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SURVIVOR’S GUILT

CEDRIC

Fog clung to Cedric’s consciousness. He felt heavy. He tried to move, but his limbs were distant, detached. He was drifting, unsure of where he was, when he was, exactly what happened during those last moments in the cavern. Glimpses cut in and out of his mind—the cold sneer on Belien’s face, sparks of red lightning, Elyria’s panicked voice calling Cedric’s name, and then...pain.

Pain and this tepid, foggy nothingness.

There was no pain now. It was peaceful, in fact. He thought he might like to drift like this forever.

The sensation of someone hovering nearby tugged at the edges of his awareness. It pressed against his consciousness, a familiar warmth, the feeling of being right on the cusp of waking from a pleasant dream.

The fog parted. His eyelids fluttered.

And Cedric knew he must be dead.

Because there, leaning over him, was the most beautiful being he’d ever beheld. And surely nothing like her existed in a place as harsh as the one he’d left behind.

Otherworldly beauty seeped from every plane of her face, radiating from the soft curve of her jaw, beaming from her jewel-toned eyes. Her loose periwinkle hair was luminous in the faint light as it spilled over her shoulders.

She was a goddess, watching over him as his soul slipped into the Hereafter.

He opened his eyes further and the world began to sharpen around him. Pain lanced his chest, surging through his veins like molten iron, and Cedric suddenly longed to return to that fog of nothingness.

If he was dead, why did everything hurt so damn much?

The sharp intake of breath drew his attention back to the ethereal figure floating over him, and reality struck him like a hammer.

Not a goddess.

A fae.

Elyria’s face was impossibly close, her bottom lip between her teeth, green eyes filled with worry as they ran down his face, his neck, his chest. Searching. Pleading.

Maybe he really was dead. Because that was the only possible explanation for why she would be looking at him like that.

“Cedric?” Her voice turned his name into a song, a melody that washed the vestiges of that mental fog from his mind. Her hand rested on his upper arm, a gentle touch that sent a spark across his skin. It was then that he realized he was bare from the waist up, save for the long bandages wrapped around his chest, shoulder, and head.

With a low groan, Cedric shifted and tried to prop himself up on his elbows, each breath sending a sharp pain through his ribs.

“Don’t move.” Elyria leaned back, the lilt of her voice shifting into something commanding. Protective. “He’s awake,” she called over her shoulder, and Cedric heard the soft patter of footsteps before Zephyr’s frowning face entered his field of vision.

“Thank Gaia,” said the sylvan, immediately ducking down and fussing with Cedric’s bandages.

“How”—he coughed, his words trapped in his dry throat—“how long?” he rasped.

“A few hours,” Elyria replied, some emotion flicking across her face that belied the casualness in her voice.

“What happened? Where is Bel?—”

“Dead.” The word was calm but laced with tension, the kind that made Cedric feel like he was missing something important.

He blinked, his mind sluggish as it struggled to piece together what had transpired in those last moments. Belien was dead. So was Leona, he remembered. He hadn’t witnessed her fall, but he certainly had the honor of bearing the brunt of Belien’s grief.

Elyria stood abruptly, leaving a sudden chill in the place where her hand had lain upon his arm.

Stiffly, Cedric pushed himself into a sitting position, ignoring the protestations of Zephyr and his body alike—the spike of pain that pulled across his ribs and the throbbing at the back of his head. He tracked Elyria’s movements as she ventured toward the small campfire burning nearby, the rest of the champions lounging around it.

Thraigg’s burly frame was curled over his hammer, the metal glinting in the firelight as he cleaned it. Cedric met his eye, and the dwarf offered him a stout nod. Next to him, Nox sat with their legs crossed and eyes closed, absentmindedly stroking one of the dark curved horns on their head, deep in thought. Cyren and Kit had their heads bowed together, speaking in low tones. They took turns tossing surreptitious glances at Gael, who sat in front of the fire, hands wrapped around her knees, staring blankly into the flames.

They were still in the cavern. Cedric’s eyes widened as he realized the ground he sat upon was once again whole and even. Evidence of the battle remained—piles of broken stone strewn across the floor, sections painted with the dark stain of blood. But there was no sign of the wide rift that cut the cavern in half. Had Elyria sealed the sundered ground?

He looked at her retreating form, her head turned to the side as she braided her hair down one shoulder, offering the slimmest glimpse of her face as she walked away. He would’ve sworn her eyes kept darting back to him, though he couldn’t read the emotion there. Was it...guilt? Or something else? She was acting as though the sight of him pained her.

