Page 20

19

WOULD’VE, COULD’VE, SHOULD’VE

ELYRIA

“And then there were twelve.”

“Could’ve been eleven,” Kit tutted, casting a sidelong glance at Elyria as they settled into their respective beds.

The room was plainly appointed, just large enough for the two beds that had magically appeared when they stepped through the door. After nights spent in cramped tents and cold jail cells—Elyria’s bones ached just thinking about it—it was nothing short of luxury.

“Could’ve, would’ve,” Elyria sighed. “Had only I known it was Sir Stick Up His Ass that I was saving, I would have let that dragon finish what it started.”

“Whatever you say.” The knowing taunt in Kit’s voice rankled Elyria. “Now that I think about it, it should’ve been ten, actually. If you hadn’t charged in after me, the knight would have been dragon food, and you wouldn’t have filled Cormac’s spot. You really are trying to make this as difficult as possible for me, aren’t you?” she teased.

Elyria stuck out her tongue. “The knight is reckless. He’s already nearly gotten himself killed several times. I’m sure your odds will even out again before you know it.”

Kit smirked, her blue and green eyes glinting. “And how would you feel about that?”

Elyria stiffened. “I’d be glad for it, of course. One less champion in your way.”

“Mm-hmm,” Kit murmured, her tone making it clear she didn’t believe Elyria for a second.

Swallowing her indignation, Elyria opted to change the subject. “I feel like a new woman,” she said as she braided the wet length of her hair over her shoulder. “Clean sleeping gown, soft bed, hot bath...” She waved a hand, first at the doorway between their beds that led to a cozy bathing room, then to the dresser on the other side of the room. Inside, they’d found a myriad of clothing options, sized and styled as if they’d been selected just for them. “A champion could get used to this shit.”

A contented breath left her lungs as she leaned back. Even knowing this was only a temporary lull, a false comfort before the storm of additional trials that would follow, Elyria was grateful. Her stomach was full. Her body was mended. And, sneaking a surreptitious glance at Kit as she fluffed her pillow, Elyria thought some of her older, less visible wounds might be starting to heal as well.

Kit was undeterred by the attempted topic change. “Cormac was out in minutes, and we know Belis never made it through the arena. Who was the last one?”

“That other nocterrian, I think. I don’t remember their name.”

“Ah, yes, Dissidua. For the best, I think. I didn’t trust them. Don’t trust the other one, either.”

“Tenebris Nox? Careful there, Kitty Kat. You’re starting to sound eerily similar to our bigoted human friends out there.”

Kit scowled and launched one of her fluffy pillows neatly at Elyria’s head. “Not because I have anything against nocterrians, you lout. ”

Elyria grinned as she caught the pillow and tucked it between her legs.

“I only meant...Honestly, I don’t even know. There’s just something off about them.” She paused. “They’ve been watching you.”

Elyria frowned. “Watching me?”

“I first noticed it in Castle Lumin. The two of them were hanging back, keeping to the shadows, and I was too mad at you to think much of it at the time. But now...I feel certain Nox has been keeping an eye on you.”

“I saw them back in Coralith,” Elyria admitted. “They were being held in the same jail as me.”

Kit’s eyebrows shot up at the mention of jail, but she said nothing.

“Perhaps they are simply eager to know my motivations for being here,” Elyria continued. “I confess I’m curious to know the same about them. I didn’t think nocterrians had much reason to brave the Arcane Crucible.” Her brow furrowed. Nocterrum wasn’t even part of the realm during Queen Daephinia’s rule. The mysterious island and its shadow-born people were barely impacted by the Shattering.

“Power is power,” Kit said. “It lures everyone.”

“Except you.” Elyria smiled at her. “Unlike the rest of these so-called champions, you’re not here because you dream of glory or long for the power of the crown. You’re here for Evander. And I’m here for you. Let the king decide what to do with the crown after you’ve won it.”

“After we’ve won it, you mean, right?” Kit bit her bottom lip anxiously, and Elyria found herself longing to soothe away her worry. She hadn’t entered the Crucible only to become a source of angst for her friend. The last thing she wanted was to be a distraction.

“Right. And regarding our nocterrian friend, I’ll be careful,” she said, injecting confidence into the words even as she knew they were hollow. Careful didn’t exist in a place like this.

