“Nyssa Vale?” she asks.
“That’s me,” I reply.
She ticks a box on her clipboard with a silver pen. “Come with me.”
“Where to?”
She looks over my shoulder with a raised eyebrow at the hovering gods and Order witch. “You may choose a champion.”
“Why?”
Her gaze pins mine with such intensity, I decide knowing isn’t really necessary. “Tabitha.”
Dreven snarls as the witch steps up next to me. “Nyssa,” he warns.
“The defendant has chosen correctly,” the woman says. “Follow me.”
Dreven moves to intercept us, his expression furious. “You cannot go alone with her. She is Order. She will sacrifice you to balance the books.”
The woman with the clipboard doesn’t even look up. She simply taps the air with her pen. A wall of invisible force slams Dreven back a step. It isn’t violent; it is simply absolute.
“The selection is locked,” she states. “Interference will result in immediate forfeiture.”
“Stay here,” I tell him, though my voice shakes. “If I fail, you know what to do.”
“Nyssa,” Dastian starts, the red sparks on his hands dying out. He looks genuinely terrified.
“I’ll be fine,” I lie. I have no idea what possessed me to choose Tabitha, but it wasn’t even something I had to think about.
We step outside. The rain that was hammering down seconds ago pauses in a perfect circle around us. The Judge walks down the path, her sensible shoes not making a sound on the wet stone. I follow. Tabitha walks beside me, her posture rigid.
“Why me?” she asks quietly.
“Because they would try to fight the test,” I say, nodding back at the cottage where the door slams shut of its own accord. “You respect the rules. I need order, not chaos.”
“Sound logic.”
The Judge stops at the edge of the garden gate. She turns, her face blank. “The court is in session.”
The ground vanishes from beneath our feet.
I expect wind to tear at my clothes, but the drop happens in a vacuum. Gravity yanks me down, then releases me instantly. My boots hit solid, white stone with a jarring impact that travels straight up my shins. I wobble but keep my footing.
Tabitha lands beside me. She doesn’t stumble. She simply straightens her coat and clasps her hands in front of her.
We stand in a vast, circular chamber. The walls are not brick or mortar. They are rows of grey filing cabinets, stacking upward into a white expanse that has no ceiling. The Judge sits behind a high wooden desk twenty paces away. She adjusts her glasses and opens a thick folder.
“Nyssa Vale,” she says. Her voice fills the space without echoing. “You claim dominion over the Pantheon Realm. You hold the Wraith Crown. You wield the Slayer mandate.”
“I didn’t claim them,” I say. “They chose me.”
“Irrelevant,” she states. She lifts a heavy rubber stamp. “The First Law demands balance. You hold too much weight for a mortal vessel. The scales tip.”
Tabitha steps forward. “The balance shifted when Aethel died. Nyssa merely caught the falling pieces.”
The Judge fixes Tabitha with a flat stare. “A Champion speaks only when addressed. This is the first test. Legitimacy.” She points a silver pen at me. “Prove you are necessary.”
I blink. “Excuse me?”
