It’s strange how much respect he gives Darian. I don’t have time to say anything in response because he continues, “It’s time that we go. We’ve been gone a long time, and I can tell that my uncle is getting antsy. He knows as well as I do how close the trial is, and the other competitors are making last-minute decisions about how they can better their odds.”
I pick up my bow and quiver, and Azric takes my hand. As I move, the wings on my back shift, and I feel the Vulture beginning to wear off. Soon enough, those wings will shrink and eventually disappear. Their side effects won’t, though, and I pull back. For a moment, we stand there, not moving, and the warmth of the Prince of Bones’s hand is like a bonfire, warming my body and soul as though I’d been lost in a blizzard.
I glance at my wings, and Azric’s eyes follow my gaze. “Oh,” he says softly. “We probably shouldn’t go quite yet. How long does that potion last?”
I smile. “Another five to ten minutes, but while we wait, is there any way you could get some food? I’m certain that if I don’t eat soon, I may starve to death.”
Chapter 35
Returning is a terrible process. Dying is traumatic, and the soul needs to recover from being ripped from the body it’s grown to love, but those that are Returned are not allowed this time. Instead, the soulandits memories are thrust back into a broken and healing body as though nothing has happened. This could only have been designed by someone who knows nothing of pain.
~Erik Halden, Letter to Brandor Halden after his first death
Fiona
It’s been exactly one month since all the competitors vying to become Nyxthos’s next champion last gathered in the Great Hall of Castle Lachlan. Thinking back to the first night I arrived here, it’s hard to believe so few of us are left.
Everyone’s split into their teams, with the other champions and nobility being the only ones mingling. Strangely enough, two ofthe teams are missing members. Were they attacked within the last month? Could they have been caught alone in a hall somewhere? How many times did I walk through those hallways alone?
Then again, was I truly ever alone? Or was Azric watching me? How many times had he interfered in ways I can’t even begin to understand?
Or maybe they’re just taking longer than expected to get ready? We haven’t been in the Great Hall long, and Erik’s still in his room after a last-minute decision to alter a piece of his armor that’d grown a bit too tight with all the focused training we’ve been doing.
Darian says nothing about the missing competitors, so I don’t either. “Finally,” Rurik says from beside me. “Don’t get me wrong. I like you five much better than the rest of the goat fuckers here, but it’ll be nice to be home again. I’m a little tired of hearing Jorren snore.”
“I don’t snore,” Jorren replies softly, his eyes constantly wandering over the crowd. I follow his gaze to see who he’s watching, and that’s when I notice he’s not looking at the competitors. Instead, his eyes are taking in the people who aren’t wearing armor.
Isola moves to Jorren’s side and says in barely more than a whisper, “They’ve come back. All those who failed the trials are here.”
Jorren says, “It always takes a month to Return.”
Then a woman I know far too well steps away from her group of contestants. Wearing brown robes made of human skin, the Corpsebinder holds her head high. Serica Dramont. Black hair thatseems as if it’s made of silk has been woven into a crown-shaped braid. Her lips draw a hard line, and there’s no doubt she’s furious about something. Her jaw flexes as she walks, her robes brushing the ground with every step.
Behind the robes, I see strange reddish-brown armor, and hanging from her hip is a short sword. In her hand is a glass of wine, or maybe human blood. It’s a question I don’t want to think too hard about.
I expect her to talk to Darian or any of the other people in our group she’s probably known for eighty years, but she walks right up to me. “Corentin Maroux didn’t come back.”
The mention of my torturer’s name shocks me. “What do you mean he didn’t come back?” Isola asks from beside me.
Serica doesn’t look at the Undying. “This human killed him, and he didn’t Return with the rest of the ones who died that night. Why is that?” she asks. Her eyes never stray from me.
“I have no idea,” I say, doing my best to mask the lie. “How would I know anything about people coming back from the dead? Until I came here, I thought you all were just very good at not dying.”
The anger in her eyes is a bonfire. If we were anywhere but this specific room in this specific castle, she would do her best to murder me, but Nyxthos’s rules protect me. “What did you do to him, human?” she hisses. “He was a close friend. He was…”
Darian chuckles beside me. “Maybe he didn’t want to continue to warm your bed, Serica. Maybe he’s just hiding from you. Doesn’t that sound more reasonable than him not Returning?”
Her head snaps toward Darian. “You watch your mouth, Darian Emlyn. In just a few hours, we’re going to be in the trial together.”
Darian’s smile widens. “I don’t know if I’ve ever relished the thought of meeting someone at midnight as much as I do right now.”
I can see the war going on in her eyes. She’s desperate to lash out at Darian and me. She craves the violence, but she’s not willing to break a god’s rule. Her eyes move back to me rather than raise a blade, like I’m sure she wants to do. “I will find out what you did, and I will punish you in ways a human couldn’t even begin to comprehend. I will hold your soul to your body even as the body dies. I will force you to watch as your entrails rot. You will stay behind as I create an Abomination out of your body.”
Rather than let any of my fear show, I smile like Darian. “That sounds like a lot of effort just because your lover found a woman that didn’t reek.”
Her control slips, and her hand moves faster than any normal human could. She lunges for my throat, but I’ve trained enough with Darian and the rest of our team, most of whom are faster than her. I’m quick enough to step back. My hands go to my daggers reflexively, but Darian’s hand holds my wrist in place as I grip the hilt.
“Now, now, Serica. You know the rules. We wouldn’t want you to be punished by Nyxthos. Get a grip on yourself. You’re acting like a fucking child. Go back to your team. We’ll see you in the trial, and we can all have a grand time working out our differences there.”
