He chuckles. “I don’t know. A month-long break sounds pretty nice.”
Rhion arches an eyebrow. “I doubt that spending a month having your soul reattached to your body would be any better than sitting around all day playing Khorra like I hear you’ve been doing.”
Darian winks at the large man. “You know me. As lazy as they get.”
Rhion and Ainslee let out little laughs. It occurs to me in the silence surrounded by chaotic chatter from all the other groups, there’s no one to tell me to be safe. Sure, Ainslee and Rhion care whether I live or die, but it’s because they want me to become Nyxthos’s champion to end the war. They care that I win, not that I get to see them again.
I don’t have a brother or a friend. I don’t have a father or mother who’s praying I come back to them. I don’t have anyone. Until just recently, I’d thought I had a father. I knew Rhaskar wasn’t my blood, but he’d been the one I’d yearned to impress, the one who’d been my safety. He’d been everything.
Now, he’s a murderer. He’s the one who tore my happiness away and replaced it with training and power.
A part of me still wishes he was here to whisper in my ear, to hug me and tell me he’ll see me on the other side. Even if I hate him for what he did, it’d be nice to havesomeone.
Then, the now familiar feeling of being drawn away from the conversation pervades the Great Hall, and everyone’s attention is pulled to the center of the room where Nyxthos appears from the shadows. Floating, as always, above the crowd, I’m reminded of just how different the gods are compared to humans or Godforged.
I can ignore even Ainslee, a champion who’s been imbued with Adelyth’s powers. I can turn away from anyone I’ve ever met, but I can’t turn away from Nyxthos. His eyes seem to see into my very soul, and even if I were to look away from him, my attention would be on the fact that those eyes were seeing everything I’d done and thought and felt throughout my entire life.
“Competitors, you have survived to see the third trial. You have proven you are strong enough to attempt to earn your place as my champion. Tonight, and for the next three days, you and your teammates will attempt to capture a tower. It will give you the defensive edge against your enemies, but more than that, whichever team holds my flag at the strike of midnight seventy-two hours from now will be the team that competes in the last trial.”
My mind records his words just as I have each time Cedric lectured me on history or strategy. Yet, I’m not paying attention to them. I’m staring into his eyes, and for the first time in my life, I’m truly terrified. He knows the games we’ve been playing. He knows why Corentin didn’t return. He knows I’m the girl Rhaskar raised, that I was trained to fight his armies, and that I was given powers even he doesn’t fully understand. Nyxthos, the God of Darkness and Secrets, is pouring his power into the connection between us.
Memories of the last month flash through my mind, and there’s no doubt the god in front of me is seeing each of them. I know there is one thing I can’t reveal–the shadow cutting the steel beam. I’m sure that if I could only close my eyes, the connection would break. I can’t blink, though. Instead, I force my hand upward, ever so slowly, to cover my face. Each inch seems to be more difficult than the last.
Then, as if one of the other gods had answered a silent prayer, a chair crashes onto the floor like someone had thrown it. For a half-second, even Nyxthos’s attention is pulled away from me, and I close my eyes, not daring to open them again. I can feel his power wash over me, but the memories don’t flood my mind again.
Somehow, all of that happened in the span of a breath. That vicious war between us and the interruption had lasted less than a second. “What happens between now and midnight three days hence does not matter,” he continues without acknowledging our battle of wills. “Only the one who holds my flag at the moment the clock strikes midnight will win, so make your plans accordingly. Take the tower early and gain the defensive position while becoming a target for the rest of the teams, or wait until the last moment to take it. Choose your strategy wisely. Good luck, competitors. May you embrace the darkness willingly.”
Everything changes then, and instead of being in a castle in Dunloch, my team is standing in the middle of a forest under a starlit sky.
Chapter 36
Marek, the God of Storms and Births, does not crave misery as some gods do. Then again, he is as heartless as the storms that constantly rage along the beaches of Thalovar. His Godforged were given the power of lightning, but his champion was given more. To Brandor Halden, he gifted power over the very winds themselves.
~Cedric Penrose, A Treatise on the Gods and Their Powers
Fiona
I look around to make sure that all my teammates are here, and immediately, I know something’s wrong.
“For fuck’s sake,” Rurik snarls. “They ploughin’ killed him. One of those rancid cunts snuck into our rooms while we were in the Great Hall and killed my brother.”
He immediately draws the sword from his hip, but Darian takes hold of his wrist. “They did,” he says calmly. “He’ll Return in a month. It’s not the first time either of you has died, is it?”
Rurik takes a deep breath, but his body’s trembling. “It’s not.”
“Then stop acting like you’ll never see him again and put your sword back in its scabbard. He died, but let’s not all rush to follow him. You knew only one of you could win this, after all.”
The sigh that comes out of Rurik is closer to a snarl, but he does as Darian says. There’s another surprise, one no one else seems concerned about. Elara isn’t standing beside us. She’s riding a pegasus, one of the flying horses which were gifted to the Riders and is where their name comes from.
The pegasus’s dusky gray wings are folded at its sides, resting against steel barding just as thick and shining as Elara’s own plate mail. Its mane and tail match its wings, a dusky gray against a pure white coat. Standing taller than any horse in Stormhaven, it’s obvious that there’s nothing natural about the beast, but the intelligence in its eyes truly sets it apart. It’s one of the most beautiful sights I’ve ever seen, lessened only because I’ve spent so much time with dragons.
We’re standing on a hillside, and I know towers are built at the highest point in the area to give it the best defensive position. I try to look through the trees, but they’re not the duskthorns we’ve been staring at for more than a month. These are tall. Oaks and poplars, all of which have full branches of leaves, blot out the sky.
“We need to figure out where the tower is,” Jorren says, his words echoing my thoughts. “Everything that happens for the next threedays will center on it, so regardless of whether we’re going to take it early or later, we need to know where it is.”
Everyone nods, most of them probably coming to the same conclusion. “I think flying would be a poor decision,” Elara says. “There’d be no hiding where we are if anyone were looking at the sky.”
“Agreed,” Isola says. “Secrecy is going to be the thing that gets us out of this alive. You can’t hide a pegasus if you’re in the air.”