He didn’t understand. If anyone should be feeling guilty, it was him.

Traitor. Betrayer.

Belien’s accusations ran on a loop in Cedric’s mind. He should have felt something like relief or satisfaction—justice?—knowing the sorcerer was gone. He’d been a poison on the entire Crucible, spreading nothing but bitterness and animosity since before they’d even gone through the Gate. Leona, too. In direct conflict with what the Crucible clearly expected of its champions. Time and time again, their behavior had proven them a stain on humanity’s reputation. The idea that one of them might be the one to claim the crown had been humiliating at best, terrifying at worst.

And that was before a blood-mad Belien had tried to incinerate Cedric on the spot.

But all Cedric felt was a sort of sinking feeling around his heart. He couldn’t get the accusations out of his head. Was he a traitor to his kind? Was that what his legacy would be? He was the last remaining human champion. And he’d only gotten here because time and time again, an Arcanian had been willing to put their pride and personal gain aside to help him.

Cedric had never felt smaller. Even now, he was sure he was only alive thanks to their machinations.

He rubbed his hand over the bandage on his torso, at the spot where Belien’s blood magic had struck him. How was he still alive? He’d felt the bolt cut straight through his armor, felt that sharp, piercing pain in his chest. He was certain that the only place he should have woken after a blow like that was in the Hereafter.

Zephyr was still fussing behind him, and Cedric winced as she lifted the bandage wrapped around his head to apply a foul-smelling balm. Between her and the quartet of fae present, all blessed with a modicum of healing magic, Cedric knew that his injuries must have been very grave indeed for him to still be in this much pain.

He sighed, inwardly chastising himself. He’d become soft, already entirely too used to the convenience and comfort of magical healing. His nose scrunched and lips pursed as Zephyr rubbed the pungent balm on his chest wound, his head swimming from the stench .

A melodic laugh floated into Cedric’s ear. Drawn like magnets, his eyes shot to the source.

He’d thought Elyria would have joined the other champions at the fire by now. Instead, she reapproached Cedric, a small bundle in her hands.

“Here,” she said, holding it out to him. Then, wrinkling her nose and looking assessingly at Zephyr, she added, “Although, perhaps you won’t have much of an appetite until that...aroma...fades.”

Cedric’s brows drew together as he took the bundle from Elyria and unwrapped it to reveal five strips of bacon folded in a cloth napkin.

He looked at her.

Her eyes still wouldn’t quite focus on him, and she chewed her lip as if self-conscious, though Cedric couldn’t possibly imagine why she’d be feeling that way. Was this about what just happened with Belien? Or was it about what almost happened between the two of them?

“I recall you being rather stingy with sharing,” he said, his lips tilting up on one side. He shoveled a piece of bacon into his mouth, savoring the rich, salty flavor as it washed over his tongue.

She shrugged. “I took extra from breakfast, and you caught me in a generous mood. Don’t get used to it.”

“Right. Of course.” His grin widened.

“I mean, if you don’t want it?—”

“No, no,” he said hastily. “I want it.”

The silence that hung in the air felt incredibly heavy.

Zephyr stood, a grunt of self-approval piercing the tension as she looked over Cedric’s bandages one final time. “I’m not sure bacon would have been my first choice in recovery foods, but I suppose it’s a good sign that you have an appetite.”

Elyria sprang into motion. “Oops. Well, you heard her, Sir Knight. Healer’s orders, so sorry.” She bent down and snatched the remaining bacon from Cedric’s hand, ripping off a piece and popping it between her lips with a laugh before sauntering away.

“How about some water and crackers instead?” Zephyr had a knowing look in her forest-green eyes that Cedric promptly ignored.

“You have crackers?” he asked.

She pointed at a pouch on her belt and grinned. “Oh, I am always well stocked when it comes to snacks.”

Cedric felt his lips curving up in a smile, though a new thought quickly wiped it from his face. What about the rest of them? They all had to be hungry, especially if they’d been waiting for Cedric to wake up all these hours. A wet trickle of guilt spread down his spine, worming its way into his stomach.

His concern must have shown on his face, because Zephyr went on to say, “Everyone else has already eaten.”

“Gotten full off your crackers, have they?” he asked skeptically.

Zephyr chuckled and jutted her chin toward Elyria and Kit, who were now speaking by the fire. “When you’ve a wildshaper and a tideweaver in your midst, one doesn’t need to worry too much about finding sustenance.”

As if she felt Cedric’s gaze fall on her, Elyria glanced over her shoulder. She wore a wry grin as she offered him a mock salute with two fingers, then crammed another piece of bacon into her mouth.

