He chuckles. “You’re not. Priests are made of more than a handful of powers, or they’d have all died out a year after they refused the gods. And… what is it you said?The man that isnot willing to risk his safety to become more powerful, more capable of protecting his people, is not a man worthy of the Priesthood.”
I sigh and stand up a little straighter. “Yes. Though, I don’t think that I ever imagined a damned Fae quoting my father to convince me of something.”
He winks at me. “I think I’ll surprise you more than you expect.” He turns to Rhion, who’s been silent as Darian and I talked. “Let’s get this over with. I’ve never liked the Keep of Shadows. The whole place is shady.” He grins at the pun, but Rhion and I ignore it.
Rhion leads the way to the front of the Keep. It’s made of a single piece of snow-white quartz, which is strangely at odds with how I’d imagined the Keep of Shadows. Shouldn’t it be something dark? He presses his hand against the wall, and he disappears. I guess it’s just like the enchanted mirror, and I follow his lead.
I end up in a grand entryway, a room meant to intimidate and awe anyone who enters. It’s probably ten times the size of the entryway to my home, and now I understand why the walls are white. Everything else is black, from the chandelier to the tapestries to the rugs at my feet, and it all contrasts so strongly that even though I hate this place with every ounce of my being, I can’t deny its beauty.
There’s a crowd of people standing in front of a small table. The termpeopleis a very loose term since half of them look as far from human as a dog is from a fish. Unlike the consistent grays and silvers I saw in the Keep of Steel, the people here are wearing every color of the rainbow.
They’re all signing up for the trials. The other champions want their people to become Nyxthos’s champion for the same reason as Ainslee wants me and Darian here. Those champions aren’t sending the disposable foot soldiers, either. They’ll be the ones they trust the most, the most capable.
Somehow, I have to survive all of them and still hide the secrets of the Order? Maybe I bit off a little more than I can chew…
Humans will never be the strongest, quickest, or most powerful. Even as a Priest, you won’t be. And yet, we have won every war we have ever fought against those more powerful than us. That was with no Marks or Infusions. Now we have the tools to win wars against even the gods. It is up to you to find a way to do it, no differently than our forefathers did in the wars with the Fae thousands of years ago.
What is stronger? The wall or the storm? From the outside, the storm with its raging winds and violent lightning strikes seems incredible, but the storm will die. The wall, though? The wall will be there until the mountains crumble and the seas overtake us all. That is humanity. We’re not impressive, but we will outlast them all. Be the wall and watch the storm die.
The passage from the Fourth Book of the Priest comes to me unbidden, and I take a deep breath. I just have to find a way to do the impossible. Already, my mind is whirring, trying to assess my future adversaries. Multiple Mages from Dunloch, wearing their typical black robes, are in line. They’ll be weak to Flame, Light, and simple martial combat.
There are at least two of Ravess’s Corpsebinders in their brown and red robes made of human skin. They’ll be weak to everythingunless they’re allowed to bring their pets with them, and then, it will all depend on what kind of filthy Abomination they choose. The key will be to get past their pet and kill them immediately.
A myriad of Lesser Fae are in line, and I know that, with Infusions, I should have a good chance of killing them with only my daggers.
It’s Draeven’s Chained and Erelith’s Burning Ones that scare me. The Chained are enormous, at least nine feet tall, built to hurl spears which can pierce dragon scales and swing hammers that can break down castle walls. In battle, they’re covered in inch-thick steel armor which absorbs magic and no weapon can break. You’d think a creature that big would be slow, but you’d be wrong. They move as if they’d taken the Bear and Falcon with none of the side effects.
And they’re trained to fight in groups and in single combat.
The Burning Ones are different, but just as deadly. Only standing slightly taller than the average man, these women are barely a shell of what was once human. Their skin has been hardened until it’s strong enough to be an armor. They have complete control over flames, and even the dragonfire that I command cannot burn them. Lightning could be used to win a fight with them, but I have a single use of it before it’s spent.
More than anything, though, it’s their lack of pain or fear that worries me. Even the Mindless of Averna react to pain. If you cut off a Mindless’s arm, they fall. Not the Burning Ones. There are stories of them continuing to fight after losing both of their legs, of them fighting for the last few seconds of life while they bleed out.
Then there are the High Fae, the original rulers of Draenyth. The dragons gave them their powers to rule Nyth while the gods slept, and they have hundreds and thousands of years of experience using them. Until Maeve Arden woke up the gods, these creatures like Darian and Rhion were the nightmares of humans. Now, they’re the leaders of the gods’ armies.
“King Rhion, I’m surprised you’re here. I thought the House of Steel’s alliance to Adelyth was well and truly bound in steel.”
All three of us turn to see a woman wearing a Corpsebinder’s red and brown robe. I can’t help the nausea I feel at seeing the strips of flesh that have been sewn together to make it. The faint scent of decay follows her, and I have to strain to keep from showing my disgust.
“Ah, Lady Mordant. The House of Steel will remain allied with Selithar and Adelyth, but my friends are about to join the list. You know Darian Emlyn, don’t you? And this is Fiona.”
The Corpsebinder sneers at Darian. “Yes, Darian and I have known each other for quite some time. It wasn’t all that long ago that I, too, frequented the Firelight Café. But those were different times, weren’t they?”
“Definitely different times,” Darian agrees. “When we had different…scents.”
She completely ignores him even though Rhion seems to have a hard time not grinning. “Fiona, is it? And where do you come from? One of Lysara’s?” She sniffs the air and arches an eyebrow. “No. Are you… are you human? Untouched by any of them?”
I nod. “Yes. I didn’t think the lists were reserved for only the Godforged.”
“They’re not, but… well, it was nice to meet you, though I’m sure it will be the last time I see you. Best not to get attached.”
“Are you joining the lists, Serica?” Darian asks. “I’d expect that as a commander of the Corpsebinders, Calistra would refuse to allow you to take part in the trials.”
“Calistra sent me specifically because I’m one of her commanders. What enemy would you prefer? One you know and who shares your ideals or one you’ve never met? I’d assume that’s why you’re here. You’ve never been one to crave power, so the only reason you’d be joining this is because you’re here at Ainslee’s request. It’s too bad you’ll die quickly. Nyxthos isn’t known for appreciating those with such a soft heart or softer mind.”
Darian’s grin doesn’t fade at all. “I happen to think even Nyxthos couldn’t turn down a chance to enjoy my conversation. I wonder if any of the Corpsebinders will survive very long, though. I doubt even a god could stand spending time with someone that makes a rancid beaver corpse smell like a perfumed whore.”
Serica grinds her teeth before spitting out, “I can’t wait to find you in the trials, Darian. I’ll add your face to my robes. Or maybe I’ll add your cock, though it’d be hard to sew anything that small.”
