Sivra, with the deep mahogany hair tied into two braids, steps forward without a word. She kneels, pressing two fingers to a flat stone at her feet. There’s a faint thrum—not loud enough to hear so much as feel—and the pebble gives a tiny shiver before going still.
She straightens and takes three steps back, then closes her eyes. “There,” she says, pointing straight at the stone without hesitation. “I can sense exactly where it is. Could be under a pile of rubble, could be across a field. Doesn’t matter. Once I mark something, I know where it is for a while.”
“I call that tethering,” Selen adds. “Like catching a scent, only this one lasts.”
I can only imagine what mix of blood she might have. It feels like each of us uncovers only fragments, the tip of something vast. Peaks of an iceberg breaking the surface, while beneath lies everything that was lost… the history that was carved out and stolen from us.
The last woman is Kaelin, the blonde. She lifts her hands, palms open. At first, nothing moves. Then her shadow on the ground stirs, stretching unnaturally, writhing like spilled ink.
It lashes toward a loose rock, curling around it before snapping back into place.
Her eyes open, calm. “My shadow obeys me. Selen calls it leashing.”
The Obsidian Court, maybe? Fae whose darkness was said to act on command, clutching, choking, defending. Half-legend… until now?I regard the blonde with wary fascination.
Byron steps forward next. He still doesn’t speak. Instead, he crouches near a nervous lizard perched on a sun-warmed rock. His hand hovers a few inches above its back, and his eyes half-close.
The lizard stills completely, not frozen in fear, but calm, as if the world beyond his hand no longer exists. Its sides stop heaving, muscles loosening until it almost looks asleep. After a few seconds, he lifts his hand, and the creature blinks, scurrying away.
So, Selen wasn’t joking when she said we both have a similar ability. I study Byron more closely, wondering how he picked his up… and why he never seems to talk.
Finally, Ellis clears his throat, clearly reluctant. “Mine’s not something I can easily prove here,” he says. “It only works on living things. When I look at someone, I sense… where they are in the turning of the stars. Like, their alignment… their pull.” He pauses, as if weighing how much to say.
“You mean… you can see the future?” My voice wavers between awe and confusion.
His frown deepens. “Not exactly. I doubt even the stars know the future for certain… I read the pull of things, the direction, not the ending. Like sensing the tide before it breaks.” He shuffles back, shoulders tight, eyes avoiding mine.
A prickle runs through me. His discomfort feels contagious, and I can’t help wondering what he sees ahead—and whether it’s closer than I want to believe.
Selen's focus shifts back to Zeriel and me, her teal eyes gleaming with something that makes my stomach tighten.
“Returning to your question: what am I proposing?” she says. “Well, the emperor expects compliant spectacles. Blood and anguish. A parade of desperate tricks and tragic endings.” Her mouth curls into a smile that is nothing like humor. “My idea is to make things more… unpredictable. And, if you’re smart enough, survive.”
Zeriel doesn’t move, his gaze locked on her, frown carved deep. Ellis is the one to break the hush, his voice quiet. “You mean you want them to… cause disruption.” It’s more a statement than a question. His knuckles look white.
Selen’s mouth curves faintly. “Disruption. Manipulation. Perhaps worse. I can’t give an exact strategy until we’re on the ground. But I’ll be there with you. Considering the preliminaries, we’ll likely be called to leave the day after tomorrow, travel in the evening, and be in place for Day One.” She pauses. “The tournament is designed to break people down. My aim is different. I’d prefer to bend it. Twist it so that it no longer serves the emperor.”
“That sounds easier said than done, Selen,” Zeriel says, his voice dangerously level.
“As does everything,” she replies. “But I hope, after we arrive, you’ll trust that what I suggest is worth the risk.” Then her voice drops, weightier, suddenly colder. “This might be more important than you realize, Champion, because the stakes may be higher than you can imagine this time.”
Something in her tone presses against my ribs, making it hard to breathe for a moment. I think back to the rumored unrest in the outer provinces. Trouble apparently significant enough to shift the entire location of the games… closer to that trouble?
“And… in the meantime—” My throat feels dry.
Selen’s eyes hold mine and she finishes for me. “In the meantime, you do what you can to prepare.”
Chapter 37
The rest of the day blurs into a grueling sequence of exercises. Selen pushes us relentlessly, moving from basic to complex control drills that leave us drenched in sweat and trembling with exhaustion. We have to suffer three more live dragons: a pitchmaw, slate-scaled with breath like burning tar; a chain-tail copperback, lean and quick, its tail lashing like a spiked whip; and a glass-eye wraithdrake, ash-gray with an unblinking, predatory stare and a strike so fast it can take a head before the victim even sees it move. Selen directs Zeriel and me to avoid making physical contact with each other, to avoid sharing energy, citing the excuse that she wants to develop us individually—which makes things even harder.
By late afternoon, though, there are glimmers of progress. Zeriel can generate a steady hum of resonance without buckling, and I can stretch my awareness to brush more than one dragon at once. Mastery is far away, but after centuries of silence in our bloodlines, even these fragile beginnings feel like… stolen fire.
Fortunately, we have this small amount of time. As a champion, Zeriel has freedom to set his own schedule, so his absence from the training halls won’t stand out too much, and Selen isconfident we won’t be noticed in this tucked-away ravine, with everyone busy preparing for the tournament.
Selen spends most of her time on Zeriel and me, but the others make some progress too, their individual gifts refining under her occasional, merciless guidance. Although, Byron hasn’t partaken much in today’s training. I notice him mainly watching from the sides, and for some reason, Selen doesn’t object.
By the time twilight drapes itself over the ravine, the final drills are winding down. Lira coaxes a small tree from the packed earth, its roots splitting the ground, while Nyx draws every stray nail, buckle, and bent scrap of metal in the area into a glittering heap at her feet.
