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ON WITH IT, BOYO

CEDRIC

Cedric did his best to remain unobtrusive, observing the various interactions unfolding around the chamber. He had no intention of getting involved in the bickering and posturing that had ensnared the other champions—least of all whatever Elyria was engaged with. After that embarrassing display in the arena, Cedric was keen to put some space between the fae warrior and himself.

So, why did his eyes keep wandering over to where she and Kit sat? And why did something twist in his gut when he saw Zephyr working her healing touch on a deep gash that cut across the Revenant’s back?

Observing the way Elyria fought in the arena, how she’d danced with that dragon, had made it clearer than ever how she earned her moniker—and that she deserved it. And that was without her magic. Cedric shuddered at the thought of what it would be like to meet the Revenant in battle at full power. He hoped he never had to find out.

And yet, for a reason he could not possibly begin to explain, he also hoped he did?

Learning—or, at least, being told—that the figure he’d long thought responsible for his parents’ murder was, perhaps, not quite the monster he had imagined was really fucking with his head.

He’d gone most of his life nursing a visceral hatred for the Revenant. The name was seared into his memory as deeply as his own. It had pushed him toward a desire for retribution against the Arcanians for as long as he could remember. A justice he’d thought he could attain by beating the Crucible and securing the crown for his own people.

He hated the Revenant. Hated her.

But when Elyria looked at Kit, it was like she was a different person—someone Cedric had never imagined the Revenant capable of being. Was this truly the same person he’d sworn vengeance against?

“I’ve done many things in my many years in this world. Not all of them pleasant, not all of them right. But I can tell you that not once have I had any interest in participating in the slaughter of some inconsequential human family.”

She could have been lying.

She was probably lying.

But what if she wasn’t?

Cedric touched a knuckle to the scar at his lip, struggling to keep his expression neutral as his thoughts churned. So what if she was telling the truth? It didn’t change anything. Didn’t change the fact that he was who he was, and she was one of them. All it did was confuse him.

The Revenant as the figurehead he could blame for his pain made sense. Elyria was something else entirely. And that unsettled him deeply.

Despite his best efforts, Cedric’s gaze drifted back to Elyria, Kit, and Zephyr. The sylvan had finished sealing the gash on Elyria’s back and had even healed some of the small wounds he’d noticed on Kit. But from the way the three of them were suddenly radiating tension so thick he could have cut through it with his sword, you would have thought the healing had just begun.

Elyria’s head snapped up and he wasn’t quick enough to look away before her eyes locked with his. She scowled, scrabbling at her pants in a way that made Cedric suddenly feel like he was intruding on something private. And if the defiance, anger, and something Cedric couldn’t place—pain, maybe?—flowing from the fae wasn’t confirmation enough, the blush of embarrassment that began coloring her pale cheeks certainly was.

Cedric felt an unexpected pang of guilt burst in his chest. He averted his eyes, his gaze landing on a crack in the stone wall beside him that was suddenly the most interesting thing he’d ever seen.

His attention could only be deflected for so long, however, and a minute later he found his gaze wandering back to the trio.

The tension in the room ebbed as Kit murmured something to Elyria. Zephyr joined back in their conversation and was showing the two of them some tin she’d pulled from her belt of magical healing tricks. A genuine smile broke out on Elyria’s face as she nodded, transforming it into a somehow even more exquisite version of itself.

The change was so unexpected, Cedric nearly choked on his own breath.

His face screwed up—lips pursing, breath quickening—as warmth blossomed in his chest. Pride. Surely that was what he was feeling. Pride over whatever Zephyr had done to elicit Elyria’s radiant reaction.

He most certainly was not reacting to her smile itself.

That was the only thing that made sense. Stopping to help the sylvan healer in the arena had indeed been one of Cedric’s better decisions of late, after all. She really was very good.

Yes, pride. That definitely explained the warm feeling stretching over his ribs. It made absolute sense that pride in his new ally’s healing mastery would strike Cedric utterly senseless.

He refused to dissect the thought further.

And that was fine, because when Cedric tried to locate that beaming smile and the fiery fae it belonged to again, it was nowhere to be seen.

Instead, Elyria’s face was arranged into a sneer so chilling, he thought the temperature in the room might have actually dropped.

What the fuck just happened?

Cedric missed the impetus for the rapid change in her countenance—the woman was bound to give him whiplash—but he didn’t miss the smug look on Belien Larkin’s face as he stared down Elyria. Nor did he miss the low snickers coming from Alden Ashford. And he certainly didn’t miss the way that Zephyr seemed to have suddenly retreated into herself, all traces of the calm confidence she’d exuded while healing Elyria and Kit erased.

