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GAEL WINTERS, FLAMECALLER

CEDRIC

Elyria shrugged. “So they call me.”

Cedric’s vision turned crimson.

Murderer , his brain screamed at him. Butcher . His tongue darted over the scar on his lip, his mana token glowing warm against his chest. He suddenly thought he understood how Lord Church had been able to snap that bandit’s neck so easily—Cedric’s palms itched with the temptation to do the same now. He thought it might be worth risking the celestials’ wrath to do it.

Barely six winters at the time, Cedric’s memory of the night his parents died was a blur of chaos and fear. He remembered the acrid smell of smoke, the bright blaze of fire. The hard, cold edge of steel pressed to his mouth—a threat to get him to stop crying. The sharp sting of the dagger slicing through his lip when he hadn’t been able to.

But through the haze of terror and rage, one part of that night had burned itself into his mind. Two words that had stuck with him through each of the twenty-two years that had passed since: The Revenant.

“How dare you show your face here?” Cedric was trembling with rage. He clenched his fists at his side to keep himself from reaching for his sword or token.

Elyria’s expression was cold and unyielding. “Do not presume to speak of things you know nothing of.”

“I know plenty,” he snapped, taking another step toward her.

He thought she would match the motion, moving back to maintain the distance between them. But the murderous witch did the opposite.

She stepped forward, jutting her chin up defiantly as Cedric stared daggers at her. “And what, exactly, is it you think you know?”

The rich, sweet scent of bitter almonds filled Cedric’s nose—sugar and poison. “You killed my family,” he spat. “Broke into our home and slaughtered my parents. I should cut you down where you stand.”

Elyria blinked. Her brow furrowed slightly, a change in her unyielding demeanor so infinitesimal, Cedric thought he might have imagined it.

And then, as he gaped in disbelief, she laughed .

But it wasn’t humor pouring from her mouth. It was venom.

“I’ve killed many humans, to be sure. Most of them were probably someone’s father or mother. But breaking into some human hovel to murder your parents in cold blood?” She bit her lip in a farcical show of deliberation. “Yeah, doesn’t sound like me. Sorry.”

“I was there , Revenant. I might have been but a child, but I remember the night my parents were killed. I heard your name .”

The cold mask slithered back over Elyria’s face. “You heard my name,” she repeated blankly.

Cedric stared at her.

“Convenient, isn’t it,” she said, her tone hard, “how easily a name can be used to disguise the truth?”

A spark of confusion cut through Cedric’s anger. “What truth?” he demanded. “That you’re not the dark butcher everyone knows you to be?”

Her mouth curved into a cruelly beautiful smile. “Who knows? Maybe it was me. Maybe I’ve simply forgotten.”

“You mock me.”

A single shrill laugh pierced the air. “Of course I’m mocking you. When you go flinging around wild accusations without substance or reason, why shouldn’t I? Now, I’ve done many things in my many years in this world. Not all of them pleasant, not all of them right”—her gaze flicked to Kit—“but I can tell you that not once have I had any interest in participating in the slaughter of some inconsequential human family. That said, by all means, Sir Knight. Do go ahead and keep believing it was me.”

She tracked her eyes up and down his body, and Cedric could have sworn her gaze burned straight through his armor.

“Whatever helps you rest your head at night,” she finished, turning away from him in dismissal.

His palms heated, the urge to lash out overwhelming. From the side of his eye, he could see Hargrave and Thibault watching him. He suspected Lord Church was close to them, undoubtedly displeased with Cedric’s display.

He found he couldn’t bring himself to care.

A commotion drew Cedric’s attention. The contemptuous energy had started to spread to the other champions. Leona Blackwood and the ginger twins were heckling Gael and her two companions. One of them, a fae with shock-white hair, spat an insult at the siblings, making Gael laugh.

“You think you’re so funny, with your little quips and jokes. But I’ve had just about enough of you,” the ginger-haired sister said, pointing accusingly at Gael.

“It’s well past time you shut up, you knife-eared freak,” said her brother.

“Knife ears, huh?” Gael snickered. “Come up with that all by yourself, did you?”

“I said, shut...up!” Shocked cries rang out around the hall as a bolt of magic shot from the brother’s hands. Gael sidestepped it with a casualness that made the attack seem like it was nothing more than a nuisance.

Cedric held his breath, waiting for whatever consequence would befall this man for violating the rule against fighting.

But nothing happened. Perhaps it was more of a warning shot, and he hadn’t truly intended to harm her?

Leona groaned. “Save your mana for the Crucible, you idiot!”

The man grimaced from the chastisement. Gael turned away with a dismissive snort.

