Page 57

56

THE PRICE OF VICTORY

ELYRIA

Like before, Aurelia ushered Elyria and Cedric into that winding stone corridor, then disappeared, leaving them to make the return trip alone. Unlike before, the journey back to the Sanctum’s antechamber seemed to take no time at all, possibly due to the fact that Elyria had all but sprinted the entire length of it.

She couldn’t stomach the idea of another leisurely stroll back to the Sanctum—not with their escape from this place finally so close, not without knowing how Kit had been faring since the final trial began. Elyria needed to keep her focus on what was right in front of her.

She dared a quick look over her shoulder. Jogging behind her, Cedric’s face was the epitome of inscrutability. She hated that she couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

She was such a hypocrite. Here she was, doing all she could to keep herself from ruminating on all that had happened during the final trial—the choice they’d been forced into, his heartbreaking decision, the dizzying relief that came with bringing him back, and, of course, that kiss. Yet she couldn’t stop thinking about how he felt.

Did he regret it? she wondered. He’d known he was about to die. She couldn’t blame him for wanting to grasp onto one last piece of life with his final moments. Even though the idea of that being all it was made Elyria’s stomach clench painfully.

Right. Forward thinking. Kit. Getting out of here. Those were the things that mattered, the things that were important. Not to mention, they still had to figure out whatever in all four hells they were going to do about the other half of the crown being somewhere out there.

Elyria’s knees nearly buckled the second she stepped foot back in the chamber. Kit was upright, conscious, and appeared to be in the middle of a rather animated conversation with Thraigg. Elyria could see the edges of the red-stained bandage under Kit’s billowing blouse, noted the ashen look on her face, the lingering sweat still dampening her forehead. But she was awake, and she was alive . The sight of it lifted almost all the remaining weight that had been pressing on Elyria’s shoulders these past twenty-five years.

“You’re back!” Zephyr stood abruptly from a different table, shock written across her green face. As she approached, Elyria noticed the pallor of her skin, the anxious furrow of her brow. It was as though the sylvan was sick with stress. Guilt zipped through Elyria—she could only imagine the toll that all the healing Zephyr had provided the other champions had taken.

Elyria glanced at the crown in her hand. They were nearly done. At last, Zephyr could get the rest she very much deserved—that they all deserved.

Wringing her hands as she approached them, Zephyr’s forest-green gaze flicked from Elyria to Cedric to the door behind them, which closed with an audible finality as soon as the knight stepped through it. Her eyes widened as they landed on the crown. “Is that?—”

“Yes,” Elyria said, vanishing her wings with a small sweep of magic. “The Crown of Concord, at your service. Well, half of it, anyway. ”

“Half?” Zephyr asked, her voice shaky. “It’s only half?”

Elyria frowned. “Unfortunately, yes. The other half is out there somewhere and must be retrieved before the crown’s power will be complete. But the good news is that this”—she shook the crown in the air—“is supposedly enough to get us out of here.”

“Is it really?” Kit’s typically boisterous voice was somewhat subdued as she stretched in her seat to get a better look, but to hear it at all was a song in Elyria’s ears.

“So said the Arbiter. Said Aurelia. ” Elyria strode over and placed a gentle hand on Kit’s shoulder. Her eyes burned as she breathed, “Welcome back.”

“Never left,” Kit said, running her eyes over her friend. Relief flashed across her face as she took in Elyria’s lack of visible injuries. Then her expression settled into one of melancholy. She knew.

Of course, she knew. What had Elyria expected, that they wouldn’t tell Kit what happened to her? What had happened to her brother? What Elyria had done?

Like she could read Elyria’s mind, Kit’s voice was soft when she said, “Thank you, Ellie.”

Elyria let her hand drop. “Don’t thank me.”

“You saved my life. Saved us all.”

“I killed him.” The truth of that was a sharp blade, cutting the breath from Elyria’s lungs. Evander may have become a monster, but he was still Kit’s brother. If Kit had been awake to witness it, would she truly be so willing to forgive?

Kit sucked in a deep breath. “He was already lost. You told me as much, back in the camp. I didn’t want to hear you.” She looked up, a tear glistening at the edge of her green eye. “I didn’t want to see it. Didn’t want to see the truth of him.”

“None of us saw what he did coming,” Thraigg said, leaning over the table to pat Kit’s other hand. “There’s no blame to be dealt here, lass.”

Elyria shook her head. Oh, there was someone to blame , she thought. Just not anybody here. Rage scalded her throat as she held back the curses she wanted to hurl at Varyth Malchior. He was behind so much of what had gone wrong. Because of him, Evander had cost Leona and, indirectly, Belien, their lives. He’d nearly killed Kit, nearly killed them all. In fact, without his dark magic twisting Evander in the first place, Elyria and Kit would surely never have received those visions of him. Would not have attempted the Crucible at all. Would still be?—

Would still be drowning her sorrows under Artie’s judgmental eye. Would still be filling her days with songs and her nights with strangers. Would still be estranged from Kit, would never have this closure, would never have met...