Fucking Alden. Something itched at the back of Cedric’s mind, and he suspected he’d made a mistake in sitting with the saint earlier. He’d had hopes of building upon the groundwork of allyship he’d laid back in the camp. But if Alden was aligning with Belien and Leona, he was a lost cause. Cedric would rather take on the rest of the trials alone than get looped in further with that miserable lot.

Convicted, Cedric looked up to see a storm of periwinkle hair stalking toward him.

“You,” Elyria growled, stopping just short of him.

“Me?” Cedric replied. Her fury was nearly as hot as the dragonfyre had been, and he didn’t understand why she aimed it so viciously at him.

“What the quartered hell is your problem?” she demanded.

Cedric’s brow furrowed. “Excuse me?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

It took every ounce of will in Cedric’s exhausted body not to roll his eyes. “I promise you, I do not.”

“Then you are a bigger fool than I thought. Hard though that is to imagine.”

“Now, wait just a?—”

“Arcanians are not tools to be used and tossed aside. We are people . You do not get to use Zephyr to watch your back and heal your injuries, only to discard her at your earliest convenience.”

“I did no such thing. I would nev?—”

“And aligning yourself with other humans ”—the word dripped with disdain—“with little regard for how their attitudes and actions might affect those of us who might’ve been otherwise predisposed to ally with you is just shit decision making. Ergo, fool.” She seemed to consider what she’d said before clarifying, “And by ‘us,’ I mean Arcanians as a whole, of course. Not ‘us’ as in me, specifically.”

“I never would have presumed otherwise,” Cedric said, his pulse ticking in his jaw from how hard he clenched his teeth. He wanted to argue, wanted to tell her she was wrong . But her words were a confirmation of the thoughts he’d already begun to form on his own.

Whatever vestiges of warmth might have lingered in Cedric’s chest evaporated like water in a too-hot pan.

“Zephyr can handle herself,” he said, though the words sounded weak even in his own ears.

Elyria scoffed. “Can she? A talented healer, she may be. But she’s hardly a warrior like you or me. And she shouldn’t have to be. Lunara only knows why she’s even here in the first place. And now you’ve aligned with those who would make her a target. I don’t know what the rest of this stars-forsaken Crucible may hold, but what happens when they turn on her? Will you turn as well?”

Cedric tried to ignore how his pulse stuttered at the way she’d casually equated the two of them. Warriors like her, aside from her, didn’t exist. Of that, he felt sure. And after the way the Trial of Strength had ended...Was she being sarcastic?

“I’ve aligned with no one,” he said, crossing his arms. “I’m not the same as?—”

Elyria cut him off with a noncommittal noise. “You really think you’re different, don’t you? You’re not.” Her eyes bore into him as she raked them up and down his body, lingering for the briefest moment at the token hanging against his chestplate. “You’re just like the rest of your kind —using the land for its magic. Using its people like we’re nothing. And I’m...You know what? I don’t care.” And before he could say anything else, she spun on her heels and strode away.

Cedric stood there, gaping at Elyria’s retreating back, the sting of her words lingering on his skin like a bruise. He hated the look on her face as she walked away, so assured that she was right.

He hated that she was right.

He cast his gaze about the room, looking for Zephyr. The sylvan healer had slunk into a corner, busying herself with the pouches and herbs in her belt. Cedric’s mind was noisy—a confusing mix of overlapping emotions. Guilt. Gratitude. Irritation. That one was solely directed at Elyria, of course.

He was grateful, not only for Zephyr’s help in the arena but for her calming aura. For the way she’d pushed past her own reticence to ally with him. Perhaps he should have been more guarded about the alliance, too, but there was something about the sylvan that made Cedric feel at ease. Not once had the thought crossed his mind to discard her.

But he also hadn’t thought through the implications of what his association with her meant for his original plans to establish alliances with the other human champions. That they might hold his willingness to adhere to the Arbiter’s guidance against him. Or rather, that they’d hold it against her.

A fool, Elyria called him. He certainly felt like one. He thought he could remain steadfast, focused. Unbothered by the more trivial side of these human-Arcanian interactions. Cedric’s goal was the crown, by whatever means necessary. But just one trial in, and already the Crucible was changing so much for him.

Was changing . . . him.

Drawing a deep breath, Cedric turned away...only to find himself standing chest-to-face with Thraigg. The dwarf had his thick arms crossed over his broad chest, studying Cedric with a calculating look in his steely blue eyes.

Cedric tensed, unsure about how to react. He supposed he should thank the man—he had aided him not once, but twice against the dragon. On the other hand, there was still the question of why he had done so.

“On with it, boyo,” Thraigg rumbled, his voice as gravelly as the stone beneath their feet.

“Pardon me?”

“Ye’ve got the look of a man with questions. Ask them.”

Cedric blinked. The dwarf was direct, he’d give him that. Perceptive and direct. “I’m just...surprised,” he said. “About what you did back there. In the arena.”

“Aye,” Thraigg said warily. “What about it?”

