"Don't," Dorian warned.
Corbin chuckled lightly. "I wasn't," he said as he pushed off the frame. "Let's go. Your audience awaits."
The sun was blinding.
It bounced off the white snow on the roofs and windows.
Dorian was not escorted by Blackhands that morning to his trial but rather just by his own guard. He rubbed his wrists some of the walk. His stomach knotted in places he didn’t know stomachs could knot. He’d never been so nervous in his life.
People passed by on their own way up to the stadium, but Dorian hardly noticed them. He was too focused on his own determination to let himself get further distracted than what the night before had done to him.
In the walk over, he almost felt like jumping and psyching himself up for whatever it was they deemed a trial of their Architect. Shoulders rounding with his determined stride, he forced the dangerous aura out from his insides. And when they entered the stadium, he decided he had never heard so many cheers.
Dorian twirled the short blades in his hands. His heart pounded in his eardrums as he looked at the people. His muscles were restless and uncomfortable beneath his skin. As though he were sitting on the edge of a cliff and gravity was pulling him down.
Ghost of Fire.
He wondered what the Blackhands had deemed worthy of their Architect's admiration.
"What's the number on my head today, Rev?" he asked without turning around.
"Half of last time," she replied.
A twinge in his bones, Dorian knew today was different from the last. Today, there was no grinning with arrogance or asking for good luck kisses.
Today would decide his place in Haerland.
Today decided his fate.
Whether he would become the person his sister wanted him to be and secure the aid of the Blackhands. Or if he would die without ever stepping foot into the war.
The mocking purr of a raven sounded to his left. He glanced over his shoulder. Black as night. Shiny feathers glistening. It chortled out again, and Dorian smiled.
"Fuck you, Drae," he bantered under his breath.
The raven few upwards.
Corbin's arm brushed his as he came to stand at his side. "Ready?"
"I don't know what that means anymore," Dorian said, still staring at the crowd. "Have you heard anything this morning?"
"About?"
"Anything from my sister?"
"No news is good news, right?"
"Unless they're too scared to tell me," he mumbled. Dorian glanced to Corbin at his side, noting the stern clench in Corbin's jaw, the sweep of the wind through his twisted hair. Sunlight bounced off his dark brown skin and handsome features. With a great sigh, Dorian looked back to the crowd.
"I have some things to say to you," Dorian said. "I feel it could be my last words."
Corbin sighed in an annoying twinge. "Since you'll probably not shut up until you've said these things, let's hear them, Prince," Corbin drawled.
"Thank you for not throwing me on my ass the moment I was exiled," Dorian said. "Thank you for staying with me despite your duty to Magnice. And thank you for not giving me a worse time these past few weeks." He paused, and he knew Corbin was staring at him. "I'm not sure I would have kept my sanity had you not been with me."
Corbin clapped him hard on his shoulder and gave it a tight squeeze. "Fighting, Prince," he said, the words making Dorian turn. "We keep fighting."
Dorian nodded as Corbin left him.