Her gaze found Cedric lingering by the closed door they’d come through. Zephyr shifted anxiously on her feet, looking him over, checking him for injuries, her eyes lingering on the hole in his tunic where the dagger had gone in. A strange mix of guilt and relief kept flickering across Zephyr’s face, and Elyria couldn’t quite figure out why. Perhaps despite her distinct encouragement to do so, the sylvan felt bad that Cedric and Elyria had been forced to take on the final trial alone. Perhaps this was just her strange way of showing she cared.

To his credit, Cedric hardly seemed to notice Zephyr’s fussing. Over her head, his gold-ringed eyes met Elyria’s, and the intensity of his stare had her breath catching in her throat. It was like he could see the emotions battling in her mind—relief and rage and rapture and restlessness all overlapping, all fighting for dominance.

Kit took Elyria’s hand, drawing her attention back. A pang of guilt rang through her as she realized Kit had started speaking again and Elyria hadn’t been listening.

“But I hear you now”—Kit hooked their little fingers together, just like they often used to—“and I’m so grateful. You gave him the peace I sought for him, in the end.” She took a deep breath. “I never thanked you properly for coming in here with me in the first place, and I almost didn’t get the chance to. So, let me say it now. Thank you. You are the reason we all survived this long.” She inclined her head at the crown. “And you’re the reason we’re going to get out of here.”

Elyria swallowed hard, resisting the urge to look at Cedric again. He was the one who’d made the necessary choice, had paid the price to grant them their freedom from this place. But she didn’t know how to begin explaining that. So, she said nothing, simply nodded and gave Kit a tight-lipped smile.

“So...the Trial of Concord,” Kit said after a few moments of awkward silence, disentangling their little fingers. “What happened? How did you end up with half a crown? What did the final trial entail?” She extended a long brown finger to poke one of the crown’s sharp golden spires.

Elyria watched with rapt curiosity, wondering if she would feel a spark of that tremendous power that had seized Elyria when she first touched it. But Kit had barely any reaction. The corners of her lips turned down slightly, perhaps, but that was all. Elyria noted that the crown still held that feeling of being, well, not powerless, not exactly. But dormant. Whatever awe-inspiring celestial power had flooded into Cedric to bring him back had indeed been expended. It was just a pretty piece of royal jewelry for now.

“That is a rather long story, best left for another time, I think,” Cedric said, giving Zephyr an affectionate squeeze on the shoulder before stepping around her. “I think we are all more than ready to leave this place. I pray you will not take this the wrong way, but you still look like you could use a trip to the healer, posthaste.”

Kit snorted—a half-indignant, half-amused sound—but didn’t protest. She did still look pale, weak. Like just having this conversation required a great deal of effort. The thought made Elyria antsy. What were they waiting for? They needed to leave .

“Speaking of which,” Nox’s voice came from a shadow to Elyria’s left, dulcet and calm, though the unexpectedness of it still made her jump. In her rush to get back, the relief of seeing Kit, she hadn’t even realized the nocterrian wasn’t present. “Did Aurelia happen to say anything about how we would be able to leave this place?”

“Oh, yes.” Elyria placed a hand on her hip. “She wrote down instructions, in fact. Numbered them. She was absolutely, one-hundred-percent crystal-clear and not cryptic or ambiguous at all.”

Nox did not appear amused. “How do you know we are truly done here, then?” they asked. “I might have expected a bit more fanfare to accompany the Arcane Crucible finally being conquered. Part of a crown and your reports that ‘we won’ hardly inspires much confidence.”

Elyria held up the crown in her hand. “What she did say was clear enough. She told us we earned our freedom from the Sanctum, and it was time to return home. ”

She felt a sudden warmth seep into her side as Cedric came up beside her, his hand brushing hers for the briefest of moments.

“Indeed, she did. So, any ideas, Elle?” he asked.

She inwardly scowled at the fluttering in her stomach caused by his casual use of her nickname, though her annoyance at her body’s traitorous reaction was quickly replaced by a sinking feeling.

“Make it count, Elle.” That was the last thing he said to her before he died. Had she? If they didn’t reunite this slumbering piece of the crown with its other half, if they couldn’t seal the Chasms and help bridge the literal divide between the peoples of Arcanis, would any of it count? With Malchior out there, scheming, plotting, would any of this matter?

She thought of Gael, of Cyren, of Paelin and all the rest. She thought of Evander. She thought of the terrible what-if that was Cedric. How easily he could still be counted amongst those who gave their lives and ambitions to this dreaded place.

Elyria bit her lip a little too hard, hoping the pain would help her focus. If she did want to make their lives count, they had to get out of here. And, of course, it couldn’t be as simple as Aurelia having actually told them what to do.

She scanned the antechamber, took in the scattered tables and benches, the pillows and pitchers. Crown still in hand, she walked over to the wall of doors and tried a few handles. None of them glowed. None of them led anywhere special at all. They opened up into bedchambers and bathing rooms, as they always had between trials. Finally, her gaze landed on the empty wall opposite the doors, where the archway from which they’d entered the antechamber after the first trial had been.