“You just focus on healing up,” Zephyr continued, “and we can be on our way. I think we are all quite eager to get to the end of this trial.”

Unease settled further in the pit of Cedric’s stomach as he nibbled on a cracker. The trial wasn’t even over. They were still in the thick of it—in the midst of this literal maze. So why were they all still here? Why had they lingered, delayed?

He knew the answer, yet he didn’t understand. They’d been waiting for him to wake up— he was the reason.

Everyone was always waiting on him.

“You were supposed to be the one to save us.”

Belien’s words were a dark curse settling in Cedric’s mind. He clenched his fist, a flicker of something other than guilt—something hotter, wilder—stirring in his chest. He dared another glance at Elyria. If he was the one supposed to be doing the saving, why was he continually being saved? Why did she continue to bother?

Traitor. Betrayer.

He didn’t deserve it.

She should have left him to be burned into ash by the dragon in the first trial. Should have left him to be consumed by the flames of his memory in the second .

Cedric shook his head, anger and confusion and self-pity rattling around in his mind like dice in a cup. This line of thinking was pointless. Pathetic. This wasn’t over yet. He couldn’t lose sight of the reason he was here. And despite the Crucible being so damn insistent on them all working together, a sense of knowing sunk deep into the marrow of his bones that only one person would emerge as victor in the end. Only one of them would walk away with the crown—only one side would obtain its power.

And he was the only chance his people had left.

To the credit of whatever disgusting ingredients were in Zephyr’s balms and poultices, they did their job credibly. The ache at the back of Cedric’s head and the sting in his chest were already considerably lessened by the time the sylvan finished catching him up on everything that had happened after Belien’s near-death blow.

Zephyr detailed the interest on Elyria’s and Cyren’s faces when the enigmatic Tenebris Nox had demonstrated their shadowstepping ability, explaining how Gael, Thraigg, and Cedric were able to catch up. She recounted Kit’s demand for an explanation from Nox as to why they abandoned the group outside the labyrinth. Then, her begrudging acceptance of the answer—that they’d hidden in the shadows, followed Leona and Belien through the labyrinth, and returned when the fight in the cavern broke out.

“So, you’re a spy,” Kit had said.

“I’m an observant person,” Nox had replied.

Zephyr grinned when she recounted their exchange. It faltered when Cedric asked her for more details on exactly what had happened to Belien.

“Perhaps that’s a question better served for...” She turned her head, her gaze landing across the cavern where Elyria leaned against the far wall, one foot propped up behind her and a distant look in her eyes.

“Right, then.” Cedric stood, marveling at how much better his body already felt as he plucked his arming doublet from where it had been folded and set aside. He pulled it on, making a mental note to beg Zephyr for the ingredients of her magical mystery cure once they were through this.

Stretching his neck—first to one side, then the other—he buttoned his doublet and strode over to Elyria.

She didn’t look at him as he approached.

Didn’t look at him as he took up a spot beside her, touching his back to the wall.

Didn’t look at him as the voices around the campfire quieted, then surged, as if the other champions realized how obvious they were being.

Finally, Cedric couldn’t take it anymore. “Thank you,” he said, his eyes searching Elyria’s face for some kind of reaction. Any reaction. “For helping me. For saving me. Again.”

She drew her eyes from the spot of empty air they’d been fixed on and met his gaze, just for a second.

“Zephyr is the one who healed you,” she said, waving her hand as if trying to dissipate his gratitude.

“But she isn’t the one who avenged me.”

Elyria’s hand stilled in mid-air. Several silent seconds passed between them before she dropped it back to her side. “It wasn’t for you,” she said. “You saw him. Belien had gone mad. The blood magic...He was corrupted. What was I supposed to do?”

“What did you do, exactly?”

“Ask them.” She tipped her head at the campfire and the conspicuous champions who were definitely not eavesdropping.

“They told me to ask you.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and pointer finger. “I see.”

“So . . . ?”

“So, I stopped him.”

“You killed him,” he said. A statement, not a judgment.

“I did.”

A beat of silence passed between them.

“And how do you feel about that?” he asked.

Her head whipped toward him, so quick that it nearly threw Cedric off balance. “How do you think I feel?” she hissed.

“If I knew, why would I ask?” he said, keeping his voice level. This was not how he envisioned this conversation going.

She released a shaky breath. “I’ve killed many people. So many. Why should this be any different?”

