Nox’s guttural groan sliced through Cedric’s whirring thoughts.
“The magic in the labyrinth’s walls,” they said softly.
Evander grinned as he strode past them.
A soft gasp slipped from Elyria’s lips. “The walls...and the chasm that opened in the cavern. That was you?”
Evander tutted. “I couldn’t very well have allowed that human witch to kill you all, could I?”
“You nearly killedhertoo,” Cedric said through gritted teeth, tipping his head toward Elyria. He recalled the panic that had flashed through him when Zephyr relayed all that had occurred in the cavern prior to his arrival. How Elyria had been perhaps seconds from meeting the same fate as Leona.
As if she was chasing the same thought, Elyria went on to say, “And our inability to fly?”
“Alas, no,” Evander said. “That was simply the Crucible at work. A futile attempt at providing an even slate, even odds. All that sort of rot.” He slowed as he returned to where Elyria stood, stopping little more than an arm’s width away. “You did so, so well during the trials, by the way. You faced your inner darkness, like I always knew you could, and look at you now. I am so proud of you, my love. Did I tell you that already? If not, you will have to forgive me.”
She scoffed, her eyes going to Kit’s prostrate form, disbelief distorting her features. As if she couldn’t fathom the fact that he would ask forgiveness for some perceived slight of manners when he just tried to kill his own sister.
He followed her gaze and clucked his tongue. “Ah, yes. Sadly, Katerina’s performance has been less admirable.”
Elyria stiffened. “She came here foryou,” she hissed, emerald daggers shooting from her eyes.
Her reaction eased some of the tension in Cedric’s gut. He was worried Evander’s serpentine words might have wormed their way under her skin. But this dark thing was clearly not the man Elyria knew. No matter how many pretty words he spun.
Evander’s head dipped. “I know,” he said, and if Cedric didn’t already know better, he might have thought a flicker of genuine sadness shone through the dark fae’s gravelly voice. “And her sacrifice will not be in vain. Her death paves the way for my freedom. You and I can leave together. Just pick one of them”—he waved a lazy hand at the injured champions strewn around the room—“to do the same for you. The stronger the emotional connection you have, the greater the magic will be, but any of them will do. And we can walk out of here.”
A horrified expression dawned on Elyria’s face, and Cedric watched the last shreds of hope that the true Evander—herEvander—was still somewhere inside crumble into dust.
“You’re mad,” she said, moving her head from side to side as if she might shake the terrible words from her ears.
Evander stepped toward Elyria. She balked, mirroring his movement and moving back at the same clip so as to maintain the distance between them. Cedric rushed to her side, his arm brushing her back, his hip grazing hers.
“I’d never do that,” she continued, her back straightening. A bolt of pride zipped through Cedric. “And Kit isn’t dead. You failed.Wewill tackle whatever final challenge the Crucible may hold, one ofuswill win that crown, and thenwewill leave. I can only hope that when the Crucible is won, your soul will be able to find peace.”
Cedric tensed at the renewed malice in Evander’s gaze.
“You force my hand, Elle,” he said, that fake sadness coating his words again.
She spat at his feet. “Don’t call me that.”
“You are the only one among them who is worthy.” Evander’s black eyes flicked to the places where Cedric and Elyria were touching before landing on his face. “No matter whathemay think. And if you will not choose, I will choose for you.”
“No!” Elyria screamed, but before Cedric could even lift his sword again, water was spinning from Evander’s fingertips. It encircled Cedric, a massive orb of churning water that lifted him from the ground, his sword falling away uselessly as he was swept inside.
Water was everywhere.There was no up, there was no down. He spun and spun as icy liquid filled his nostrils, ran down his throat.
It tasted shockingly bright.
Cedric punched his arms out, kicked his legs, trying to swim, trying to move forward or backward or up or down in a desperate search for the surface. For the life-giving air on the outside.
But he had no purchase. No sense of up or down or left or right. He couldn’t gain an inch in any direction as the roiling water kept him spinning.
Darkness crept into the edges of his vision. He clawed at his throat and beat at his chest, as if he might physically pull the water from his lungs. He begged that spark inside him to ignite, to burn it all away, but it had extinguished right alongside his will.
He was drowning.
He was dying.
And as a blur of purple flashed past the opaque walls of his aquatic prison, he was sorry about that.
