Something prickled behind Cedric’s eyes. Their group had become so small. He knew it was absurd to get emotional about it. He could practically hear Lord Church hissing in his ear, telling him tocontrol his emotions. And regardless of the fact that doing so had been nearly impossible from the moment he stepped foot inside Castle Lumin, it was true that there was little point in dwelling on this. It was what was supposed to happen, after all. Only one person was ever supposed to walk away a victor at the end of this.
Contrition settled uncomfortably on Cedric’s skin. It was more than shame though. More than guilt. Something more like grief. Not just for Cyren and Gael and the others they had lost, but for the personhewas supposed to be—the man who had died somewhere in the Crucible. The person who cared more for his mission than the people around him.Who wanted nothing more than to win the crown for Havensreach, to do his duty to the king, to prove Lord Church had been right to place his faith in him.
He hardly knew that person now. He could barely remember the resolve he’d felt when walking through the Gate in Castle Lumin.
Perhaps that was the point of all this. In the second trial, he’d been forced to shed parts of himself in order to reveal his truth. Was that the only time that had happened? Perhaps each of these trials—all of his near-misses with death—had been slowly chipping away at the person he was when he entered.
“Tell me what happened,” he said, pulling himself up to a sitting position.
Zephyr stilled. “After Cyren was”—she cleared her throat—“taken, Tenebris pushed Thraigg and me through the gate, so I didn’t see any of it for myself. But my understanding is that Gael burned herself out taking down the wyrm. That was right after you...”
“Right,” Cedric said, his voice low. Flashes of obsidian-laced power and orange-red flames danced in his mind. “After me.”
“You have no idea how relieved we all were to see Elyria come through the gate with you,” she continued, her voice high, like she might banish the sorrow in the air with forced cheer.
“She brought me through?” His gaze immediately drifted back to where Elyria sat. This time, as if she sensed his returning attention, her heavy-lidded eyes shot open, brilliant green meeting warm brown before she tore them away.
Why was she avoiding his gaze again? Unlike the bewilderment that had washed over Cedric when she did this after he woke from Belien’s attack, anger sparked in him instead. Was this to be their new dynamic, then? He would nearly die, she would save him, only to act as though he didn’t exist when he awoke? Why bother saving him at all?
A gnawing sort of fear twisted inside him—a coiled serpent. That icy feeling in the center of his chest grew colder.
Cedric forced himself to sit up fully this time, ignoring Zephyr’s quiet protest. His head spun, but he gritted his teeth, the need for answers far stronger than the pain that tugged at his limbs.
“I should be dead,” he said.
No one responded at first, the silence hanging in the room like a shroud.
“I shouldn’t have made it out of the trial.”
“Why would you say such a thing?” Zephyr’s voice was calm, but Cedric thought he caught the flicker of something else behind the words. “Of course you should have.”
He clenched one of the pillows by his legs in his hand, the plush fabric at odds with the rough, grating feeling scraping under his skin. He couldn’t explain where this was coming from, why he was suddenly soangry, other than that he was so tired of feeling worthless. So tired of being the weakest link amongst them.
“You know it’s true.Sheknows it’s true!” He pointed a finger at Elyria, who put her goblet down, stood, and started pacing toward him. “How many times should I have died in here? The wyrm should have killed me. The dragon should have killed me. My own memory should have killed me!” His voice cracked. “And that stars-forsaken lake of fucking fire shouldabsolutelyhave killed me.”
He slammed his fist into the pillow, his breathing growing erratic as the memories of the end of the trial swirled around him—sinking into the firestorm, unbearable heat crawling up his limbs, the way his body had felt for a moment like it was turning to ash. And then...nothing. No pain. No death.
He looked at his hands, his palms up, as if searching for answers in the unscarred skin.
“What is this?” he breathed.
It was Elyria who finally spoke, her melodic voice shockingly gentle. “Cedric, it’s nothing to?—”
“Don’t,” he snapped, cutting her off. “Don’t tell me it’s nothing. Don’t tell me I’m fine. Don’t tell me there’s nothing shameful about the fact that despite being the supposed ‘great champion of Kingshelm,’ I wouldn’t have even made it past the first fucking trial without your help.”
He tipped his head back and released a hollow laugh. “Maybe that’s the point though. Look how easily my fellow humans were all taken by the Crucible. Did we even have a chance? Or were the Arbiter’s claims for unity just sweet lies? Something to whet our appetites for victory,encourage us to help you all go further.”
“Humans aren’t the only ones who have been lost to the Crucible,” Elyria said, her tone sharpening.
The others exchanged glances, the air in the room thick. Several long moments passed before anyone spoke again.
“No matter how it happened, what matters is that you survived, Cedric,” Kit finally said. “We can all try to reason the whys and hows and?—”
“There’s no reason to be had here, clearly,” Cedric said. He could feel the tenuous grasp on his sanity slipping the more he argued this. How could they not see? There was somethingwronghere, for him to have survived when he shouldn’t have. “I should be dead. I felt it.”
“Well, you’re not,” Elyria snapped. “And you’re right, you did almost die. Again. But for once, I’m not the one who saved you—by some miracle, you seem to have done that yourself this time. Lunara knows how you managed to do that, but don’t try to weasel your way out of the accomplishment of actively preventing your own fiery death.”
Cedric bolted to his feet, opening his mouth to protest. She wasn’t finished.
