“Aye,” Rurik says. His voice is booming, as if he were speaking to an audience rather than just me. “But more than that, we’re not the typical arseholes you’ll find down in the Great Hall. We wereraised to be better than that. Our job may involve killing, but that doesn’t mean we have to delight in it. Unless we’re fighting the Prince of Bones. It’s so satisfying to see his corpses go back to being dead.” He grins at the last part.
Erik nods to his brother, seeming to be the quiet and thoughtful one of the two, but it’s the Undying that talks next. “Well, I certainly enjoy killing Stormbringers most. Watching normal people go gray is nice, but seeing you lightning bugs have your lights dimmed is so much better.”
Her words come out deadpan, and unlike Rurik, she doesn’t feel the need to roar at me.
“This,” Rhion says, “is Isola Veyne. She’s not as high ranking within Azric’s chain of command as Erik and Rurik, but she’s skilled. I haven’t known her for as long as the princes, but she’s solid.” Rhion looks a little uneasy when he glances at the Undying, and that bothers me more than I like to admit.
Azric is the only person I’ve met who was forged by Lysara, and the woman in front of me is surprisingly different from the man who nearly killed me. She’s shorter than the rest with a heavy dose of attitude. Her shoulder-length brown hair has a bit of curl to it and hangs loosely against her black leather armor. It’s been embellished with blood-red dye in the shape of a dagger. Her lack of a smile sets her apart from this group of Godforged.
Instead of being annoyed by Isola’s comment, Rurik grins at her.
She stands up and bows. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Fiona. I wouldn’t have expected to be on a team with a human in thesetrials, but the fact you’ve survived two of them gives you credit. My champion being so interested in you gives you even more.”
My voice still lacks the strength to speak as loudly as anyone else, but I say, “Nice to meet you.” It comes out in squeaks and whistles as I try to put more force behind it.
Rhion turns to the woman I’d seen topless when the second trial ended. One of Rivena’s Wind Riders. Her full-body plate armor has been polished to a gleam as clear as any mirror in Stormhaven. Now that she’s had some time to heal and gather herself after the trial, I see why Darian is obviously drawn to her.
“Darian said you’d already met Elara Vantrel, but she’s a Rider who has saved innocents rather than let them be crushed in battle.”
Her smile is nice. In these crowds of people who have become professional soldiers, everyone smiles, but so few of them lookkind. I don’t know Darian nearly well enough to profess to understand his love life, but he’s kind as well. I doubt he wants to spend any more time than he has to around the people who are constantly looking for ways to hurt each other. People like Serica Dramont.
Elara’s pretty, too. She could walk into any court in Sylvantia in a silk dress, and she’d catch more than a few nobles’ eyes. Her brown hair is long and in an intricate braid, unlike most of the Wind Riders who’ve cut theirs off, probably because it’s a pain in the ass to fly with long hair.
“Hello again, Fiona. Where’d your cloak go?” Her voice is soft, and she seems to be at ease in the room without being standoffish like Isola is. She fits with Darian.
Where’d my cloak go? A shiver runs through me thinking of how Azric had taken it and told me to find it. He’d been so close…
I don’t answer. Instead, I shake my head and let them think what they want.
“I’m Jorren Ashvale,” a man says as he stands up slowly. Wearing a light blue robe and apparently no armor at all, he seems…strange. I feel drawn to him more than anyone other than Azric that I’ve met here, and it has nothing to do with seduction. He glances at Rhion and smiles before turning back to me. “I’m one of the Lost Ones, led by Jareth Rennic.”
I remember he was the one Darian picked up for our team because of how clever he was rather than how good he was in battle. I nod to him after my terrible attempt at speaking a moment ago.
He’s handsome, but unlike the others, he looks young and… awkward. His hair is kept short, but it’s unkempt. His robe is a little too long, and he seems to lean forward as if to get a better look at something. I don’t know what his powers are since the Kingdom of Carradan had no interest in Sylvantia, preferring to keep to their own lands.
His eyes linger on me for a moment longer before crossing the room to look, not at my face, but at my throat. “The handprint is where he used the touch of death on you.” He reaches for the mark and pulls back reactively as if he’d just touched a hot stove. “The magic still lingers, but it doesn’t move past the surface.” He looks at my face then. “You said that Azric Cyrus did this?”
That and so much more. I nod to him, and he continues, “Interesting. Why would he expend power like this, only to let you live? The Prince of Bones isn’t typically wasteful.”
“The touch of death requires him to press his soul against hers,” Isola says as she moves to stand beside Jorren. “Maybe he had a reason for that? No one really understands why my champion does the things he does, but no one doubts that healwayshas a reason for it.”
“I thought that the touch of death would instantly kill someone,” I try to say normally, but it’s barely more than a whisper.
Isola shakes her head, “No, it takes time for an Undying to kill a person with it. It doesn’t take long, maybe a half-second to kill a human, but to kill one of the Godforged or a demon, it takes several seconds. Azric, on the other hand,couldkill in an instant if he wanted to. Destroying objects or magic is instant, but to rend a soul from a body is more difficult. You should be feeling mostly back to normal by tomorrow. Instead of ripping your soul from you, he held it and released it.”
He touched my soul? Is that why I can’t forget his touch?
Rhaskar was sure it was a guaranteed death. Then again, half a second to kill a human is near enough to instant. How many other things is he confused about? How much of the information I trust so completely is simply wrong?
“Enough of that,” Rhion says, calling the group’s attention to him. And for the first time, he truly looks like a king. I’d seen him as a warrior, as an uncle, as a noble, and as a nice man, but I’ve never seen him take control like this.
“Wehave a month to learn to work together to win the third trial. I don’t know what will happen to the losers, and I don’t know what the trial will consist of other than battle, but I’m sure none of us are used to working together.”
It’s Isola that speaks next. “And why, exactly, are you even here, King Rhion? You’re not a competitor. You’re no champion. You’re just… Countess Ainslee’shusband. Don’t you think you should let us decide what to do now that you’ve formed the alliance?”
For the first time, I see Rhion do something brash. He leaps from the other side of the room, wearing nothing but court clothes, and small, nearly translucent wings appear mid-leap, extending his jump to end directly in front of Isola.
He is terrifying. Twice the size of a normal man who moves faster than most. He swings his right hand at the Undying, meaning to hit her in the stomach, but she spins, dodging the blow. With his other hand, he draws a belt knife that appears little more than decoration.
