I nod to Cedric. “We should assume this will be the format when considering Nyxthos’s trials, but he won’t be so focused on physical prowess, right?” I ask.
“He’ll want a champion who will work well with his powers and has the same set of…priorities. If he’s truly afraid of his future, it’s likely he’ll need someone who can act without his direct command to accomplish his goals. He’ll be looking for someone who can command, who can manage themselves on a battlefield, but also who can truly act as his representative on Nyth.”
I lean back in the chair, feeling very much like a powerless idiot in this world of gods. “What does that mean, though? How do I prepare for that?”
Cedric frowns at me. “Fi, what is training for? Why do you spar with Bram every day? Is it so that you can go into each battle knowing exactly what you’ll do?”
I shake my head. “Obviously not. I train so that I react to my opponents more efficiently, more instinctively. If I haven’t seen something before, then I’ll have to think about it before I move, or I could move incorrectly and put myself at risk.”
“That’s the same thing we’re doing here. You need to have as much knowledge as you can gather before you leave here. I can’t force eighty years of Nyxthos’s decisions into your mind in that time, but we can familiarize you with his actions over those years. We can look at the battles that Echo was a part of—her triumphsanddefeats. Nyxthos will most likely be keen on finding someone who won’t make the same mistakes.”
We’ve had conversations like this too many times to count, though none of them have ever been nearly as pressing as this. “I have a request. I know you think we should focus on what Nyxthos is looking for, but I think one of the biggest disadvantages I have is that I don’t know any of my enemies. When I was signing up for the list, I met Serica Dramont, and I didn’t know who she was. How can I predict what she might do if I know nothing about her?”
Cedric takes a deep breath. “You’re not wrong. Knowing your opponents is valuable, especially since no one will know you. Having that edge against them could be nearly as valuable as being able to predict what Nyxthos will throw at you.”
He runs his hand through his beard as he always does when he’s considering something I’ve said. “Can you remember who you saw in the Keep of Shadows? Maybe I’ll be able to name them based on their appearances if we assume that most of the competitors will be powerful members with well-known histories.”
I describe anyone I can remember, and Cedric takes notes. He says, “I should have used the Mark of the Eye to see who was there. Damn the years for making my mind slow.”
The Mark of the Eye allows Cedric to see another place regardless of how far away it is. Just like every Mark after the Coin, it’s not very useful on a battlefield, but it can help to gain information before a battle. My father used it to impressive effect while monitoring his enemies prior to the expansion of his spy network.
“Everything happened so fast. I should have asked Darian for more of the competitors’ names so you could tell me about them. I guess we both missed our strikes on this one.”
He nods, somewhat mollified that I made a mistake as well. “Regardless, we must work with what we have. Now, are you ready to get to it? We have a lot of material to go through in the next thirteen days.”
I sigh and prepare to absorb as much information as possible before I’m on my own in a world that I know far too little about.
Six hours of information overload has my mind foggy.The lessons history offers us are paramount to guiding us to future victory. Never be forced to learn lessons on the battlefield that could be taught in a library.Truer words probably haven’t been said, but no amount of information will be as instrumental to my survival as knowing how to react when something is trying to kill me.
Bram Mercer leans against a wooden railing and stares at me as I walk into the circle. The man isn’t as old as Cedric, but he’s justas trusted by my father. With wild, long gray hair that hangs over his tattered black cloak and skin that looks as tough as leather, he is as much at home on the sand of the training arena as he would be under any roof.
His dark brown eyes show no sign of age, though, and they take in every movement. Unlike Cedric, Bram never moved past the Mark of the Coin to the Mark of the Veil. Under the Priest’s hierarchy—if I was part of the Order—we’d be equals as of yesterday afternoon. But that won’t ever be the case in my heart.
He rubs a rather gruesome scar that runs under his left cheek, as he does so often. “The librarian turn your head to mush?”
I grin at him, my hands at my sides, always near my daggers when I’m in this ring. “Soup is probably a better term.”
He pushes off from the railing. “Like it’ll pour out of your ear holes if you’re not careful? I remember those days. It’s a good thing Rhaskar prefers I just hit things.”
I adore Cedric. He’s always had answers when I had questions. About anything. I was a small girl in a world full of men with a father who’s always been cold and distant. Cedric was the man I went to with questions about life, about existing in this world that wasn’t built for me.
But Bram was the one I ran to when I needed to scream, when everything was too much. He’d take me into the ring, and he’d let me be as human as I wanted. He always told me a scholar shouldn’t let their heart rule, but when weapons were drawn, the head was too slow.
“What are we doing today? Thirteen days until I go.”
He gets into a guard stance and slowly circles me, but he doesn’t answer. I never let him get to my side, just as he trained me to do. He lashes out with a wild punch that would knock me out if it connected. I slip to the side, his attack missing my face by inches, and I slam my left fist into his ribs. He’s already spinning toward me, though, and my fist doesn’t have the right angle to really hurt him. His words of wisdom echo in my mind.It’s all about angles, Fi. Sometimes, it’s better to let them have a light shot so you can end the fight. You’re not made of fuckin’ crystal. The goal is to survive, not to avoid getting hit.
His spin turns into a kick that I duck. “First,” he grunts as my other fist hits him in the kidney, this one much harder. “We warm up,” he says as he slams his hands into my shoulders. I can’t move quickly enough to stop him, and I go flying.If you fight, you’re going to get hurt. Embrace it. The only way you lose is if you die.
“I’ve been told,” he says as I stand up ten feet away from him, “that you’ll have to hide your Infusions. You need to practice fighting without them.”
I brush the sand from my hands and charge him, not responding to his words.Never do what they expect. They’re faster and stronger than you. If they can anticipate your movements, you’re dead.
He crouches, preparing himself for what looks like me trying to take him to the sand. That’d be stupid, though. He’s far stronger than I am, far more capable of winning a wrestling match.
Instead, I jump, my momentum carrying me forward, and I turn my body mid-air until my feet are pointed squarely at his chest.Everyone wants to use their strengths rather than their weaknesses. Givethem a chance to expect to, and you’ve won the fight. Let the tall expect you to stay at range. Let the strong expect you to turn it into a brawling match. Then disappoint them.
Just as I couldn’t stop him from shoving me, he has no way to keep my legs from slamming into him at full force. I hit the sand on my back hard enough that it’s jolting, but I still leap to my feet to see Bram climbing to his. He’s got a smile on his face, but his arm presses against his ribs.
