I freeze. Holding my breath, I spin.
When I don’t see anything, I take another step.
Scratch.
Spinning around again, I see astatue’s head twist, just slightly, before it stills.
My stomach drops.
“Nope,” I whisper hoarsely, backing away.
I turn and run.
The corridor twists, becoming narrow and suffocating. My chest tightens with every step until I crash straight into a skeleton draped in tattered robes, a staff clutched in its bony hands. Its empty eye sockets flare green.
I don’t get a warning before lightning explodes from the staff, slamming into the wall beside me. Shards of stone explode outward, slicing into my arm.
I stumble in searing pain, heart thundering. The skeleton moves fast, staff raised again.
I swing my dagger wildly, but the skeleton catches the blade, yanking me forward.
—CRACK—
Another blast slams into the ceiling above. I dive, skidding hard across stone. My lungs burn; my side screams. I don’t know how much more I can take before my body gives out completely.
Another skeleton shuffles into the chamber. Then another.
Too many. Too fast.
Desperation takes over. My hands fly up. Gold lines shine on my skin again, running up the length of my arms and neck. A burst of golden light lashes out, striking one skeleton square in the chest. Bone shatters, smoke curling up. Another moves in, but I’m too slow. I take the hit, agony burning through my ribs, but I use the pain to force the magic out harder. The light lashes like a whip, snapping more bone to dust.
They keep coming. Unrelenting.
Every breath I drag in feels like shards of glass in mylungs. My body is failing, becoming heavy and slow. But my magic is wild, alive, tearing through me like it knows what to do, even if I don’t.
The last skeleton charges, staff raised. I roar, dragging everything left in me into one burst.
Light explodes, wrapping me in a cocoon before bursting outward.
Bones shatter. Ash falls. Then a silence follows.
I stand swaying, scorched and bleeding, vision swimming.
A doorway creaks open ahead.
I stagger forward, body half-dead, but alive. Barely. Not heroic. Definitely not graceful. But alive, at least. That’s when I hear it. The scraping sound of the gloomstalker statues dragging themselves across the ground behind me. I glance over my shoulder, heart hammering. The statues are perfectly still. Watching and waiting. I keep moving. When I turn my eyes forward, the scraping begins again.
Chapter 6
?---- Serenya ? ----?
The scent of honeyed bread and wild herbs clings to my cloak as I step into my father’s chamber, balancing a tray with a teacup and warm rolls. The morning sun filters through the heavy curtains, casting golden rays across the marble floor.
I didn’t end up coming straight here like I had planned. After seeing Torin and Koen, I lingered, watching the Trial begin. The council chose men well, but as each champion stepped forward, I felt the weight of it all. They could have just walked to their deaths—for me, for the crown. My stomach sinks at the thought. I shake my head, clearing it, and continue into my father’s room.
King Thalon lies propped against his pillows, pale but still dignified, his once-powerful frame diminished beneath his silver-threaded robes. His black hair, whichnormally falls just below his shoulder, is pulled into a bun today. When he sees me, the stern lines of his face soften.
“You’re up early, Renya,” he rasps.
