“It’s a capital crime, Dahlia.” Though nearly every offense was for those of us in the Lower Rings. It was how the Fellowship and the judges of the Tribunal kept us in order down below. Many of us had nothing but our lives, and they weren’t worth risking for thievery on even the worst days.
“I-I can’t—”
Her voice cracked with finality, and she collapsed against me, sobbing into my shoulder. I wrapped an arm around her, holding her steady as she wept, my eyes roving over Cyrus again.
They’d covered him in a blanket of deep purple velvet, the color of House Valin, a silver crest embroidered in the center. Beneath it, he lay as still as statue. They claimed he would never move again.
Eventually, Dahlia’s sobs subsided. She managed to shake off her momentary lapse in strength and raised her chin high as she stood straight beside me.
Silence descended between us and didn’t lift for the rest of my visit.
After some time, I began to feel as if I were intruding. It seemed clear Dahlia and Cyrus were communicating with theexclusion of me, not that Cyrus could speak to me even if he wanted to. So I muttered my goodbyes and left her to her sorrow.
I walked back to House Viper in a daze. The security at the stairwell didn’t give me as much trouble as I thought. My comings and goings had apparently been taken note of after so many months traveling back and forth between the First Ring and the Third.
Hands in my pockets, eyes downcast, my mind drifted far away. I was deeply disturbed by what Dahlia had confessed. Cyrus wanted her to end his suffering, to take his life, because he didn’t want to go on the way he was. That meant that he saw no hope in recovery, and I imagined he would know his chances better than anyone. I sniffed, wiping a tear from my cheek, and cleared my throat as I entered the estate grounds.
I stopped and stared up at the enormous mansion, and that same despair welled up within me, dousing my senses in something heavy, bitter. Dahlia didn’t deserve this. Cyrus didn’t deserve this. These Trials took from us more than they gave. They turned mother against son—as in Dante’s case—they ruined friendships, they took lives. And for what? No one passed them, no one won.
Bria had said that candidates in the Trials had the ear of the gods. That the Geist spoke through them and communicated with them to discuss matters of this world. If that was the case, I thought as I pressed on toward the house, I had to win.
There was quite a lot I wished to speak to the Geist about.
Chapter Sixteen
“When the weight of the world is upon you and you feel as if you are drowning in worry, fear, and pain, let the Word of the Geist be your buoy, let your faith keep your head above water.”
-The Rite of the Acolyte, 1,280 Age of Sanctum
Last night, when I’d returned from my visit with Cyrus in a sullen mood and unreceptive to company, Dante had barged into my room and informed me we were attempting the fourth Trial in the morning. I would’ve questioned him, but I was so impressed he’d made this decision without the input or the knowledge of his grandfather or mother that I let it slide.
But I didn’t feel prepared. Months of learning to swim, of practicing in the pool every day until I’d practically grown gills and fins, and still, I wasn’t ready. It was too new of a skill. I was too far behind Dante and the others who’d been practicing their whole lives. It felt like an impossibility that I would ever catch up enough to have a chance in the fourth Trial. And then there was that nagging memory in the back of my mind of my only experience with this Trial so far.
In the Trials, there was always the fear of the unknown. But for the fourth Trial, I’d become more afraid of what Ididknow.
As Dante and I waited outside of the gates to the fourth tunnel, I couldn’t keep my mind from replaying a screaming, terrified Dahlia dragging an unconscious Cyrus out of it just months before. Since then, I’d wondered on more than one occasion what, precisely, had happened in that tunnel. And now, it seemed, I was about to find out.
I flexed my shaking hands to still them and gave Dante a nod. He returned the gesture with a simple one of his own, then we were stepping into the darkness side by side.
It was the same as always. We were ushered into those metal tubes and hurtled far away, spinning through the darkness toward the fourth Trial and whatever awaited us.
The moment I was deposited onto cool, ancient stone, I could tell this Trial was different from the others. There was light already, dim yet present, but given the advanced eyesight which I’d been gifted with at the culmination of the second Trial, seeing in the cavern was easy. And it was a cavern. Stalactites drooped dangerously from the ceiling, some which had fallen centuries ago, littering the path forward.
Dante,I reached out.
I’m here.
Reassured, I took a step forward, down the obviously worn path of stone.
A few meters in, the distinct odor of saltwater, the same stench that had dripped from Dahlia and Cyrus when they’d emerged, tickled my nose. I fought against the memory, trying to keep my mind firmly in the present.
It was damp, everything was wet. The ceilings were dripping, the floor was slick with condensation. The walls were moist to the touch. They broadened as I moved deeper in, leading meout into an open chamber at the exact moment as Dante, who’d come from his own pathway to my left.
This chamber was different from the others as well. The first three Trials had been manufactured. It was clear they’d been created for the Trials themselves, that that was their only purpose, but this room feltolder. The stone was cracked and crumbling in some places, the walls were a varying array of heights with ceilings which dipped and rose depending on where you stood.
All around us were statues. Ancient depictions of what appeared to be likenesses of the Geist decorated every inch of available wall space. And beyond, through an opening held by two enormous pillars, was a pool. Three stone steps down, and we would be immersed in the water. Steam hovered on top, as if the water were warmer than the cool caves surrounding it.
Somehow, it all seemed vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t quite place where I knew it from. Luckily, Dante reminded me.
