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27

AN UNLIKELY PAIRING

CEDRIC

All signs of the winding corridors Cedric found himself wandering last night disappeared with the rising sun.

As did Elyria.

She did not come out of her room the next morning. Not when the other champions slowly began emerging, looking more exhausted than they had when they’d gone to bed the night before. Not when Kit poked her silvery-hued head out of their room in search of breakfast. Not even when Thraigg stumbled out and immediately collided with one of the small tables now dotting the Sanctum’s main chamber, sending platters of bacon and fruit flying with a deafening crash.

The Arbiter had given them two days to recover from the Trial of Spirit, and that, apparently, was what Elyria had decided to do. Alone.

“Good morning.” A light voice filtered into Cedric’s ears, and he tore his eyes from the row of doors at the back of the room. Zephyr held out a plate of yeast rolls.

“Thank you,” he said, taking one and biting into it for show. Swallowing the hunk of bread was a chore. He didn’t have much of an appetite, not after making such a fool of himself last night.

Satisfied, Zephyr walked away to offer the rolls around the room, gracefully sidestepping Belien when he reached for one.

Kit grinned at the sylvan healer as she grabbed two rolls, along with a pitcher from a nearby table and retreated back to her room.

Cedric watched her go.

Left alone with his fraying thoughts, he could no longer avoid the mental self-flagellation he’d been staving off since last night.

What had he been thinking?

He hadn’t been. That was the only explanation. Or, at least, it wasn’t his brain that had been doing the thinking.

He wanted to punch himself, the one-track-minded bastard.

Cedric had just been caught so off guard. His thoughts consumed by the memories he’d relived, the feel of the knife slicing through his lip, the fear rooting him in place as he stared at his father’s lifeless body.

And that wasn’t even the worst of it.

Those memories he was more familiar with, the same ones that visited his dreams every so often. But the rest...

His nightmares hadn’t included seeing the intruders searching for something. Hadn’t involved that fourth figure, looming outside. Cedric hadn’t remembered his mother’s final words—ones that he still didn’t understand. And he hadn’t recalled seeing her torn apart by dark magic. He’d just known she died, as if his mind had been trying to protect him from the reality of what he’d witnessed.

Was this why he’d assumed the Revenant’s involvement? As a child, Cedric heard tales of the Revenant’s deadly exploits, of the dark powers that won the Arcanians a war. All children knew the stories.

Cedric’s brow creased. Was it possible that the hatred that had fueled Cedric for the majority of his life, that had pushed him toward the Crucible, had been manufactured by himself?

Lord Church had never said anything to the contrary. Not that they often spoke about what happened before Cedric was taken in as a ward of the lord’s estate. But if the lord had known anything more about who was responsible for Cedric’s parents’ murders, he’d never said. He had been perfectly content, in fact, to stoke Cedric’s need for vengeance against the Arcanians—against the Revenant .

The infamous Revenant...who was, in reality, a woman like any other. A brash, reckless woman with a reputation so much bigger than her.

Impulsive. Petulant. Maddening.

Beautiful.

He groaned inwardly. He knew how foolish it made him, how disappointed Lord Church would be if he knew what Cedric was thinking. But there was no point denying it. She was a beautiful thing, more so last night than ever before. The way the moonlight caught on her periwinkle hair, making it glow silver...And the vulnerability in her eyes...

It had stirred something in him.

Cedric squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to banish his thoughts—and those jewel-green eyes. This was not a helpful trail of thought to venture down. Dwelling on this wouldn’t get him any closer to his goals. He was just exhausted. He was feeling too much. He was grateful to Elyria for seeing him through the Trial of Spirit, for getting him out. That’s all this was—all it could be.

Because she was right. They were not on the same side. The Arbiter could espouse talk of unity until they were blue in the face, but the bottom line was that only one champion would walk out of the Crucible with the crown in hand.

And that person would be Cedric.

Cedric would have thought the day would move slowly, knowing there was nothing to do other than sit around and “heal”—whatever the Arbiter meant by that. But time moved surprisingly quickly. Leona and Belien seemed to have learned yesterday to stay out of everyone else’s way, so the remaining champions trained and talked and theorized about what the third trial would hold. Even Tenebris Nox seemed to be easing themself out of their self-imposed isolation and interacting with the rest of the group more.

The weight on Cedric’s chest eased as he sat to the side of the room, watching Nox walk Thraigg and Zephyr through a few nocterrian sparring moves. The dwarf’s eyes went wide when the sylvan spun on him, her dagger in hand. He slid backward, the ornaments in his braided beard jingling.

Cedric chuckled under his breath. Though they were nearly equal in height, the dwarf outweighed the sylvan by at least double. His stout, hardened demeanor and her delicate spryness made them an unlikely pairing, but it seemed as though the events of the Trial of Spirit had bonded them.

