Page 40

Purple and green…

That’s all I see when my eyes flutter open. A dull ache pounds in my head like a steady drumbeat. As my vision clears, I take in the deep purple sky and the silhouettes of mountains rising through the clouds.

A cold, wet chill seeps through my body. I am lying on a bed of soft moss, and the smell of pine and wet stone fills my senses. Somewhere close by, a river roars like a wild beast.

Panic hits me like a ton of bricks as I wonder where I am or how I got here, but I’m too weak to rise. I reflect on the last memories I have, trying to remember what happened to me.

I was in my quarters, waiting for the night to deepen. I was supposed to meet the Izadeonians in the southern ward soon. We were supposed to break into the Martyshyar wing. My stomach was churning with nerves from the thought of risking another break-in.

And then, nothing…

Those last memories are from the dead of night, and now it is dusk. If this is the following sunset, I’ve been unconscious for just shy of a day.

This must be the fourth trial.

I look around, and my heart skips a beat when I see Darian lying several steps away from me, sprawled out on the ground like a discarded rag doll. My whole body shaking, I crawl toward him .

It must have been sorcery that knocked us out, but Darian’s pale skin, motionless body, and labored breathing hint at something more sinister—poison or perhaps a dark spell.

He is breathing—thank the gods for that. But he looks like his life hangs by a thread. His skin feels like ice, and his breath is shallow. I huddle close, hoping to impart some of my warmth and search his body frantically.

After a few seemingly long moments, I finally find it: two small red dots on his forearm. Fangs. A snake, most likely a water snake, considering we are near the river. It must have struck him while we were unconscious.

The night is closing in, and the forest creaks and whispers around us, undoubtedly filled with even more sinister creatures that can kill us. But I can’t focus on that right now. All that matters is the fading flicker of life on Darian’s face.

I reach for the worn pouch at my waist, grateful that they did not strip us of our belongings like they did in the arena. Inside, I have a jumble of herbs, dry food, the potions Zanyar gave me, and a few of my own that I crafted in Jahanwatch.

I take out a potion I made just a few days ago using ingredients I bought in Shemiran.

Thank the gods I didn’t delay brewing it when we returned, especially since I had been so distracted searching the library for information about the Star.

The book from Madrisa claimed it could draw out poisons—now it’s time to put that theory to the test.

Praying to the gods, I press the vial to Darian’s lips and tilt his head back to pour it into his mouth.

My heart pounds wildly as nothing happens for a few agonizingly long moments before his body starts to convulse, and a violent tremor shakes him.

Then, just as suddenly as it began, the seizure stops.

I watch him intently, my shaking hands betraying my terror.

His skin is still pale, but his breathing appears steadier—though perhaps I am just imagining it.

Still, a hint of relief sparks in my heart, but I know that our ordeal is far from over.

We are alone, injured, and lost in a dangerous, unfamiliar world.

As I survey my surroundings, I notice a piece of leather parchment wrapped around a rock near where I was lying. Rushing over, I quickly unwrap the thin leather.

“Arise with the setting sun, and by the setting sun of the second day, you must return to Jahanwatch.”

That is it. Nothing more. No explanation.

No clues. Just a single command. But the meaning is clear: wake up at sundown (if you weren’t snake-bitten) and find your way back to Jahanwatch in two days.

Simple, right? Except I’m clueless about our location, and I have an unconscious, motionless companion.

Mountains surround us like a jagged prison. We are beside a silver serpent of a river that winds through the valley between two peaks. To our right, a cliff face rises high, defying gravity like a sheer wall of rock. As twilight descends, a cold wind howls through the pass.

We won’t survive the night out in the open like this.

Mustering all my strength, I grab underneath Darian’s shoulders and look for the nearest shelter—a massive rock.

He feels like dead weight, and my muscles scream in protest as I slowly drag him over, inch by inch.

After what feels like an eternity, I finally pull him behind the stone and slump down next to him, wiping the sweat from my brow.

At least here, we have some protection from the wind.

Darian’s body is still ice cold. Thoughts of him dying here, frozen, float around my head like devastating gnats.

Just a small touch, a whisper of sorcery, could save him and bring him back to consciousness.

However, the rules are clear, and the consequences are well known.

Interfering with sorcery here could affect the outcome for both of us.

Biting my lip, I look at him with concern. We need a source of warmth. Heat will keep him alive and provide me with enough warmth to determine our next move.

Fire!

My hands tremble with cold and fear as I search for kindling. Dry twigs and leaves are scarce in this damp, shadowy world, but I manage to gather a small pile. I then take out the flint and steel I packed in my pouch. It’s a crude tool, but it’s all I’ve got .

Sparks fly as I strike the flint against the steel, but none of them ignite in the damp air and on the wet twigs. The wind whips at the kindling, scattering it like ashes. Despair’s fist tightens around my heart. I’m alone, hungry, and my friend is dying next to me.

But giving up is absolutely out of the question; I refuse to even entertain it. I won’t let us die in this wilderness. Nor lose the trials.

I am a survivor. I refuse to be defeated now.

As I repeat these thoughts in my mind, I finally catch a spark. It’s a tiny ember, but I cup it in my hands and flame it with my breath. Slowly, it begins to grow, bringing a pulse of light against the icy grip of night. Twigs catch fire, then small branches, and soon, a bonfire roars to life.

