck, and now I've been abandoned for the final trial. He probably doesn't think I'll survive it.

The conduit band feels heavy on my palm, a constant reminder of everything that separates us. Even with this magical aid, I'm still just a human playing at channeling power that comes naturally to his kind.

Heat builds behind my eyes but I refuse to let the tears fall. I've survived worse than a xaphan's rejection. I have to focus on what matters - completing these trials, earning my wings, saving my mother. I can't let one night of weakness derail everything I've worked for.

I need to get out of here, I realize. I need to do…something. So I take off for the tunnels beneath the arena, which should be empty with everyone at training.

My muscles protest with each step as I slip through the darkened corridors of the arena complex. The third trial left me with bruises layered upon bruises, and my lungs still burn from breathing the poisoned air near the peak. But the movement and pain helps redirect my mind.

Magical orbs cast pools of silvery light at regular intervals along the stone walls, their glow dimming and brightening in a slow pulse that mimics breathing. My feet make no sound on the worn stones - a skill learned from years in the slums.

I pause at an intersection, running my fingers along the wall's intricate carvings. Ancient xaphan script flows like water across the stone, telling stories of past glory that I can't read. The conduit band tingles against my palm, responding to the latent magic woven into the building itself.

A flash of white catches my eye - a feather drifting on the air currents. My heart jumps before I can stop it. The feather's too dark to be his - more dove gray than pure white. Still, I follow its path down the corridor like it's going to tell me why he isn't here.

Why I finally trusted someone and this is what I got.

The smart thing would be turning back. But I've never been good at smart when it comes to him. Besides, the burning in my muscles has faded to a dull ache, replaced by the familiar tension of hunting something I shouldn't.

The corridor opens into a circular chamber with a domed ceiling that sparkles like the night sky. More magical orbs float at different heights, casting shifting shadows that make the space feel alive. Multiple doorways branch off from here - and I know it leads to the trainer's quarters.

The feather finally falls right at the base of a heavy tapestry depicting the founding of New Solas, and I reach out to brush the threads that shimmer with embedded magic that makes the woven xaphan wings appear to flutter. A draft whispers from behind the fabric, stirring the edges. Frowning, I press my palm against the wall and feel the unmistakable seam of a doorway.

I press around the seam, and it doesn't take long for me to figure out how to open the doorway. With a soft grinding sound, a section of wall swings inward. The magic here is so dense and thick, the conduit in my hand hums against me as it is recharged. My breath catches - the chamber beyond stretches far deeper than should be possible given the arena's layout.

Magical orbs float near the ceiling, their glow muted as if struggling against the weight of years. The air tastes of dust and parchment and something else - a metallic tang that makes my teeth ache.

Maps cover one wall, their edges curling with age. They show places I've never seen - vast cities with impossible architecture, mountain ranges that spiral into the clouds, forests where the trees grow sideways.

Leather-bound texts fill the shelves, their spines marked with symbols rather than words. Some pulse with contained power, others seem to whisper as I pass. A few are chained shut with links that shine like liquid starlight.

My fingers drift over stacks of brittle parchment, each one covered in elaborate xaphan script that seems to shimmer in the dim light. The conduit band tingles against my palm, responding to traces of magic embedded in the ancient ink.

A rolled scroll catches my attention, sealed with golden wax bearing the symbol of the wing trials. Heart pounding, I ease it open, careful not to tear the delicate material. The parchment unfolds to reveal an intricate map unlike any I've seen before.

Crystalline lines trace pathways through what appears to be a massive labyrinth, but the passages shift and realign as I watch, like living things. Tiny notes in flowing script mark various points - some glow with a fierce red light, others pulse with cool blue energy. In the center, a detailed illustration shows a towering structure that seems to pierce the very sky.

My breath catches as I recognize the previous trial. I pick up another roll and find the outline of my initiation. The third I pick up looks similar, but these configurations are different - more complex, more deadly. The magical storms depicted here dwarf anything we've faced before. The structure is massive - likely impossible to scale without wings.

It must be my final trial.

There are also marks on it, and I can tell what they are supposed to designate. But I will spend time studying it later. I'm not leaving this behind.

Besides, what’s the worst that could happen? They kill me? They’re already trying and I'm not going to give up an advantage I can have.

"What's one more crime?" I whisper to the shadows.

Quickly, I pull one of my swords out of my sheaths and tuck the rolled map into it. I'll have to carry my sword, but it will look less suspicious than me carrying the map out of here.

Magic tingles across my skin as I ease the entrance shut behind me. The tapestry settles back into place, its woven wings still fluttering in an enchanted breeze. In the corridor beyond, the magical orbs pulse their steady rhythm, giving no sign that their light ever revealed a thief in the night.

I slip through the corridors, feeling excited about this discovery. I have a gemstone and a map, and those two combine feel monumental right now.

But at the reminder of the gemstone, Azrael's face floats in my mind - those piercing blue eyes that see too much, the curve of his mouth when he almost smiles during our training sessions. Even though he's not here right now, he's gotten me this far. The thought of keeping secrets from him twists something deep in my chest.

But then I remember the scar that curves around my neck, left by another xaphan who looked just as beautiful, just as trustworthy. I trace the raised flesh, feeling the phantom burn of that ancient wound. The xaphan see humans as entertainment, as prey to be hunted through their trials for sport. Even Azrael, for all his careful instruction, serves their cruel games.

The scroll's knowledge burns in my mind. With its secrets, I might survive what's coming. I might win my wings, save my mother, change everything.

But sharing it with Azrael could mean losing my only advantage. Or worse - he might turn me in, prove that any trust between us was nothing but another cruel illusion.

Magic whispers through the conduit band, responding to my turmoil. The metal grows warm against my palm, reminding me of his touch when he first showed me how to channel power through it. Teacher, protector, possible betrayer - he is all these things… and more.

I just have to ignore that more. Ignore the way I long for him. How having him fill me did not ease the need but ignite it. That is not more important than getting through this last trial.

"I can't risk it," I whisper to the empty corridor. Not yet. Not until I know for certain where his loyalties truly lie. The trials are coming, and I need every advantage I can get.