Kit simply nodded.

Elyria cleared her throat. “Any theories on what tomorrow might bring?”

“The next trial? Not a clue,” Kit replied. “Just that we’re one down, three to go.”

“How do you figure? ”

“You heard the Arbiter. Strength and power. Resolve and ‘depth of spirit,’ whatever that means. We just completed the Trial of Strength. So, three more await.”

“Technically, the Arbiter never said that those were the trials. Only that the trials would demand strength and power, and that it would test our resolve and spirit.”

“Semantics.” Kit waved a hand, and the candles lit in sconces around the room were extinguished with a wet hiss, thrusting the room into peaceful darkness.

Something sharp nettled Elyria at the mention of the Arbiter’s words. Their final proclamation rang over and over in her mind.

From bitterest rivals to heartbreaking ends, two bloods shall find their way. Through sacrifice, darkness, and friendship betrayed, as dawn brings a new day.

She had many questions about why the Arbiter had decided to remind Elyria of the final lines of the prophecy, but her mind was caught on one part in particular.

Friendship betrayed.

She tilted her head toward Kit’s bed, squinting as though she might see her friend in the darkness. Surely, this was but cryptic nonsense. Some error, brought on by the Arbiter’s shock at Elyria stumbling into them. It might not have even been officially tied to the Crucible—no other champions heard the words, after all. And with multiple versions of the prophecy apparently floating around, who was to say what was the truth?

With mettle and promise, darkness and light, as dawn brings a new day.

Elyria had to admit, she vastly preferred Cedric’s version of the final line. None of this betrayal shit. Unfortunately, she also felt rather convicted that, were she forced to choose which version was likely the correct one, it would be the one that came from the mysterious glowing being who reigned over the Arcane Crucible.

Resolving to put it out of her mind, Elyria wiggled further down into her bed. Her eyelids were heavy. Had they really been at Castle Lumin only that morning? This might very well have been the longest day of Elyria’s considerable life.

“Ellie?” Kit’s voice pierced the quiet.

“Yeah? ”

“Do you...do you think that Ev at least got this far?”

Elyria swallowed. “Without a doubt.”

Kit was silent.

“You knew your brother,” Elyria continued, her throat tight. “I’m sure his stubborn ass made it all the way to the very end before...well, before.”

A huff filled the dark room. “Yeah. Maybe,” Kit said.

Elyria wanted to say more—do more. Wanted to reassure Kit. But her eyes closed and before she could say another word, sleep pulled her into its embrace.

Elyria woke the next morning to a loud chime ringing through the bedroom. Groaning, she shielded her eyes from the golden light that spilled into the room through slats in the stone walls. Kit was already awake, stretching her long arms over her head with a frown etched into her brow.

“Rise and shine, I guess,” Kit mumbled sleepily.

Before Elyria could respond, the chamber door swung open with a soft creak. Was the room kicking them out ?

“Four fucking hells,” Elyria muttered to no one in particular. “Give a girl the chance to wake up, will you?”

They made quick work of popping into the bathing room and exchanging yesterday’s torn and bloodied clothing for fresh, clean outfits. After gathering their weapons, they stepped back into the Sanctum’s main chamber, Kit jumping as the door to their erstwhile bedroom slammed shut behind them. Rude .

Steps still somewhat sluggish, they ambled toward the center of the chamber where most of the other champions had already gathered. Yesterday’s haphazardly strewn floor cushions and benches had vanished, leaving a long table laden with bowls of steaming pottage and plates piled high with bread and fruit in their stead. Elyria exchanged a ravenous grin with Kit before darting forward to claim her breakfast.

“Ahem.” A low voice let out a light cough behind Elyria’s head.

She looked up, her cheeks bulging with the bites of breakfast she’d hastily shoveled into her mouth and met the amused stare of Cedric Thorne.

“Caahelloo?” she garbled through mouthfuls of bread.

“Er, what?” he replied, his eyebrow arched mirthfully. The scraping sound of his armor grated against Elyria’s ears as he shifted in place.

She swallowed, grimacing as she forced the too-large bite down her gullet. “I said , ‘Can I help you?’”

