Page 5 of Court of Twisted Angels (Cruel Beautiful Angels of Aerasak #1)

5

KYRIE

T he arena's stone walls tower above me, ancient runes etched into their weathered surface pulsing with an ethereal blue glow. Throngs of competitors crowd the entrance courtyard, their voices echoing off the high ceiling in a cacophony of different languages and dialects. The scent of incense and magic hangs thick in the air, mixing with the metallic tang of ceremonial weapons.

I grip the worn leather strap of the sheath slung across my back, weaving through clusters of humans and xaphan alike. The latter are impossible to miss - their wings folded against their backs in various shades of gray and white, some speckled like common pigeons while others gleam with pristine perfection. A few lower-ranked xaphan hover near the ceiling, their wings stirring the banners that hang from iron brackets.

My scarred neck tingles as I pass beneath them. Every instinct screams to keep my head down, to blend into the shadows like I learned growing up in the outskirts. But I force myself to stand tall. I didn't come this far to cower now.

I do everything I can to stay out of their reach, though. I originally didn't want to leave the room after I ventured out for food - I have no option but to eat theirs - but the room was empty once I was finished eating and my curiosity got the better of me. So, I decided to size up my conversation.

A gust of wind sends the banners snapping, and I stumble forward, colliding with what feels like a wall of solid muscle. My hands press against a chest covered in a fine silk tunic, and I freeze. Looking up, my breath catches in my throat.

Ice-blue eyes pierce into mine, set in a face that could have been carved from marble. His wings, pure white and massive, arch above his broad shoulders. Not a single feather bears even a hint of color or pattern - the mark of xaphan nobility.

"Watch where you're going, human." His voice carries the cultured accent of New Solas' upper districts, but he doesn't look at me with disdain. He looks at me with…curiosity.

My fingers curl against his chest before I snatch them back. The scar on my neck burns with phantom pain, memories of another xaphan's cruel touch flooding back. But I force my chin up, meeting that frozen gaze.

"Maybe you should watch where you're standing."

His lips curve into something between a smile that knocks the breath out of me. The temperature around us seems to drop several degrees, magic crackling in the air.

"Interesting. Most humans would be begging for forgiveness by now." He takes a calculated step forward, those pristine wings casting me in shadow, and I don't dare move. I don't want him to see how uncomfortable it makes me. "I am Azrael, one of the trial trainers. And you are?"

My heart hammers against my ribs. A trainer? Of all the xaphan to literally run into... But there's something else in his gaze beyond the expected disdain - a flash of intrigue that makes my skin prickle.

"Kyrie," I manage, forcing my voice steady despite the way my scar throbs with each pulse of magic emanating from him.

"A lovely name." He circles me slowly, his boots silent on the stone floor. "It suits me."

A few nearby competitors edge away, creating a bubble of space around us. The incense smoke curls between us like living tendrils.

"Thank you," I breathe.

"You know…" He muses, with that same smile that has my heart stuttering. "I could show you the training grounds." His words carry a dangerous sort of charm. "The meditation chambers. The elemental focuses. Things most candidates never see before they..." He trails off meaningfully.

Die, I finish silently. Before they die in horrible ways for xaphan entertainment.

But access to restricted areas? Knowledge other competitors won't have? The strategic part of my brain latches onto the opportunity, even as every instinct screams to run.

"Why would you offer that?" I ask, watching him carefully.

"Let's call it... professional curiosity." His wings shift, catching the light from the glowing runes. "I find myself intrigued by a human who shows such..." His eyes rake over me. "Spirit."

I know he's manipulating me. Using my desperate need for any advantage to serve his own agenda. But if I'm going to survive these trials - if I'm going to save my mother - I need every edge I can get.

"Lead the way then."

Azrael's footsteps echo through winding stone corridors, his wings occasionally brushing against the crystalline sconces that line the walls. Blue flames dance within them, casting shifting shadows across the ancient murals depicting past trials. I keep a careful distance from him, noting every doorway and intersection we pass, but he seems to creep closer as we walk.

"The meditation chambers allow candidates to attune themselves to different magical frequencies." His voice bounces off the walls as we descend a spiral staircase. "Though most humans lack the sensitivity to properly utilize them."

The air grows thicker with magic, making my skin tingle. "And I suppose xaphan master them instantly?"

"Naturally." He glances back, those ice-blue eyes glinting. "Though I sense you might prove... different."

My scar pulses at his words. The last xaphan who noticed me - who presumably thought I was different - left me bleeding in an alley. Yet something about Azrael's presence draws me in like his the only fire on a cold winter night. I'm out of options as I'm suckered in, just to stay alive.

We enter a circular chamber lined with floating orbs of light. Each pulses with a different elemental energy - fire, water, air, earth. The magic here is so dense it feels like walking through syrup.

"Most candidates rush straight to offensive magic." Azrael gestures to a crimson orb crackling with flames. "They forget that survival often requires..." His wing brushes my shoulder as he moves past, sending shivers down my spine. But this time…not from disgust. "...a more delicate touch."

I step toward a pale blue orb swirling with air magic, trying to ignore how my heart races at his proximity. "Is that what you're doing? Taking a delicate touch with the human candidate?"

His laugh is low and dangerous. "I assure you, my intentions are anything but delicate."

The honesty in his voice makes me turn. He stands closer than I expected, those perfect features cast in shadows and light. I should be terrified. Should be running. Instead, I find myself studying the way his wings shift with each breath, how his power seems to reach for me like a warm caress.

"Then what are your intentions?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes narrow, something ancient and predatory stirring in their depths. "That depends entirely on whether you survive the initiation."

The reminder of the upcoming trial pulls me back to reality. "I should rest before tomorrow." I step away from him, as if the distance will help me think clearer. "The initiation won't wait for tired candidates."

Azrael inclines his head, those perfect wings shifting like fresh snow. "Indeed. Though few sleep well the night before." His eyes lock with mine one final time before he turns, disappearing into the shadows of the corridor.

The walk back to my waiting chamber feels longer without his presence. Torchlight flickers across the stone walls, and occasional bursts of laughter or sobbing echo from other rooms. There seem to be four waiting rooms, stuffed full of humans and not enough beds.

The heavy wooden door creaks as I push it open and slip inside. I climb to my top bed, ignoring the others, and collapsing on my stomach so I can stare out the window across from me.

The xaphan city sprawls below like a jeweled tapestry. Crystalline spires rise into the violet sky, their surfaces reflecting the light of two moons. Magic-fueled lanterns float between buildings, carried by currents of enchanted wind. The air ripples with protective wards, their patterns visible as shimmering veils of gold and silver.

In the western quarter, where human settlements crouch in the shadow of xaphan grandeur, smoke rises from countless chimneys. It makes me think of my family, probably gathered around our tiny hearth. Mom in her sickbed, Dad trying to hide his worry, the twins pestering him with questions about when I'll return.

If I return.

A group of xaphan glide past my window, their wings catching the moonlight. Their laughter drifts through the glass, carefree and cruel. To them, tomorrow is just another show - humans dancing for their entertainment, dying for their amusement.

The scar on my neck throbs in time with the pulse of the city's magical barriers. Everything I hate is here in this glittering prison of a city, yet it's also the only place that holds hope for Mother's cure.

The moons climb higher, casting triple shadows across my small room. I should try to sleep, but my mind keeps returning to ice-blue eyes and wings white as fresh snow.