Through a gap in the canopy, I see them. Two massive shapes circling against the sky, their silhouettes blotting out the sunlight. The heavy, broad-winged war dragons of the Imperial Guard. Their scales are obsidian, catching the forest’s glow in oily sheens. They’re observing, their minds dulled, passive.
He’s watching,I send to Zeriel, the thought a cold stone in my gut.
I know.His reply is clipped, his pace unbroken.It changes nothing.
But it does. I feel the shift in him through the link—a subtle tightening of his focus, the cold ire from before now banked andsharpened into a diamond point. This isn’t just a game for unseen crowds. It’s also a private performance for the man who holds all the strings. The man who destroyed his family.
A low hiss slices through the air. Zeriel halts mid-stride, hand dropping to his blade. Ahead of us, a vine as thick as my arm unspools from the canopy, its end unfurling into something that looks half-blossom, half-maw. Hooked, glistening thorns glimmer where petals should be. It sways, slow and deliberate, as if tasting the air.
Don’t move,Zeriel warns through the link, his thought coiled tight.
As if I was planning a tea party with it.
Another vine slithers down to our left. Then a third drops hard enough to rattle the branches, squarely in our path. The three of them sway in sync, hemming us in. My throat dries. Every instinct screams to bolt, but my legs lock.
The air thickens with a sweet, cloying perfume that doesn’t seem to belong in the forest. It clings to the back of my throat, makes my eyes water. My head swims slightly, the edges of my vision bending. For a dizzy moment, I can’t tell if the trees are swaying with the vines or if my body is.
Then the ground beneath the vines begins to ripple. Moss and loam buckle, shifting wetly, liquefying into a black bog that stretches wider with every heartbeat. It spreads toward us, swallowing roots and glowing fungi alike.
I choke down a breath as the vines sway closer. My pulse hammers in my ears. The smell is stronger now, honey-sweet, close to suffocating.
Then one of the vines lowers its hooked maw and dips it into the bog. The surface ripples around the thorns, sucking them under. But when it pulls back, the vine hasn’t so much as dripped.
A chill cuts through me.That…That’s wrong.
Illusion,I push through the tether, the word jagged with alarm.The bog isn’t real. It’s…
A trick to herd us into the vines.Zeriel’s eyes narrow, his gazeflicking between the carnivorous plants and the shimmering ground.
My mind leaps to Blaise. Could he be near, pulling strings? Surely the tournament wouldn’t install something this blatant, this drenched in spellwork. It doesn’t even feel like natural magic—more twisted, distorted… the kind they whisper about as dark.
I glance upward, half-expecting the emperor’s gaze to pierce the canopy, but the dragons have drifted from directly overhead.
I wonder if they even have magic detectors down here. I assume not, or this should’ve lit up the spot like a beacon.
At least for ourselves, I feel a thread of comfort that Selen claimed her original spellwork masked our signatures and would last through the first leg. Hopefully we won’t risk exposure if we have to draw on our own gifts.
The bastard’s likely close.Zeriel’s thought grinds through the link, steady and lethal. He doesn’t hesitate. With a low grunt, he steps forward, straight onto the “bog.” His boot sinks an inch into moss and holds.
Then he turns back, offering a hand.Come on. Don’t tell me you’re scared.
Only of your stunning personality,I shoot back.
I don’t need his hand since the bog isn’t even real. I step forward, and we move quickly, moving through the illusion while the real threat—the vines—whip through the air around us. One lashes out, its thorns grazing my pack, and Zeriel shoves me forward, spinning to deflect it with his vambrace.
We break through the cordon of plants and dive behind the massive root of a glowing tree. The hissing recedes behind us. I wonder if one of those things had killed the screaming woman.
He’s toying with us.I pant, leaning against the bark.Trying to unsettle us before we even reach the combat stage.
It won’t work.Zeriel is already checking the compass, his focus absolute.
We could’ve used the suits,I say.Tried to get close. A quick knife in Blaise’s leg. They’d never have seen it.
His gaze meets mine, dark and considering. The temptation is there, a feral glint in his eyes. But he shakes his head.No. That would’ve played into his game. He’ll be expecting direct retaliation.He pushes off the root.The temple is the priority. I’ll deal with Blaise when the time comes.
He starts moving again, faster this time. I follow, the injustice of it a hot coal in my gut. He’s right, I suppose. It’s probably the smarter play. The survivor’s play. But gods, it doesn’t make it any easier to swallow.
We have to keep moving,Zeriel sends.And stay quiet.
