Page 34

Cyrus

The trial arena smelled of cold stone and scorched magic, the September air thick with tension. Protective wards shimmered overhead, pulsing with magic older than any of us. This was the Heirs’ Challenge—the moment where we proved, beyond any doubt, why bloodlines mattered.

I rolled my shoulders, eyeing the others.

Elio stood with his usual air of detached amusement, illusions curling like wisps of smoke at his fingertips.

Keane’s stance was unreadable, but his gaze drifted toward Marigold too often.

And then there was her—standing at the edge of the circle, shadows shifting around her feet, the weight of every Council member’s scrutiny pressing down on her.

And yet, she stood tall. Defiant.

I clenched my fists, heat coiling beneath my skin. My flames had already reacted to her presence, surging to that impossible shade of blue I had only seen twice before—the night of the Welcome Ceremony, and again in Combat Class.

That was the second time our magic had merged.

Now we were being forced into a third.

“All heirs, step forward,” Professor Rivera commanded. “Today, you will demonstrate why the Council seats pass through bloodlines. Why power requires control.”

We moved into position—fire, illusion, portals, and death magic forming a circle of raw potential. I caught the flicker of a smirk on Marigold’s lips, like she already knew what was coming. Like she could feel it too.

The Council watched with sharp, assessing gazes. They had hated what happened at the Wellspring. And if our magic blended again, if it resonated the way it had before—

That would mean it wasn’t a fluke. It was something inevitable.

“The task is simple,” Rivera continued, his Shroud Guard tattoo pulsing faintly. “Four elemental constructs, each designed to counter your individual magics. Only by working together can you overcome them.”

The arena shifted, stones groaning as the constructs materialized—beasts of pure elemental force. Fire, shadow, lightning, and raw magic, each built to push us beyond our limits.

“Begin.”

The fire beast struck first, a swirling inferno that should have responded to me alone. I met it with my own flames, willing them to burn hotter, brighter—

And then it happened.

The moment Marigold moved, my fire reacted. Not just to the threat—but to her.

The flames surged forward, not red, not gold, but that same unnatural blue. The same color that had flickered through them at the Wellspring. The same color I’d told myself was a fluke. A trick of the light.

It wasn’t a trick. It was happening again.

My magic didn’t just burn—it reached. Not for destruction, but for something else. Like it knew where it belonged.

Elio’s illusions wrapped around her shadows, turning something intangible into something deadly. I saw the moment he felt it too—his usual arrogance slipping into something dangerously close to awe.

Keane’s portals should have wavered—but they didn’t. Not this time. The silver edges gleamed sharp and perfect, fluid as breathing.

For a perfect moment, we moved as one—

Fire and death and illusion and space bending together into something that shouldn’t be possible. Something the Council had tried to prevent.

The constructs never stood a chance.

Elio’s illusions splintered the shadow beast, breaking it apart before it could reform.

My flames consumed the fire creature completely, but instead of vanishing into the heat, Marigold’s magic shaped it, twisting the inferno into something controlled, something wielded.

Keane’s portals worked in seamless synchrony, directing the lightning beast’s attacks against itself.

It was effortless. Terrifyingly effortless.

And then something shifted.

I felt it before I saw it. Something off. Something unstable.

Keane’s portals, once fluid and clean, twisted. Not just a flicker. Not just hesitation.

Something in them bled. Darkness seeped into what should have been silver light, like ink spreading through water. Like corruption.

“Keane!” Marigold’s voice held more than just warning. She reached for him instinctively, her magic brushing his, and for a second, his power stabilized.

But only for a second.

I snapped my focus back to my flames, willing them to burn hotter, brighter—

And they refused.

They weren’t mine anymore. Not entirely.

I could feel Marigold’s necromancy woven into them, could feel the pull of something larger than us, something ancient.

Too late.

The lightning construct struck Keane hard, his magic shattering for half a breath. His hands trembled as he forced another portal open, but the corruption in it was unmistakable now. Dark veins spread through what should have been clean silver light.

Wrong. That was wrong. Keane never lost control.

Elio’s illusions snapped into place, masking the error, while Marigold’s necromancy surged to fill the gap in our defenses.

But I wasn’t the only one who had seen it.

My father’s fingers curled slightly against the armrest. Not anger. Recognition. He had seen this before. He just hadn’t wanted to admit it.

The Lightfords exchanged a glance. Lady Lightford whispered something to her husband, and his jaw tightened, his usual smirk gone.

And Alstone?

Alstone was already looking at Keane.

Not with satisfaction. Not with concern. But with barely restrained fury.

Because whatever had just happened, it meant something was wrong with his methods. And that was unacceptable.

We finished the trial as expected, our combined power overwhelming the constructs. But that moment of perfect harmony was gone, replaced by something darker. More dangerous.

“What the hell was that?” I demanded as we left the field. My flames still burned blue where they brushed against Marigold’s lingering power.

Keane straightened, but his careful mask couldn’t hide how Shadow pressed anxiously against his legs. “Nothing.”

Liar.

I knew how Keane moved, how he fought. And that hesitation, that corruption threading through his magic—that wasn’t him.

My father’s presence weighed heavy from the stands, demanding control, demanding perfection. But for the first time, I wasn’t sure control was the answer.

Not when all our magic had worked together so naturally, before the darkness crept in.

Not when my flames still burned that pure blue, remembering how right it felt when we stopped fighting each other.

Not when Keane—the most disciplined of us all—was being consumed by something that felt fundamentally wrong.

As we walked off the field, the whispers started about how right we’d looked together, before the darkness took hold.

Ember let out a low trill, fire flickering blue at the edges. Still wrong. Still shifting. I clenched my jaw. Everything was moving—fast, sideways—and we didn’t get a say in any of it.