There was something about the blank expanse, the layers of stacked gray stone. There was nothing to indicate there was, or had ever been, an archway or gate there. But as Elyria wandered closer, crown still in hand, it suddenly felt like she was being pulled toward it. When she was only a few feet away, the stone started to shimmer with an all too familiar silvery light. Before long, a glowing archway stood before them.

A Gate.

A way out.

Through it, Elyria could see the vague outline of the grand hall of Castle Lumin stretching before her. More importantly, she could hear it—the cacophony of cheers and raucous chants coming from the cavernous room. The voices were muted somewhat by distance and whatever magic lay within the Gate, keeping the Sanctum separate from the real world, but they were there.

“You wanted fanfare,” she called over her shoulder to Nox. “I think we’re about to get it.”

The nocterrian made a noise that sounded somewhat like a harrumph but said nothing else. Elyria heard stirrings behind her, the sounds of chairs scraping and hushed encouragement as Thraigg helped Kit to her feet.

“They’re all still here,” Cedric murmured, stepping next to Elyria.

They were. Blurred and indistinct as her vision through the Gate was, Elyria could see dozens of spectators lining the walls of the hall. Whether thanks to some ancient magic woven into the rules of this tedious contest, or by Aurelia’s hand, the people already knew the Crucible had been conquered. They thought the crown had finally been won.

Elyria wasn’t sure what that meant for what was to come next.

“Well, Sir Victor, your adoring legions await.” She took his hand and placed the crown in it.

“ Our adoring legions,” he corrected with a grin, closing his fingers over hers just as she tried to pull back—keeping her hand, along with the crown, firmly clasped in his.

Elyria tensed, a spark running up her arm, the shadows in her chest stirring. She wanted to lace her fingers between his, to exit this cruel and fantastical place hand-in-hand.

“Tested in the fires of trust, bound by something deeper than ambition. You have emerged, both of you champions, both of you victors.”

It was a strange thing, standing here on the threshold of freedom, this new precipice. In some ways, it felt like this was the true test of that bond. Because while they had fought beasts of tooth and claw, they had burned and bled and lost in here...they had done so together.

“Are you ready?” Cedric asked.

She wasn’t. The moment they stepped through that Gate and back into the real world, this—whatever this was—would be over. There was so much still unknown. So many questions. Elyria wasn’t ready for them to go back to their separate sides of the continent, for their peoples to once again be at odds.

What did this mean for their peoples? Both of you champions, both of you victors, Aurelia said. Did that mean something? Would the king—the kings, both of them—honor that fact? Would they even believe them?

The promised power of the crown was no longer on the table. Neither side would claim that celestial might, would be able to wield it against the other—Elyria would make sure of it. Was there a chance that could possibly mean the start of something like...peace?

She shook her head. For all their talk of working together to seal the Chasms, of healing the land, and of after , Elyria and Cedric had not discussed what that might actually look like. It had seemed simple at the time. Now it seemed to grow more impossible the longer she stared at the Gate.

They needed to hunt down the other half of the crown. They needed to ensure Varyth Malchior stayed as far away as possible. They needed to plan and strategize, and they needed time together to do all of that.

Together .

The word stuttered in Elyria’s mind, reality starting to fray the edges of the hope that had been building against her will. There was no together once they left the Sanctum. She and Cedric had two wholly separate, wholly disparate afters waiting for them.

Her cheeks heated at the foolishness of longing for anything different. She started to gather the mess of emotions churning in her chest, tying them in knots, digging a hole deep inside herself where she could bury them.

At the gentle squeeze of her hand, Elyria turned to find Cedric looking right at her. Something like determination and maybe even a hint of longing was sketched into the strong set of his brow, the clench of his jaw.

“Find the other half,” he said, finally releasing her hand and leaving the crown piece in her open palm.

She immediately felt the absence of him, the heat of his touch fading. It felt...final.

“Unite the crown, seal the Chasms. Finish what we started.”

“And you?” Elyria banished the tremble she could feel in her chest from showing in her voice. “What will you do?”

“I will make sure Varyth Malchior never gets his hands on it. I will ensure he pays for everything he did here.” Conviction. Confidence.

Elyria’s heart simultaneously swelled and deflated. A bittersweet taste coated her tongue. She didn’t know how he hoped to accomplish that, but she supposed if anyone was in a position to hunt a mad sorcerer through the human realm, it might just be him.

Cedric smiled—small, sad, but capped with the barest hint of hope. Like maybe, just maybe, this didn’t have to be goodbye forever.

She hoped it wasn’t.

She wanted to believe it wasn’t.

Needed to believe it wasn’t.

Even if she knew it was. Knew they’d always been playing this game from different sides of the board. And nothing that occurred between the two of them really mattered outside the confines of the Sanctum.

Even if it mattered to her.

She dug deeper.

Leaning on Thraigg, Kit finally came up beside Elyria. Zephyr shuffled up next to Cedric on his other side, Nox lingering a few paces behind the line of champions. Former champions. Survivors and victors, all—in Elyria’s eyes, at least.

Her fingers closed around the half of the crown.

And she stepped through the Gate.