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26

RECOMPENSE

ELYRIA

“No.” Gael’s shoulders slumped the second the Arbiter’s polyphonous voice rang through the room. Paelin would not be joining them. The Trial of Spirit was over.

“Champions who reign over spirit and truth,” boomed the voice, “I offer my congratulations. And my sympathies.”

Well, that was new. Elyria didn’t think the mysterious being had expressed much of anything close to resembling sympathy after the first trial. Were they starting to get attached?

Elyria, unfortunately, knew the feeling.

Her chin still tingled where Cedric had touched her when he’d pulled her from her trance .

That fucking trial.

She hadn’t meant to lash out at Belien like that.

He deserved it, sure. But what she’d gone through in the trial had changed something in her. And when she reached for her wild magic with the intention of intimidating the human with a little, tiny, itty-bitty earthquake, or maybe helping a few loose stones find their way to his smug face, her shadow had answered instead.

She didn’t fully realize what she was doing to him until Cedric stopped her.

And she had absolutely no idea how to feel about that.

“Your journey is far from over.” The Arbiter was still speaking. Oops. “Let the truths uncovered within yourselves guide you in the trials to come.”

Elyria glanced at Kit. “Trials?” she mouthed. “Two down, two to go?” That was another tally for Kit’s predictive prowess.

Kit simply stared back at Elyria, some inscrutable mix of emotions in her mismatched eyes.

At first, Elyria thought she simply didn’t understand what she’d tried to communicate. Then the realization hit. Kit never knew about Elyria’s dark magic. Elyria had never let her see it. Never told her.

Wonder, shock, and a little bit of hurt. That’s what Elyria saw reflected back at her.

But not fear.

She could work with that. Could work with Kit’s irritation. Her anger, even. As long as she wasn’t afraid of her.

Elyria would check in with her as soon as she could. But it was all she could do at present to focus on the rest of the Arbiter’s words, their next command. Especially with the hulking human knight still basically standing on top of her.

She considered elbowing him in the side, forcing him over. She needed space—to think, to breathe.

She could barely breathe with him right there.

“Emotional wounds cut deeper than physical ones,” said the Arbiter. “Two nights you’ll have to rest. Recover. Recuperate.”

The doors at the back of the room swung open.

“And then the Trial of Magic shall commence. Your strength alone will not be enough to survive. Rely on the bonds you’ve forged, the trust you’ve built. Remember: unity is the key.”

And with that, the voice faded.

Elyria tried—she really tried—not to look at Cedric. She failed. And as she met his golden brown eyes, something stirred in the hollow place where her inner shadow slept.

A recognition. An understanding.

They didn’t say anything—there was no need for words. They were in this together now.

Whether they liked it or not.

The soothing stillness of night should have brought Elyria peace. The chance to just be after so much strife. Instead, she found herself restless.

Kit hadn’t said much as they’d walked through one of the doors and their bedroom from the night before materialized before them. The agreement to hold off on any lengthy, emotional confessions until morning went unspoken as they’d poured themselves into their beds.

Elyria wanted more than anything to succumb to sleep. She couldn’t. She lay on her side, staring at the wall beside her bed, the events of the day playing over and over in her mind.

The rush toward the doors. The golden mirror. The battle. The darkness. That burning house. The...aftermath. And interlaced with nearly every memory, permeating every image: him.

Why did Cedric loom so large in her mind? Was she just feeling the aftereffects of the Trial of Spirit? She thought about the scene she’d come upon after fading out of her own trial—his body curled up on the burning floor, flames dancing around him. She thought of the tightness around his eyes, the clench of his jaw as he fought against pain. It had been her first instinct to run to his side, to sing to him, to try and soothe his fear.

She thought about the way his eyes had widened when he realized it was her, how the pain and confusion in his face had shifted into something like awe. How he had lit up with relief...before crashing back into suspicion .

Elyria grinned against her pillow, recalling the way he came at her after that. He was a decent fighter; she would give him that. She wondered what it would be like to face off against the knight under less traumatic circumstances. She bet it would be fun.

And then she shook her head, burying her face in the cool cotton. What was wrong with her? Why did she feel his presence everywhere? Why was he always there? After each trial. Before she’d even entered the Gate. Even here, now, she felt him.

She didn’t understand why. Didn’t understand this flicker of familiarity that seemed to thread through her veins at the thought of him. Was it gratitude? It’s not as if he’d done anything to help her. He had pulled her back from the edge with Belien, yes. But it wasn’t the same as how she’d helped him—multiple times now. How she was here to help Kit.

And Elyria felt like something must have been very, very wrong with her because the more time she spent in this place, the harder it was to remember her reason for being here. Like her mind was pushing out thoughts of Kit and Evander and replacing them with this infuriating, self-righteous human .

And fine, she would admit that the man wasn’t as absolutely loathsome as she’d initially thought. Especially now that he seemed to finally—maybe?—believe she’d had nothing to do with his parents’ murder. And, yes, perhaps witnessing him in the wake of his lowest moments had softened her toward him.

A little.