It was then that Cedric saw the glint of steel as the brother lunged at Gael’s back.

Cedric’s body moved on instinct. The cowardice he witnessed overrode any disinclination he might’ve had to bother helping an Arcanian—a fae, at that—and he darted toward Gael in an attempt to block the man’s spineless ambush.

He needn’t have bothered.

Quicker than lightning, a flash of power burst from the Gate, blasting the redheaded man back. He went flying, hitting the far wall with a thud , his dagger clattering on the floor. His sister cried out and raced to his side.

Jaw slack, Cedric looked from the man’s crumpled form to the Gate, which had already returned to its prior state. If he hadn’t witnessed it with his own eyes, he wasn’t sure he would have believed it. But it turned out the Crucible had meted out punishment after all. And with the speed and intensity of that magical lash, Cedric understood why everyone took the rule so seriously.

His attention thoroughly seized by what had just happened, Cedric realized too late that he was still in motion—and that Elyria was moving in the same direction he was.

His solid frame collided with hers, her body a sudden, unyielding wall. Four hells, she was a lot stronger than she looked. The impact sent a jolt through him—electric and hot—as he stumbled back. He reached out reflexively to steady himself and the next thing he knew, his hands were wrapped around her forearms.

Stunned, their eyes locked—silver-streaked green meeting warm golden brown. Confusion and revulsion twisted in Cedric’s gut. He jerked away at the exact same moment Elyria yanked her arms back, clutching them to her chest as if the contact had burned her.

“What the quartered hell are you doing?” Cedric spat .

“What are you doing?” Elyria snapped back, caustic bewilderment on her face. “Get out of the way before you hurt yourself.”

“Hurt myself? I was trying to help. ”

She snorted. “Take a look around, Sir Knight. Nobody needs your help.”

Cedric lifted his eyes to where Gael now stood over the ginger twins, the sister braced protectively over her brother, who remained prostrate on the ground. A single flame burned above Gael’s pointer finger as she wagged it at her would-be assailants.

“Tsk, tsk. Do they not teach the rules of conduct over on your side of the continent?” Gael taunted.

“They’re humans , Winters,” her white-haired fae companion said. The way he said the word rankled Cedric’s nerves. “What do you expect?”

“True enough, Paelin,” Gael replied. She stared at the siblings sprawled on the ground with a contemplative look. After a moment, she extinguished the flame on her finger with a sigh, as casually as if she was blowing out a candle. “Well, hopefully they’ve learned their lesson.”

Leona Blackwood approached the group, dropping to one knee in order to help the brother sit up. “We’ve certainly learned something,” she said, her voice dripping with disdain.

Gael smirked. “And what’s that?”

Challenge flashed in Leona’s eyes. “Who we’ll look for first once we’re on the other side of the Gate.”

Murmurs rippled through the hall. For the first time since the confrontations had begun, Cedric locked eyes with Lord Church. The nobleman gave Cedric a subtle nod, confirming what he’d been thinking. If his fellow champions wanted to settle their debts inside the Crucible, let them. All the better for him if they stayed distracted, fighting amongst themselves while he raced through the trials alone. He would yet win the crown.

Cedric’s eyes darted to Elyria, but her gaze was still on Gael.

“Winters?” she asked, her head tilting to the side as if struck with a sudden realization.

“My surname,” Gael explained, her flame-red eyebrows drawing together. “What of it? ”

A spark lit in Elyria’s emerald eyes. “Your name is Gael Winters. But you’re a flamecaller?”

Someone huffed a quiet laugh. Someone else guffawed. Despite the rage that still simmered in the back of his mind, Cedric felt the corner of his mouth twitch.

“Yes, yes, hilarious ,” Gael said, the humor in her tone betraying the annoyed expression she wore.

A grin played on Elyria’s lips. She looked like she was about to toss another jibe in Gael’s direction when a cold voice suddenly cut back in.

“Were you not leaving?” Kit said.

Elyria flinched but before she could respond, a clangorous gong suddenly reverberated through the hall.

The champions turned in unison toward the source of the sound. A hush fell over the crowd. The ethereal light of the Gate shimmered. Then, as if it were some solid, tangible thing, it started to shake. Threads of light vibrated until they combined into a seemingly solid mass of luminance—an incandescent curtain.

The Gate was open.

From behind the curtain, a white-cloaked figure emerged.

“Champions.” The voice was somehow many voices at once—thunderous and tranquil, rasping and smooth. “I am the Arbiter.”

Whispers echoed through the crowd of spectators. Every champion’s mouth was clamped tight, all eyes locked on the Arbiter.

“Tell me,” said that multifaceted voice, “who desires to enter the Arcane Crucible?”