Page 3 of Court of Twisted Angels (Cruel Beautiful Angels of Aerasak #1)
3
KYRIE
T he golden spires of New Solas pierce the clouds like daggers thrust into the sky. My hands tremble as I pass through the city gates, forcing myself to breathe against the tightness in my chest. The scar on my neck burns with phantom pain.
It was something I tried to ignore, thinking I could duck into the arena and hide away from the xaphan. If I just don't look at the stands of the arena, I could pretend they weren't there, right? But then the carriages dropped us at the edge of the city and the driver told us to walk. So, I'm forced into a city where they are everywhere.
A xaphan guard swoops overhead, wings spread wide in an elegant arc. I flinch, ducking into the shadow of a nearby archway. The memory crashes over me - his cruel smile, that terrible burning?—
No. Focus on the present.
The marketplace sprawls before me in a riot of color and sound. Merchant stalls overflow with exotic wares: crystalline vials of liquid sunlight, feathers that dance on invisible winds, fruits that shimmer like jewels. The scent of incense and spices fills the air, mingling with the crisp mountain breeze that sweeps down from The Ridge.
"Fresh bread! Straight from the earthfire ovens!" A human vendor's call draws my attention. At least there are other humans here, though they're vastly outnumbered.
My gaze catches on a xaphan noble gliding past, their pure white wings folded neatly against their back. The sight sends ice through my veins. I press myself against a wall, stone cool against my palms.
A group of lower-class xaphan hurry by, their mottled gray wings a stark contrast to the noble's pristine ones. They pay me no mind, too focused on their own business. Still, each beat of their wings makes my heart stutter.
Zarryn-drawn carriages clatter along the cobblestone streets, their golden wheels catching the light. The beasts' tufted hides ripple as they move, looking far too majestic for their temperament. A street performer conjures thalivern made of light, delighting a crowd of children as it takes flight.
The grandeur of it all would be breathtaking if I could just stop my hands from shaking. If I could forget the memories that are haunting me. But with each flash of white wings and gorgeous golden faces, I want to bolt.
But Mother's pale face flashes in my mind, and I straighten my spine. I have to do this. Have to prove myself in their trials.
No matter how many winged reminders of my nightmares I have to face.
Finally, I make it through the streets. The registration hall looms ahead, its crystal dome refracting sunlight into rainbow patterns across marble floors. I join the line of humans shuffling through massive golden doors, each etched with scenes of winged figures in triumph. My stomach turns at the propaganda.
"Did you hear about last year's second trial?" A muscled man ahead of me whispers to his companion. "They had to learn to channel magic. It ripped some of them apart before the trial even started."
"That's nothing," his friend responds, rolling up his sleeve to reveal a network of lightning-shaped scars. "I faced one of the Praexa that make the games two years ago. He tested out some ideas on a group of us. The storms they make? They're alive. Hunting you."
I clench my jaw, focusing on the steady click of my boots against stone rather than their stories. The line inches forward through a series of archways filled with shimmering magical barriers. Each one tingles as I pass through – probably scanning for weapons or existing enchantments.
A xaphan attendant with dove-gray wings gestures me toward one of dozens of ornate writing desks. The quill glows with its own light, hovering expectantly over a piece of parchment that seems to ripple like water.
"Name and origin?" His voice carries that typical xaphan musical lilt that sets my teeth on edge.
"Kyrie Kael. Northwestern settlements." I force the words past the tightness in my throat.
The quill dances across the page of its own accord. "Medical history?"
My scar burns. "Nothing relevant."
More scratching of the quill. Around me, other hopefuls answer similar questions, their voices a mix of determination and barely concealed fear. A woman nearby breaks down sobbing when asked about her family, escorted away by guards with rust-colored wings.
"Place your hand here." The attendant indicates a crystal embedded in the desk's surface. It pulses with inner light as my palm meets its cool surface. "This measures your magical potential."