But he was still insufferable. He still had a chip on his shoulder and a stick up his ass.

Elyria sighed. Her head hurt. She thought about how much had happened since that morning alone. It was as though an entirely different person had been the one hoarding bacon and trading barbs with the knight.

Every hour spent here felt like an eternity and like an instant. How much time was passing outside the Celestial Sanctum? Was it the same out there? Or was the ancient magic here warping their senses? Bending the very passage of time?

She rolled onto her back, clutching the blanket under her chin like an anchor, as if it might weld her to the present. She needed her spinning mind to stop, if just for a few moments.

It wasn’t the darkness that kept her awake. She’d made peace with that—at least for now. It was something else. It tugged at her, not entirely dissimilar to the feeling of having forgotten something without any clue as to what it is she might have forgot.

Elyria sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, her gauzy white sleeping dress dusting the tops of her knees. Her bare feet met the cool stone floor. With a glance at a peacefully sleeping Kit, Elyria crept from the room, not even bothering to slip on her boots. She just needed to clear her head. Needed space to think.

The moment she closed the bedroom door, unease washed over her. She didn’t have to turn around to realize she was not in the Sanctum’s main chamber, the room where they’d spent all their time outside the trials. She was in a long, empty corridor.

Flickering torchlight lit the hallway. Elyria hesitated for a moment, brushing her hand against the wall as if seeking reassurance from the cool stone.

The night was still. There was no sign of the other champions, not even their bedroom doors. No sign of life at all beyond the low hum of the Sanctum’s ancient magic. It soothed something in Elyria’s soul. A soft melody fell from her lips as she harmonized with the magic, the initial disquiet she’d felt melting away.

She stepped forward, allowing that tug in her chest to guide her down the winding corridor.

Rounding a soft curve in the hallway, Elyria stopped short.

Of course , she thought. Of fucking course.

It had guided her right to him.

Cedric sat on a stone bench in a small alcove at the end of the hall—head in his hands, shoulders hunched. Moonlight filtered in through a window above him. His armor was gone, leaving him in just a simple black tunic and pants.

Open.

Vulnerable.

Human.

He must have heard her because he lifted his head before she could take another step. His brown eyes were wide with an emotion that Elyria had trouble placing. It wasn’t surprise, not exactly. More like, wonder. Incredulity.

Like he wasn’t expecting to see her, but he wasn’t not expecting it either.

And Elyria understood that. Because, against all sense, it was how she felt too.

For whatever reason, the celestials or fate or the stars-damned Arcane Crucible itself seemed determined to push the two of them together.

To what end, she couldn’t say. All she knew was that whatever dark and ancient thing she held within her seemed to recognize something in him—something that made her feel both drawn to and repelled by the knight in equal measure.

Elyria and Cedric watched each other for a moment, the air between them charged.

“Can’t sleep?” Her voice was low as she cracked the silence.

Cedric let out a humorless laugh. “After all that? Not sure I’ll ever sleep again.”

She slid onto the bench beside him, her brow arched. “The great Sir Cedric Thorne, scared of a little shut eye? What is the world coming to?”

One side of his lip curved up in a sad sort of smile. “Everything really has turned upside down in here, hasn’t it?”

Elyria didn’t know what to say to that. She cleared her throat. “What are you doing out here?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know, really. Needed to get away from Thraigg’s snoring. Zephyr’s too.”

Elyria snorted. “Now, I can see that from the dwarf. He has the look of someone who rivals a blacksmith’s bellows when he sleeps. But are we talking about the same Zephyr? Sweet, petite sylvan gal?”

“She’s worse than Thraigg,” Cedric whispered conspiratorially, his smile finally reaching his eyes.

A giggle slipped from Elyria’s mouth. Something flickered over Cedric’s face at the sound, and she felt suddenly self-conscious.

“And how exactly did the three of you end up bunking together again?” she asked, eager to move past the moment. “You should have had your pick of rooms.”

“Just lucky, I suppose. Neither of them would leave me alone after that display back there.” He leaned back with a sigh, though she thought he already seemed lighter, less weary than he had been when she first approached. “Thraigg’s thoroughly inebriated state didn’t do much to help matters. And Zephyr, altruistic little thing that she is, didn’t think it was very champion-like to leave an incredibly drunk, incredibly handsy dwarf to his own devices.” He tilted his head and gave her a knowing look.

Another giggle escaped. Elyria clapped her hand over her mouth.

“It’s not funny,” he protested.

She dropped her hand. “Oh, come now. It’s a little bit funny,” she said, elongating the words so that they came out as a lilting melody.

Something clicked into place behind Cedric’s eyes. “Ah,” he said.

Elyria’s brows drew together. “What?”

He chuckled. “I thought I heard singing before. And just now...It was you, wasn’t it?”

“You heard that?” Elyria fought the urge to bury her face in her hands.

“Is that what you’re doing out here? Kit got fed up with your singing keeping her up?” he teased.

“Firstly, Kit sleeps like the dead. She’s always been able to sleep through anything . And secondly, I’ll have you know that my singing is rather in demand. Folks often came to The Sweltering Pig just to hear little old me.”