“You had a clear path to the archway. You didn’t need to fight. Didn’t need to get involved with the dragon at all.”

“Yer point?”

“So . . . why did you?”

Thraigg’s beard shook as his lips curled into a knowing smile, the coins and metal beads braided into his hair jangling jovially. “Ye’d be right in thinking I’ve no love for reckless knights, let alone human ones,” he said. “But far be it from me to question the commands of the Divine. ”

“The Divine?”

Thraigg’s beard jingled again as his chest rose and fell with low laughter. “Who do ye think runs this show, boyo? The celestials might say they’re not able to interfere in the affairs of us wee mortals, but their touch is all over the Crucible. And if their mouthpiece says unity is the name of this game, well then, slap my arse and call me ‘brother.’”

Cedric didn’t know whether to laugh or scowl at the dwarf’s crassness. “Their mouthpiece? You mean the Arbiter.”

“Aye. So, when I saw ye and yer little green friend in the arena, cowering like daisies in a rioting wind?—”

“I didn’t cower,” Cedric mumbled under his breath.

“—the Arbiter’s voice was an avalanche in my head. ‘Unity, unity, unity,’ it chanted. And I went ahead and unified my hammer with some dragon scales.” He chortled at his joke.

Brow furrowed, Cedric considered Thraigg’s words. “That’s it, then? You felt called to help me? Forgive my skepticism, but you simply do not seem the humanitarian type.”

“Ain’t charity, lad. I’ve no patience for that kind of nonsense. I’ve my own reasons and none of them involve seeing ye roasted alive. But I don’t play games ‘less I plan on winning. Aye, I did what I did back there. Don’t make me regret it.” With that, the dwarf moseyed off, snatching a pitcher from one of the nearby tables as he ambled toward the doors.

“Duly noted,” Cedric muttered at his back, unable to hold in a smirk. For some reason, the exchange left him feeling strangely grounded—like some part of him was beginning to settle, like he’d found an anchor amidst this sea of uncertainty.

Everyone in here was playing the game. They were in it to win, but if they had to go by the Arbiter’s rules—had to hold hands and skip merrily until the Crucible called for them to show their teeth to one another—they would.

He looked at his fellow human champions, strategizing together in one corner of the room, and frowned. Perhaps not everyone was so willing to play together.

Elyria was a study in tension when Cedric’s gaze found her again, hauling Kit to her feet and ushering her toward one of the doors at the back of the chamber. Her scowl had softened, but the anger in her eyes had yet to fade. Cedric could still see the hard set of her jaw, the way her fingers twitched as if itching for a fight. Part of him hoped that Belien or Leona—or hells, Alden—would say something to her again, just to see what she’d do.

Alas, she and Kit disappeared behind one of the doors without incident.

Cedric approached Zephyr, whose earlier warmth was already replaced with guarded caution. Guilt churned in Cedric’s belly.

“Zephyr,” he began, doing his best to keep his voice soft. “I...I feel as though I owe you an apology.”

Her eyes widened, clearly caught off guard. “Why? For what?”

“For earlier. I put you in a position you didn’t ask for by making moves to link up with Alden. I didn’t realize he had already formed some kind of alliance with Belien. And I...I should have talked to you first. Should have understood you might be unlikely to want to associate with the most vocally bigoted champions in here.” He offered a lopsided grin—an attempt to ease the tension.

“There is nothing to apologize for,” she protested, but Cedric noted the way her shoulders relaxed—just a fraction. “It’s not as if you and I had entered into some kind of formal alliance ourselves. We were more of a wrong place, wrong time kind of match up.” She grinned, though it was fleeting as she went on to add, “I understand if you’d want to part ways.”

“Preposterous,” Cedric said. “We’re a formidable pair, remember?”

She visibly brightened. “Right.”

Cedric breathed a sigh of relief. It felt like a step in the right direction, though he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was still missing something.

The many voices of the Arbiter echoed in his head. “Without unity, you will fail.”

Was this unity? Was this enough? As hate-filled emerald eyes blanketed his vision, Cedric didn’t think it was.

Almost as if being pulled by a force outside of himself, his head tilted in the direction of the door Elyria had just walked through.

“You two...you have some kind of history?” Zephyr asked, following his gaze. Her voice was soft, tentative, like she knew she was touching on something fragile. Cedric wasn’t sure how to respond. Could it be considered history if one of the parties had been utterly unaware of the other’s existence until today? Was it history if everything he thought he knew was crumbling around him?

He settled for a shrug, doing his best to seem indifferent.

Zephyr pressed her lips together, like she was trying to contain a grin. “Looks like everyone’s retiring. Shall we head off for the night then, partner?”

Cedric nodded. Tomorrow would bring the next trial and a whole new set of crises. So tonight...Tonight, he would rest. He would think. And he would try to figure out what he was truly fighting for.