“Ah,” said the knight, dragging his eyes from where they tracked the bob of Elyria’s throat with rapt attention. A flush threatened in her cheeks. “Well, yes, in fact,” he said. “You’re blocking the bacon.”

“There’s bacon?” Elyria’s voice jumped an octave as she whirled back to the table and grabbed the entire platter of glistening meat. The salty scent wafted into her nostrils and her mouth flooded.

Cedric coughed once more, and Elyria thought this time he might be covering a laugh. “May I?” he tried again, reaching for a slice.

Elyria tightened her hold on the platter and shuffled back a step.

“Stars above, woman,” he shook his head with a sigh. “You cannot possibly think yourself capable of eating that entire thing.”

Elyria’s skin prickled with challenge. “I thought it was made clear yesterday that you have no idea what I’m capable of.” She didn’t understand the emotion that flashed across Cedric’s face in response.

“I wouldn’t mind seeing her try,” Cyren called unhelpfully from the other side of the table. Next to him, Gael smacked the blue-haired fae on the shoulder and he laughed.

“Oh, stop hogging it, you fairy freak,” Leona Blackwood’s nasal voice cut in.

Elyria turned slowly toward the source of the insult. “I see what you did there. ‘Hogging it.’ Clever.” She popped a slice of dripping bacon between her lips, slurping as she sucked it into her mouth and resisting the urge to moan at the taste.

Leona’s brown eyes narrowed before she turned to Cedric. “What interesting company you keep, Sir Thorne.”

“Indeed,” rumbled Belien as he came up from behind. “This is who the great champion of Kingshelm deigns to ally with?”

“Ahmnoh—” Elyria began to protest, her mouth again full.

“We’re not allies,” Cedric finished for her. Elyria grunted in confirmation.

“Still.” Leona’s nose tipped up as her scornful gaze fell on Zephyr, standing at the other end of the table as she plucked a few grapes from a bowl.

Belien’s mouth twisted into a leer, his gaze flicking to Leona, who gave him an encouraging nod. “It’s just funny, isn’t it? The famed Sir Cedric Thorne, darling of Lord Leviathan Church, standing shoulder to shoulder with a bunch of freaks. If it’s not some knife-eared pixie, then it’s some herbwitch greenie. Guess the great knight has a thing for strays.”

Some knife-eared pixie? Elyria thought with irritation. Where was the fear of the Revenant when she needed it? Alas, she’d certainly heard worse. And had she been the only target of Belien and Leona’s ire, Elyria might have let the comment slide. But when she heard Zephyr’s sharp inhale, as if the sylvan had been struck clear across the face, it was all Elyria could do to keep herself from cracking the platter in her hands over Belien’s ginger head.

Cedric straightened beside her. “Such ugly words you spew, Larkin,” he said. “I would have thought losing Belis might inspire a kinder touch.”

Belien’s mouth twisted. “You will keep my sister’s name out of your mouth.” He leaned in closer. “Or you’ll find out soon enough, Thorne, what becomes of all the self-righteous fools who attempt the Crucible.”

Elyria finally set down the platter of bacon. “Four hells. Humans are so petty.” She huffed a dramatic sigh. “Did you forget where you are? You’re a champion bound to these stars-forsaken trials too. Exactly the same as him.”

“I’m not like him!” Cedric and Belien exclaimed simultaneously.

She ignored them both. “The fact that either of you are acting like we’re getting out of this alive is?—”

“Nobody asked you, fairy bitch,” Belien interrupted. The words were laced with venom, and Cedric’s hand twitched toward his sword hilt.

For a moment, Elyria wondered if the knight would strike out.

For a moment, she almost hoped he would.

“Enough.” Elyria’s voice was an icy whip as she stepped between Cedric and Belien .

Belien scoffed but took a step back, his bravado faltering. “Your pixie guardian here won’t always be around to fight your battles for you, Thorne,” he said, the threat clear in his voice.

“You’re welcome to try again anytime,” Cedric snapped back, voice low and menacing. It stirred something in Elyria’s core that she dutifully ignored.

Then Leona was tugging on Belien’s arm, pulling him away with a disdainful look cast in Elyria’s direction.

“Well, I never,” said Elyria, her hand draped dramatically over her forehead as if her delicate sensitivities couldn’t handle the words that had just been exchanged. Then she grinned at Cedric before snagging another piece of bacon from the table and taking a large bite.