Cedric’s eyes drifted toward the closed doors at the back of the room for the fiftieth time that day. He supposed he wasn’t one to talk.

Something glinted in the periphery of his vision, and he turned his head to find Kit leaning against the wall to his right, an apple in her hand. Her wings glittered golden in the setting sunlight that filtered in through the high windows dotting the walls.

She bit into the apple, surveying Cedric with a playful gleam in her mismatched eyes. “She’s fine, you know,” she garbled.

His brows shot up. “What’s that?”

“Elle—Elyria. She’s all right.”

He shifted in his seat. “I didn’t ask.”

She shrugged and took another large bite. Cedric suspected the fruit was hiding a rather smug grin.

“Can I ask you a question?” he asked after a moment.

Kit arched a brow. “I don’t know, can you?”

He bit his bottom lip. “I’m not sure if it’s considered impertinent.”

“Spit it out, knightling.”

“Your wings.”

“What about them?”

“Well, you, Gael, Cyren . . . I’ve noticed you all keep yours, er, out quite a lot more than . . .”

“Than Elyria?”

He hesitated. “Yes.”

Kit’s tongue darted to the outside of her lip to snatch an errant speck of apple. She seemed to be debating with herself. “It’s not my place to explain her exact reasons why, but generally speaking, a fae’s wings are sensitive, easy to injure.”

“A liability in a fight,” Cedric said. That made sense. Elyria approached life as though a battle might erupt at any moment. He supposed that, for her, it often did.

His mind went to the scars on her legs, a bolt of anger tearing through him. She’d tried to play it off like it was nothing. But he saw the flash of panic, the pain simmering behind those jeweled eyes. He knew better. And the thought of what Raefe did to her, the lingering scars he left on her—physically and otherwise—made Cedric’s chest feel hot.

He had no real reason to be incensed. No right. But he was, nonetheless. And he knew whatever punishment Elyria had already meted out on the man who marked her could not possibly have been enough.

Kit nodded, though if she had any inclination of the dark path his thoughts had gone down, she didn’t show it. “Some keep them hidden for that reason. But just as I imagine humans have varying tastes and preferences”—she looked Cedric up and down with amusement—“different fae feel differently. For most, it’s not worth the drain on their magic to keep their wings concealed all the time. That’s how I feel about it, anyway.”

Gold shimmered as she flared her wings wide before folding them neatly against her back.

“I see,” Cedric said.

“But for some...” Kit glanced around as if ensuring nobody was listening. “When fae are involved romantically, intimately...When it’s a deep, significant sort of relationship, wings can take on a new meaning. And after one has felt their soulmate’s wingtouch, it can be...challenging to stomach the idea of anyone else touching them.” Her face fell. “Even after they are no longer together. Even if one of them...” She cleared her throat. “Elle is particularly protective of her wings.”

Something tightened in Cedric’s chest. A spark of pity, yes, but something else, too. “So, the two of you...?”

“Four hells, no!” Kit made a gagging sound, and Cedric couldn’t help but laugh. “She’s like my sister. It was my brother who—” She cut herself off. “It’s not important. I’ve already said too much.”

Cedric tried to project cool confidence despite the wild churn of his emotions. They were flipping back and forth so rapidly, he thought the second trial might’ve stolen a bit of his sanity along with his innocence. Curiosity, fascination, sympathy, relief...and had that been jealousy pushing in on his chest before?

That couldn’t be right.

“Rest assured, you’ve barely said anything at all,” he told Kit, forcing a smile. “But thank you. This has been illuminating.”

The corner of Kit’s mouth quirked up. “Just don’t tell her anything I barely said, all right?”

He placed a solitary finger against his mouth. “My lips are sealed.”

“Well, fuck me right over the Chasm,” Thraigg said with a low whistle from just beyond the open bedroom door.

Zephyr wrinkled her nose at the dwarf’s words as she helped Cedric fasten his vambraces to his forearms.

Cedric sighed. “Honestly, Thraigg. It is first thing in the morning. Is that sort of language necessary?”

“Get out here and take a look for yerself, Ric. Then ye can tell me what’s necessary .”

Cinching his sword belt around his waist, Cedric dragged himself over to Thraigg, an admonishment on the tip of his tongue. One that he swallowed the instant he looked through the open doorway at the scene before him.

“Fuckin’ told ye.” Amusement danced in the dwarf’s eyes as Cedric took in the sprawling, verdant landscape. Lush, feathery grass. A halo of oak trees encircling them, easily a hundred feet tall. And high above, a blue, blue sky—endless sky.

It was breathtaking.

“Impossible,” Cedric whispered, though he didn’t know why. He’d experienced firsthand that there were no rules when it came to the Sanctum. It switched antechambers for winding corridors at the twist of a doorknob and flipped night and day as easily as rolling dice. This new development should hardly have been shocking. And yet...