“The Sweltering Pig?”

“Best cider and third-best ale in all Coralith.” She leaned back with a stretch of her arms, linking her hands behind her head. A smile twitched at her lips. “Artie says that?—”

She cut herself off at the way Cedric suddenly stilled, as if every cell in his body froze in place. He was looking down.

She followed his line of sight.

Right to where her sleeping dress had ridden up, exposing the checkerboard of scars emblazoned on top of both her thighs.

The air grew thick, a heady sludge that Elyria struggled to pull into her lungs.

“What happened?” His voice was low, almost menacing.

Heat flooded Elyria’s cheeks. The balm Zephyr gave her had taken the rawest edge off them, but the marks Raefe left on her were still unmistakable—an angry, twisted map on each leg. She scrambled to pull her nightdress down, but gentle fingers wrapped around her wrist, staying her hand.

She lifted her head to find two pools of golden brown staring at her— into her. Her heart forgot how to beat for several moments.

Cedric sucked in a slow breath, an eerie calm settling over him. “Who did this to you?”

She shot to her feet, breaking his grip on her wrist. “It’s nothing,” she said, cursing inwardly as her voice cracked.

“It’s not nothing.”

She didn’t know what to say.

“Tell me.”

Her nostrils flared as she inhaled deeply. “You’re not the only one in this world who had grand plans for the day they finally met the Revenant .” She fiddled with the fabric of the sleeping gown, glowing white in the moonlight. “But unlike you, this one wasn’t inclined to listen to reason. More of an act first, talk never sort of guy.”

Cedric had gone so still, Elyria thought for a moment he might have stopped breathing entirely.

She cleared her throat. “I wasn’t thinking...I only partially healed the burns before I realized?—”

“Burns?” He stood so quickly that Elyria found herself stepping back in surprise. “Those are burns? But they’re so?—”

“Precise? Yes, Raefe’s mastery of his flametouch was actually quite impressive. Or it would have been, had he used it for anything other than making confetti of my breeches.”

“Don’t do that.” His voice had a dark edge.

She swallowed. “Do what?”

“Make light of what happened. Of what this Raefe did to you.” He spat the name like it was a curse.

No, not a curse.

A vow.

It sparked something in Elyria’s core, even though she had no idea what to say in response. She shivered as Cedric’s gaze ran up the length of her, slowing as it drifted over her legs before stopping at her forearm.

His jaw ticked. “I burned you too.”

“What?”

“Your arm. In my trial. You got burned.”

“That was hardly your doing.” She extended her arm and gave it a wave. “And I appreciate the concern, Sir Worrywart, but fear not. It was an easy fix. See? Healed it right up. Nary a scar to be seen.”

His weight shifted toward her, as if he meant to move closer. He didn’t.

Elyria didn’t understand why that disappointed her.

A few moments passed, thick silence hanging between them.

Finally, he said, “I hope you made him pay.”

“Not enough,” she muttered before she could stop herself.

“After we get out of here, we’ll change that.”

She snapped her head to him, the words washing over her like cold water. Awakening something in her. She never let herself think about after . She’d gone through the Gate knowing full well that there was almost no chance of coming back out, only caring about helping Kit make it as far as she could.

Yet here was this man, suddenly talking as if after was guaranteed.

The idea soothed her. Terrified her.

“After we get out?” Elyria said.

Cedric smirked. “After I win the crown.”

That spark in her core fizzled out with the reminder of where they were, why he was here. Why she was. “Right. The crown. Because it’s all about the crown.”

“No, that’s not what I?—”

“I should leave.”

“Why?”

She released a singular sharp laugh. “ Why? We are on opposite sides here, Sir Thorne.”

For a second, she thought he might have winced at her use of his formal name. She ignored it.

“You’ve trained for this your whole life, remember? Far be it from me to prevent you from fulfilling your duty.” She hesitated. Bit her bottom lip. “Only...I will be preventing you. Because Kit is determined to win the crown to bring her brother peace, and I’ll be damned to the fourth quarter if I let anyone get in her way. ”

She turned to go.

“Please.” In a heartbeat, he closed the distance between them, his hand latching around her upper arm. His eyes searched hers. “Don’t go yet.”

Their proximity was suddenly overwhelming. Elyria’s heart pounded in her chest, a wild, erratic rhythm. She should pull away. Should put distance between them.

But she didn’t move.

Neither did he.

Instead, they both leaned toward each other, some invisible force drawing them closer. Her eyes lowered to his mouth, lingering on the scar cutting through the right side of his upper lip.

The tug in Elyria’s chest throbbed.

Her breath hitched as her lips parted, the world narrowing to nothing but him and her and their unbearable closeness and the warmth of his body against hers.

“Don’t run,” he whispered. The skin on her arm felt hot under his touch.

“Don’t run from yourself. You don’t have to hide.” Evander’s words pealed in her head like a warning bell.

It broke the spell.

She yanked herself back, her skin prickling like she’d been doused in ice. “This was a mistake.”

Without another word, she fled, leaving Cedric standing alone in a pool of moonlight.