“I had that handled,” Cedric muttered.

“I’m sure you did,” Elyria replied coolly.

His mouth opened. It closed. And then the knight snatched up the platter of bacon with a petulant huff and stormed off toward Zephyr.

Kit sidled up to Elyria as soon as he left, a bowl of berries clasped in her hands. “You really just can’t help yourself, can you?”

“What?” Elyria fished a plump raspberry out of the bowl and popped it in her mouth, savoring the way the tart sweetness washed over her tongue, cutting through the lingering flavor of salt and fat.

“Can’t stop yourself from saving him.”

Elyria shot her a glare. “I’m not in the mood, Katerina.”

Kit shrugged. “Just calling it like I see it.”

A series of chimes interrupted whatever retort Elyria might’ve thrown back at her friend, drawing all attention to the doors along the far wall. Silver light pulsed behind their frames, and she noted that where yesterday twelve doors had stood, only six remained now. Was this the Sanctum’s way of pushing them into alliances? Elyria felt a spark of gratitude in her chest that she already had Kit on her side. Or rather, that she was on Kit’s.

“Champions who have fought with steel and claw,” boomed the Arbiter’s resonant voice, “the Trial of Spirit awaits.”

Kit nudged Elyria’s shoulder—an obnoxious, silent I told you so.

“Behind each door lies a test of truth. Behind each door lies a challenge of will. Choose your path. ”

Tension rippled through the gathered champions. Eyes flicked to each door, then to each other. Calculating. Considering.

“Trust your strength. Trust your resolve. Trust each other,” finished the Arbiter, before the voice dissipated into the ether.

Elyria’s eyes narrowed. Trust each other . How convenient that the Arbiter’s parting words should be another call for unity, given the alliances here were fragile as spun glass.

A jolt of anticipation coursed through Elyria’s veins as the doors began to glow more brightly. The magic within whatever lay beyond shimmered like a mirage. Elyria knew better than to think the bedroom where she’d laid her head last night was still behind any of them.

Kit was already moving toward one of the doors, determination emblazoned upon her face. Elyria trailed a few paces behind, confident that whatever came of this rekindled friendship, it was at least strong enough to get them past the challenge that lay beyond whatever door Kit chose.

The doors flung open in a burst of light, and chaos erupted. The chamber was a flurry of movement as champions darted forward in a frenzy. Someone jostled Elyria’s shoulder, causing her to turn out of reflex—just for a second.

It was enough. She lost sight of Kit.

Shit . Elyria pushed through the crowd. Panic spiked in her chest as she shoved past Gael and Tenebris Nox, both making a beeline for the same doorway before the latter changed their mind, leaping into a different pool of silver light.

Shit, shit, shit, shit.

Champions disappeared one by one, and Elyria’s heart dropped into her stomach as she realized Kit had already gone through. But which one?

Soon, Elyria was the only champion left. She stared at the glowing doorways, clawing at her memory, parsing through the moments that had preceded this as if she might suddenly understand where Kit had gone, where Elyria was to follow.

Something flickered in her chest. A stirring. But it wasn’t the same dark, swirly feeling she’d come to understand as her inner shadow rousing. It was more like...a tug . A pull, subtle but insistent .

It coaxed her toward one of the glowing doorways, called her to it. Elyria could only pray it was pointing her down the same path as Kit.

“Intuition, don’t fail me now,” she muttered to herself before striding forward. With each step, the pull grew stronger, stronger, stronger—until Elyria was pushing through silver light and that familiar, world-tilting feeling coursed through her.

She found herself standing in a squat, square room. It was dark, the features of the room only made visible by the ambient glow of torches lining the walls to her left and right. There were no windows. No doors—not even the one she had presumably just come through. Just a painted arch on the far wall, golden swirls and vines drawn onto the stone, framing nothing.

Her stomach lurched. What was this?

A scraping noise came from behind her. She turned, her pulse quickening to a frightening beat.

Then it slowed. Nearly stopped.

And Elyria heard her heart beating in her ears when it started to pump again.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she said.

Because there, armored arms crossed tight over his chest, lips pressed into a hard line, was Sir Cedric Thorne.