Cedric’s chest tightened at the vulnerability in her voice. Like it wasn’t a rhetorical question. Like this was different, only she didn’t understand why.

Because everything in here is different, he wanted to say. Because I feel like I am a different person than the one I was when I walked through the Gate. And I think you are too.

But he didn’t say that.

What he said was, “And the rift in the ground?”.

Elyria’s shoulders sagged, visible relief flooding her face at the subject change. “I sealed it up. The labyrinth didn’t complain. And we’ve been dithering about here since, waiting for you to wake from your beauty rest.”

Emotion flickered in her eyes even as she made light of his injuries. He knew it had been bad. He just didn’t know why she cared. And Cedric couldn’t resist. “Beauty rest, huh? So...you think I’m beautiful?” he said, smoothing down the arm of his doublet, then fiddling with the end of the sleeve at his wrist.

She huffed, and Cedric couldn’t quite tell if it was with irritation or humor. “I think you think you’re beautiful.”

His chest swelled.

“And I also think you’re not nearly as funny as you think you are.”

“I never claimed to be funny,” he said, grinning.

“Ah, but how did you put it? You’re considered by many to be ‘positively delightful,’ yes?”

His grin widened. “That is, in fact, precisely how I put it. And consider me positively delighted to know I made so great an impression that you memorized my words verbatim.”

He would’ve sworn he saw her cheeks turn a shade pinker.

“Well, don’t,” she said simply.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t think you’ve made that much of an impression.” But the edge of her lips quivered, and satisfaction spread through Cedric’s insides like warm honey. “And don’t look so satisfied with yourself,” she added.

Cedric stared at her.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just, sometimes it feels like you can read my thoughts. You can’t, can you?” He narrowed his eyes in mock suspicion.

She snorted. “I hardly need to be a mindwielder in order to be able to tell what you’re thinking.”

“Is that so?”

“Everyone else may only see the stoic knight in your visage, but I’m afraid I find you incredibly easy to read. I don’t even need to be like Leona to discern your thoughts.”

The air was pushed from his lungs. “What? Leona?”

“Right. You were still getting that much-needed beauty sleep when I told everyone else.” She smirked at him. “Turns out she was keeping quite a secret from the rest of us. The mindwielding bitch nearly managed to melt our brains before the ground split. Not fun.”

She gave him a moment for that to sink in. Cedric thought about the times when he felt like Leona looked at him a little too long, the knowing way she’d taunted him about the Trial of Spirit, the silent communications he’d witnessed between her and Belien. Of course. Not just an advanced sorcerer, but a sage. No wonder she had gained such notoriety. He almost had to respect the fact that she’d so successfully kept her telepathic abilities a secret for so long. Couldn’t have been easy.

Cedric frowned. Now he was feeling posthumous pity for Leona? Of course he was. Abhorrent as she’d been, she was still human. In the grand scheme of things, they were here for the same reasons. They had been cut from the same cloth, had the same goal.

And now Cedric was all who remained.

“You aren’t the same as them,” Elyria said quietly, and for the second time in as many minutes, Cedric found himself staring at her in disbelief.

“Stop doing that,” he said.

She arched a brow. “Doing what?”

Cedric bit the inside of his cheek. “Seeing right through me.”

At first, she didn’t say anything back, just returned to staring at that spot of empty air in front of her, brow furrowed in thought.

Cedric leaned his head back against the wall, his eyes roaming to the tall, curved cavern of the ceiling.

“I don’t see through you,” she said, her melodic voice so soft that he thought he might have imagined it. “I just see you.”

Still braced against the wall, Cedric turned his head toward her, thoughts swimming. Two silver-flecked pools of emerald-green beamed at him. He opened his mouth, no idea what in all four hells he was going to say in response to that but feeling strongly like he needed to say something.

He was rescued from the task when Thraigg let out a grunt, stood, and lumbered over. “Glad to see ye back on yer feet, lad. Feeling all right?”

“Better.” Cedric rotated his shoulders, testing the feel of his body. “Might even venture to say I’m feeling good.”

A sort of bereftness sunk into him as Elyria pushed off the wall, offered the dwarf a friendly nod, and proceeded to take the spot he’d just vacated by the fire.

“Glad to hear it,” Thraigg said, oblivious to and unaffected by Elyria’s sudden departure. “Think it’ll be much longer before you’re back in fighting shape? Can’t imagine this damned maze will stay idle forever.”

Cedric hated the confirmation that they really were only still here because they’d been waiting on him. He made a mental vow. No longer.

“Right,” he said, jaw tight. “I’m ready when you all are.”