Of course. My whole life has been a lesson in silence, but it’s harder here than anywhere. I shadow his steps, placing my boots on moss where I can, eyes darting through the symphony of glowing flora. The forest is dazzling, but every flicker feels like a snare now, every blossom like it might lunge if I look at it too long.
A sudden chittering sound cuts through the air, high and sharp. From a cluster of pulsating, mushroom-like growths to our right, a cloud of iridescent insects erupts, each no bigger than my thumb but with wings that glint like shards of obsidian.
Before I can even process the threat, Zeriel tackles me. He drives us both to stand behind the thick, gnarled trunk of a tree, his weight once again a sudden, crushing force. The air is pressed from my lungs in a sharp gasp.
Gods, you weigh too much.
Would you rather be shredded?His reply growls low, his body rigid.
The chittering intensifies, a thousand tiny blades slicing through the air just beyond our cover. The vibration of their wings practically buzzes in my bones.
Pretty sure your animal tricks don’t stretch to fighting a swarm that size,Zeriel says.
Probably not, but I don’t send that thought his way. I grit my teeth, praying for the high-pitched drone to fade.
It does only after several tense heartbeats, leaving a ringingsilence in its wake. Then Zeriel’s weight slowly lifts. But just as I’m about to step out, he steps back.
What are you doing?I ask.
Someone’s approaching.
I peer through a gap in the gnarled branches, searching. Then I see them. Two figures, moving through a copse of bushes. The first is a mountain of a man, Sorven Varrin, Champion of the Volcanic Belt, a heavy mace held loosely in one hand. Walking beside him, looking slight but stealthy in comparison, is Elara.
A small relief flickers through me. Even though I barely know her, I’m glad it wasn’t her death scream I’d heard.
Then I realize she’s looking directly at us. Sorven too. His posture shifts from a walk to a wary stance. They know we’re here.
Zeriel gives Varrin a long, assessing look, the kind one gives an obstacle rather than an opponent.Not worth the effort,he sends, a clear dismissal.
I find myself agreeing—not for Varrin’s looks, but because this leg of the round isn’t meant for us to tear each other apart. The goal is the temple… for whatever twisted reason they’ve chosen to make it matter.
Zeriel’s about to simply move on, when a blur of movement bursts from the trees beside us.
A female lunges out from behind a cluster of towering fungi, a thin, wicked blade flashing for Zeriel’s throat. Maeve Caldra, Champion of the Coastal Reaches, the same one I’d sat beside at the imperial dinner.
At the same heartbeat, Sorven barrels in, his mace carving a brutal arc through the air.
An ambush. The two of them, moving in tandem. A temporary alliance—but one that could end us just as surely as any enemy alone.
Take out the stronger champions early, before they expect it. That’s the game here. And I doubt it breaks any rules.
Zeriel shoves me hard, sending me stumbling away from the initial attack.Get clear,he hisses into my head.
He deflects Maeve’s dagger with his vambrace, the steel ringing sharply, while pivoting on his heel to avoid Sorven’s crushing blow. The mace smashes into the tree we’d been hiding behind, sending splinters of glowing wood flying.
But this isn’t just about him. As the champions clash, Elara fumbles with a small crossbow, her hands shaking as she levels it at me. My blood runs cold. I dive sideways, scrambling for a weapon—a rock, a branch, anything—as a bolt whistles past my ear.
I can almost hear her voice through her expression:I’m sorry, I have to do this.Maybe she means it. But that doesn’t dull the sting—or the anger boiling in my chest.
Maeve is fast, a whirlwind of feints and strikes, while Sorven is pure brute force. They work in tandem, trying to pin Zeriel between them. She throws a handful of glittering dust into his face, and he recoils with a curse, momentarily blinded. Sorven seizes the opening, his mace sweeping low to shatter Zeriel’s legs.
Even without sight, Zeriel reacts on pure instinct, dropping and rolling beneath the attack. He comes up with his own blade in a fluid motion, its edge carving a deep gash in Sorven’s thigh. The big man bellows in pain but doesn’t fall.
Elara has another bolt loaded. There’s no more time. I charge her, tackling her around the waist. We crash to the mossy ground in a tangle of limbs. She’s not only taller than me but stronger than she looks, desperation giving her a wiry strength. Her nails dig into my arms, drawing blood, her knee driving into my ribs.
Her hands find my neck.
Air rasps in my throat, a useless, scraping sound. Black spots dance in my vision, the forest dimming at the edges. Elara’s face is a mask of desperate resolve, her eyes wild with a sorrow that makes her actions all the more terrible.I have to,her expression pleads, even as her thumbs press harder into my windpipe.
