The constant jostling of my skull and midsection as I rode Leo’s beautiful black horse northwest and back to the Battle of the Dead Lands memorial became increasingly less sore as time passed. I had to begrudgingly admit his Alchemy was good. Probably one of the best healing tonics I’d seen.
He said his father had taught him how to make it. The same mind that ordered my innocent father’s execution had once sat down with a younger Leo and showed him how to make someone whole again.
Bitterness coated my tongue, and I shoved all thoughts of the twins, the mission, and my father aside to focus on what was still ahead of me—finishing the first trial.
I estimated it took me another hour to reach the familiar path. That, combined with the slow movement of the sun heading toward the horizon, put the time closer to eight o’clock in the evening. Only four hours were left. How many of the other challengers had already found their artifact?
This tournament wasn’t the only thing that mattered—I understood that. But my competitive spirit was as fierce as ever. I didn’t just want to complete my mission. I wanted towin. I wanted to bring strength back to Feywood. Knowing Callum may have cost me a victory in this first trial made me see red. Gripping the reins so tightly my nails dug crescent moons into my palms, I urged the stallion through the line of trees and into the open clearing beyond where my map told me the memorial site rested.
The grounds were on an enormous, secluded plot of land surrounded by a forest. It looked like citizens barely frequented the area—there were no paths for carriages, no signs of life or civilizationbesides a stone plaque embedded in the forest floor with the name of the battle and what I assumed was an account of its history. A large statue of a man in armor with a traveling cloak around his shoulders holding a long sword stood in the center of hundreds of small gravestones. The sun had set behind the treeline, making it difficult to read any of the engravings along the statue.
The encroaching darkness made anticipation coil in my stomach.It is cloaked in the day, and revealed in the night.Perhaps my artifact would illuminate itself in the absence of light, as the false one had in the mausoleum.
But as the stars began to wink into existence against a navy and orange sky, nothing seemed to change. I explored the clearing, trailing down each line of gravestones, examining the length of the statue, even going so far as to climb on top of it to search every nook. Out of breath and clutching at my sore ribs, I gingerly jumped back to the ground, leaves crunching underfoot. A twinge went through my skull, but it wasn’t as painful as before.
Leo’s horse was growing restless. I sighed and made my way back to him as he pawed at the ground and shook out his mane. When I passed the raised stone plaque that read “Battle of the Dead Lands,” something tugged at my core.
Something that felt likemagic.
Halting in my tracks, I slowly turned to face it, my eyes scouring over the inscription. Only, there was nothing beneath the title. No history or description of the battle that took place so long ago. It was an empty space about the size of three large Grimoires, fresh for carving.
I stepped closer, reaching out a hand, and that same heavy presence of magic circled around my throat and chest.
There was an enchantment here.
I took a thistle leaf from my pouch and placed it on my tongue, uttering the incantation to banish a spell. “Finiscere.”
The enchantment snapped in the air like a bowstring. Where the plaque had been blank, piles of tiny purple crystals now dottedthe edges. Amethyst, by the looks of it. The same crystal that had appeared in the mausoleum.
Could this finally be my artifact? What was I supposed to do with it?
I wracked my brain for every piece of knowledge related to amethyst, dredging up the texts I’d read and the spells it was used for. It was a spiritual stone, one that increased wisdom and intuition and gave some Alchemists ability to perceive beyond the physical world. They claimed to see spirits and understand words of prophecy, although I’d never had that experience.
As I thought, I grabbed a handful of broken crystals and let them fall through my fingers to see if they landed in any particular order on the plaque. Nothing. Was I supposed to cast a spell with them? Try to see the future, however impossible that was?
I looked down again, noticing my disruption of the crystals had cleared a space at the bottom of the plaque. In small letters, the words “by stars or by fate” were etched in the stone.
By stars or by fate.
Instinctively, I glanced up at the night sky above me, which barely held a hint of light. Deep navy blue swam across the heavens, a patchwork of stars dotting the expanse. Moonlight spilled like silver over the darkening forest around me. I closed my eyes and breathed in the night air, letting it soothe me, smoothing the rough fringes.
For a moment, I could forget. For a moment, I could justbe. There was no Decemvirate, no curse, no mission. No memories of blood on my hands and lifeless blue-gray eyes. No delusions of grandeur and glory, no sense of inadequacy. No fear, no burning hatred, no spike of vengeance tainting my peace.
Opening my eyes, the constellations shone down on me. I tracked the twinkling stars, ones I knew by heart, even away from Feywood. There was the Surge constellation to the left, a network of stars that made the shape of a lightning bolt. Legend says the Fates put that one in the sky to remind us they could strike us down at any moment. The Dracos Ara, or the decorated dragon,which my father had first shown me when I was a little girl. And the Oracle on the far right—an image of a standing figure with a snake around its legs. Morgana had once told me a story of the Alchemist three hundred years ago who had supposedly summoned the Fates through an Oracle using his blood and?—
Amethyst.
I gasped and grabbed the pieces of broken stone. I wasn’t sure this would work, but it was the only idea I had.
One by one, I placed them on the empty plaque in the shape of the Oracle constellation, talking myself through it as I went. “The head is here, looking down at the snake, while the snake”—I glanced at the sky to make sure I had it right—“the snake is twisted at its feet.”
I moved as fast as I could, feeling the time limit bearing down on me. Finally, the last stone took its place.
The air was silent.
My stomach crashed to my feet, disappointment knocking the breath out of me.
Then the crystals began to glow. A vibration shook the plaque, softly at first, then intense enough for the crystals to quake. Slowly, they moved toward one another, jagged edges finding their home and forging a single large, beautiful amethyst.