The crystal flares bright green, then dims. The attendant's eyebrows rise slightly – the first break in his bored expression. He marks something on the parchment with a flourish, but I don't know what it means.
"Proceed to the waiting quarters to prepare for initiation tomorrow. Next!"
I move aside, my heart hammering against my ribs. The registration parchment vanishes in a flash of golden light, whisked away to whatever archives the xaphan keep of their human entertainment. I'm surprised they even keep the record
The waiting chamber opens into a vast dormitory, its vaulted ceiling supported by twisted columns that seem to grow from the floor like crystal trees. Magical orbs of light drift lazily through the air, casting ever-shifting shadows across rows of wooden bunks.
"Top or bottom?" A girl with close-cropped black hair points to an empty bunk. Her arms are corded with muscle, but there's kindness in her eyes.
"Top." I hoist myself up, the wooden frame creaking under my weight. The mattress is stuffed with something that smells faintly of lavender.
"I'm Andra." She settles below me, pulling a worn leather pack onto her lap. "I've been dying to come to the trials but never thought I'd get the chance to."
Other competitors filter in, claiming bunks and forming small clusters. A burly man demonstrates defensive hand positions to a group of wide-eyed newcomers. Two women practice channeling magic, small spheres of light dancing between their palms.
"Here." Andra passes up a cloth-wrapped bundle. Inside, I find dried meat and bread studded with nuts. "The food they provide is meant to build our strength, but it's laced with enchantments. Makes you more susceptible to their magic. Bring your own when you can."
The dormitory fills with conversations – some talking about the upcoming trials, others giving tips they've heard or telling stories. I absorb every detail, even as my fingers trace the scar on my neck. The memory of my own worst day lurks at the edges of my mind, waiting for the preliminary exam to drag it into the light.
"You've got that look," Andra says quietly. "The one that says you're here because you have to be, not because you want to be."
I meet her gaze. "Don't we all have something worth fighting for?"
She nods, understanding passing between us. Around us, the air hums with nervous energy and whispered strategies, all of us preparing for trials designed to break us.
A xaphan official with steel-gray wings sweeps into the dormitory, silencing conversations with his presence. His boots click against the hard floor as he unrolls a scroll that shimmers with golden light.
"Listen well, candidates. Tomorrow's initiation will determine who among you is worthy to even attempt the trials."
Murmurs ripple through the room. Andra's breath catches below me.
"You will face the Void Chamber - a pocket dimension of absolute darkness where your senses will be stripped away. Navigate through magical threats using only your innate abilities. Those who survive must defeat the final guardian to earn their place in training."
My fingers dig into the wooden frame of the bunk. More than half the room won't make it past tomorrow.
"The reward remains substantial." His wings flex, catching the light. "Wings of your own, status within New Solas, and, of course, one thousand novas."
The dormitory erupts in whispers. A man near the door clutches a pendant, lips moving in silent prayer. Two women grasp hands, their faces pale.
"Look around," Andra's voice is barely audible. "There must be three hundred people here. More than I've ever seen at a trial gathering."
She's right. Every bunk is filled, with some contestants even sleeping on meditation cushions in the corners. The promise of wealth drew them like moths to flame.
"You'll be collected for initiation tomorrow," the official continues. "Those who hesitate will be consumed by the darkness. Those who falter will be drained of life force. Choose wisely if you wish to proceed."
Because we all know the rules. You can leave with shame before the trials start. Or you can die in the arena.
Magic ripples through the air as he exits, leaving behind a heavy silence. Someone starts to weep softly in the far corner.
"They're culling the weak ones early this time," a gruff voice says from nearby. "Smart. Makes for better entertainment later."
I stare at the ceiling, trying not to think about how many bodies will litter the Void Chamber by tomorrow's end. Mother's face floats in my mind - pale, drawn with pain. The medicine she needs is worth any risk.
The dormitory settles into an uneasy quiet, broken only by whispered prayers and the occasional sob. Tomorrow, we face the darkness. Tomorrow, we learn if we're even worthy to die in their real trials.