Cedric stepped through the doorway onto soft grass. He ran his fingers along the stone wall that stretched on either side of the doorway, as if verifying it was really there. It looked like the exterior wall of any building—perfectly normal, had he not known that this grassy clearing was a dining room twelve hours ago.

“Do you think this means the Trial of Magic has started?” Zephyr’s voice came from behind him.

“What else could it be?” Tenebris Nox’s voice filtered over the sound of footsteps—heavy boots crushing grass.

Cedric turned to see the nocterrian walking over with Gael Winters and Cyren Tenrider. The two fae hovered just over the ground, their glittering wings flapping behind them, flared as if they wanted to stretch as far into the sunlit scene as they could.

Further down, Belien and Leona emerged from a door of their own, wonder plastered across their faces. One look at the other gathering champions, however, and their typical looks of ire and disdain were back in place.

“Just like that?” Cyren asked. “No grand announcement this time? No rules ?” He attempted a poor mimicry of the Arbiter’s thoroughly inimitable voice. “Champions, the Trial of Magic awaits. Go forth! Only, make sure to hug and hold hands the entire time because unity !”

A melodious laugh rang through the air. Cedric’s muscles seized.

“Not bad, Tenrider,” said Elyria as she approached, Kit trailing behind her. She donned a cloak over a cream-colored top, smooth leather vest, and brown breeches, a lightness in her step that had been missing the last time Cedric saw her. She did not look at him.

Humming, Elyria bent low and skimmed splayed fingers across the grass. A delicate vine of white and purple flowers sprang from the ground. She plucked a few fresh blooms and tucked them into the periwinkle hair braided in an intricate coronet across her head.

Cedric clenched his teeth to keep his mouth from doing something stupid like falling open.

“Maybe the Arbiter thinks we should understand how it works by now,” said Gael.

Kit frowned. “But then... does anybody know how it’s going to work this time? What exactly are we supposed to be doing here?”

As if the Sanctum had been waiting for someone to ask that very question, the doors behind them suddenly slammed shut. The ground began to rumble and shake.

“What the f—” Thraigg’s outcry was swallowed by a deep, rolling boom coming from the earth—like thunder.

“Elle?” Kit’s voice jumped an octave.

“It’s not me.” Elyria’s eyes moved frantically over the grass, as if trying to locate the source of the quake. “I’m not doing that.”

As quickly as it began, the rumbling ceased.

Nobody was fool enough to think that was the end of it.

Gael and Cyren passed uneasy whispers back and forth. Hands on their tokens, Leona and Belien exchanged an urgent look. Thraigg spun the handle of his hammer in his palms, ready to start swinging. At his back, Cedric felt Zephyr step closer.

Green eyes met Cedric’s for the briefest moment. Elyria’s lips parted like she was about to speak.

And the ground erupted.

The earth split open, grass disappearing into fissures that cracked through the soil.

Champions scattered.

Belien and Leona howled at one another as they tucked themselves against the building.

Nox moved like a shadow, darting back several feet.

In an instant, and to Cedric’s immediate relief, Elyria was in the air, wings materialized on her back, purple and green shimmering in the sunlight as if pulled from the aurora itself. She, Kit, Gael, and Cyren floated over the sundering ground, their wings rippling with an ethereal grace that nearly had Cedric forgetting about what was happening.

With a yelp, Zephyr pulled on the back of Cedric’s armor, moving him out of the way just as the dirt where he’d been standing crumbled into nothing.

“Move, Thraigg!” she cried.

Cedric’s gaze shot to the dwarf, still braced in his battle stance, hammer aloft, as a crack ripped through the ground, racing toward him.

Cedric moved as if he could reach Thraigg before the fissure did. He wouldn’t have been able to, but it didn’t matter. A gust of wind rushed past him, hitting the dwarf squarely in the chest. Thraigg flew off his feet, soaring backward into one of the closed bedroom doors with a groan.

When Cedric looked up, he saw Cyren hovering in the air nearby, hands outstretched. He gave the stormbender an appreciative nod.

Thraigg grumbled a low thanks—first, to the fae who’d saved him, then to Cedric as he helped the dwarf to his feet. A cacophony of rustling and crunching overtook anything else Thraigg might have said.

Roots burst from the rifts in the earth, twisting as they snaked over the ground. They wound between the trees, locking the trunks together. Thorny vines crept down from the treetops, weaving together with the roots to create a nightmarish tapestry that seemed designed to showcase the dark side of nature.

Eventually, the roots and vines slowed. With a creak so loud it was as if the very earth was groaning in pain, they stopped, leaving behind an impossibly tall, impenetrable wall.

The champions were surrounded on all sides. Trapped.

“There’s your answer, Kit,” said Elyria as the two of them touched down in front of Cedric, her wings vanishing again with a burst of magic that left the scent of bitter almond grazing his nose.

“You asked what we’re supposed to be doing here?” She pointed to the trees. “We have to figure out how to get through that.”