The fire crackles and spits like a defiant song against the howling wind. It’s a small victory, but for now, it’s enough. The night is long, and the mountains are unforgiving, but we will endure if we can make it through the night.

I lean in closer to Darian, turning his back to the fire and pressing him against me for warmth.

The wind howls as if it is an injured animal, but it cannot reach us behind the big rock.

Darian’s wide back blocks the warmth of the fire from reaching me, but I know he needs the heat more than I do.

I snuggle in closer to him, shivering as the chill begins to seep into my bones.

Sleep tugs at me with the promise of sweet oblivion from the cold, but I resist, my hand wrapping around the hilt of my dagger.

I am the only barrier between Darian and whatever terrors hide in the shadows.

With my other hand, I hold him close throughout the night, sharing my warmth, willing him to survive.

Every creak of the wind makes my heart leap. I strain my ears, alert for any signs of danger, and tighten my grip on the dagger. Every hour, I shift and stoke the dying coals, coaxing them back to life.

The night stretches on like an endless expanse of shadows and uncertainty as I contemplate our situation.

We must have been unconscious for nearly a day while our lifeless bodies were carried to this desolate place, likely by horse.

By that calculation, we must be somewhere within the Albir Mountains, not far from Jahanwatch.

Horses can cover a good distance in a day, and we have two days to return. But it wouldn’t be a simple hike. It would be a brutal trek through rugged terrain. With Darian still incapacitated, we’ve already lost precious time.

No doubt, the other contenders are on their way back. I squeeze my eyes shut, desperately trying to dismiss the growing dread I feel. With each motionless moment behind this rock, the chance of losing the trial seems to swell.

As the night deepens, Darian’s body becomes warmer, as a welcome sign of recovery. I lift my head from his shoulder and study his face. My heart tugs with longing for the moment when his dark blue eyes open and his playful smile and charming dimple light up my world again.

Sleep has softened his features, revealing an unexpected gentleness and an innocence he usually keeps hidden. As I take him in, I realize he has always had an edge, a barrier I could never penetrate. But at this moment, that barrier has dissolved.

A pang of envy hits me when I think about the woman who wakes up to this sight every day, warm in his arms and kissing him good morning.

I can clearly envision his touch being so intoxicating that it could heat up a whole room.

I shiver at the thought of his hands tracing a woman’s naked body…

or maybe my naked body. My body heats at the thought…

Instantly, I pull away, startled by my unexpectedly intimate thoughts. I feel embarrassed and bewildered—how did this happen? When did I start fantasizing about Darian touching my skin?

As I look at him, my chest tightens. Gods. He is… beautiful. Heat rushes through my body, and my fingers tingle with the urge to run them over his cheeks.

I feel pathetic. I am a grown woman who has never kissed anyone. Never participated in a great romance. A woman still discovering how to hold hands without looking awkward. Now, here I am, cozy next to an unconscious man, adrift in a daydream that feels like a bard’s song gone wrong.

Falling for Darian is absurd on every front.

All I’ve ever seen in his eyes is friendly compassion.

Allowing my feelings for Darian to run wild could shatter our friendship.

It’s self-destructive and reckless. But most of all, it’s an incredibly dangerous distraction from my purpose.

I came here to be a Martyshyar, a warrior, not a lovesick maiden.

The night drags on until dawn begins to paint the sky with golden and crimson hues. Darian’s color has returned, and his breathing is steady, but sleep still keeps him captive. I gently shake his shoulder, but his eyes remain closed.

With a sigh, I tip my waterskin to his mouth, but it’s empty. Rising, I head to the riverbank, hoping the morning air will revive my exhausted spirit. Down on one knee, I fill my waterskin when I catch a movement out of the corner of my eye.

Before I can blink, a head the size of a horse emerges from the depths of the river.

The creature’s skin shines like an opal in the sunlight.

It’s huge eyes look down on me with an unnerving intelligence.

But it is the bottom half of the creature that really horrifies me.

Emerging fully from the water is a mass of writhing tentacles, like a scene from a nightmare.

My entire being is frozen in terror as I take in the creature that can surely kill me without much effort. As I stare at it, I wonder how such a being could even exist.

This is no ordinary creature…

It is some kind of an altered monster. Instantly, I draw my daggers. But the moment I do, the monster’s tentacles lash out, quicker than anything I’d seen before, and wrap around my ankle.

I scream as it drags me toward the depths, my heart pounding violently against my chest. Panic surges through me as I flail my daggers in a desperate flurry of resistance. I know if I use my magic, I will lose consciousness and become an even easier prey.

Two more tentacles lash out, thick as tree trunks and slick with vile slime, wrapping themselves around my arms and legs.

A new jolt of pure panic surges through me.

I thrash wildly against the monstrous appendages, but the creature’s grip is unyielding.

With a sickening lurch, I am dragged deeper into the cold water .

“No! Help!” My screams pierce the air, but I know there is no use.

It only takes a few moments for the water to close over my head and my lungs to start burning from lack of air. Fear fueling me, I claw wildly at the tentacles squeezing me, but their hold is like iron. My vision begins to blur, and the edges fade to black.

Gods, I don’t want to die here, swallowed whole by some nameless horror in this forsaken wilderness. I keep fighting until my limbs grow heavy, leaden, and the fight drains out of them. My lungs burn, starved of air, each desperate gasp drawing only more water.

As the last bubbles escape my lips, a strange calm settles over me. It is a surrender, a helpless acceptance of the inevitable.

So, this is it, then. The end.