“No, my lord.” Cedric bent at the waist in a respectful bow.
“Whatisthe greatest threat posed by the fae?” The lord’s cane left pockmarks in the dirt as he limped toward the duo.
“Their magic,” answered Cedric.
“And why is that?”
Tristan arched an eyebrow. “Is that a serious question, your lordship?”
Lord Church leveled him with a cool stare. “Fae—all Arcanians, in fact—wield magic as easily as the breath in their lungs. It lives in their veins. They do not requireassistancethe same way we do.”
He drew his mana token from beneath his robes, the circular amulet hanging from a chain around his neck, the size of a large coin. The dark—almost black—metal seemed to suck in the light from around it, even as the single crimson gem set in its center glowed bright and lucent. It brimmed with mana.
He must have recently charged it, Cedric thought.
“I would like Sir Thorne’s reassurance that he has a thorough understanding of exactly what he’ll be facing in the Crucible,” Lord Church continued.
Tristan cleared his throat. “Yes, my lord. I only mean to say, even the smallest of children know the dangers of the fae. Of all the races of Old Arcanis. Cedric does not?—”
“You may take your leave, Sir Hale,” Lord Church commanded, interrupting him.
Tristan’s blue eyes widened infinitesimally, but he dipped his head. “Be sure to find me before you leave, Ric,” he said, then strode away.
Cedric straightened, pushing aside the uncomfortable feeling their exchange stirred in his gut. “What news, my lord?”
“The aurora blooms. It is time.”
Cedric’s eyes shot to the sky. The sun burned brightly, but as he squinted, he could see the rainbow of colors shimmering behind the clouds. They would only grow more vivid as night approached.
His heartbeat quickened. “I am ready.”
A smile played on Lord Church’s lips. “I know you are. This is what you trained for.” Then, his expression grew stern, his amber eyes darkening. “But remember, the Arcane Crucible is more than a challenge of physical prowess. It is a test of mind and spirit—of your determination. And the Arcanians you shall meet in the Sanctum will be nothing if notdetermined. They want the crown.”
Heat flared in Cedric’s chest at the thought.
“And should they be allowed to claim it...” Lord Church trailed off, a faraway look in his eyes. “Space is already scarce here in Havensreach, our mana limited. With the power of the crown, Nyrundelle could finally reclaim the Midlands in full.” He frowned. “Worse, should they desire, they could widen the Chasm until Havensreach falls into the sea.”
Cedric pressed his lips in a tight line. The races of Old Arcanis—sylvan, dwarf, nocterrian, and fae alike—still harbored deep enmity for humans. The fae, according to Lord Church, most of all. Nearly two centuries had passed since the Great Betrayal, but their desire for retribution remained strong, since they decided all humans deserved to pay for the actions of one evil man.
It was nothing compared to Cedric’s own thirst for vengeance.
He brought a finger to his mouth, almost absentmindedly. To the scar that cut through his upper lip. “The crown shallneverfall into Arcanian hands. I swear it.”
“Then show me how you intend to win.”
Cedric drew his own token from beneath his cuirass, a sense of calm settling over him as he wrapped his fingers around it. He opened his palm to reveal the midnight blue stone, veined with streaks of gleaming silver—frozen lightning. The emerald set in its center flickered. He would need to recharge it before they departed.
“Show me,” Lord Church beckoned again, a challenge in his voice.
Cedric felt the familiar hum of energy course through his veins as he drew the mana from his token. In his head, he recited the ancient words that would allow him to wield its power. Gripping the token in one hand, Cedric threw the other out to the side before pulling it close to his chest. His practice sword soared from the spot where he had discarded it; the next moment, its edge was pressed to Lord Leviathan Church’s neck.
“Good.” Lord Church nodded in approval. He wedged his cane between the blade and his skin. Were it Cedric’s regular weapon, it would have left a bloody slice behind.
Cedric loosened his mental grasp of the weapon. The sword fell away.
A heartbeat later, he was on his back.
“Did I yield?” Lord Church clutched his token in one hand. The other was still wrapped around the handle of his cane, a single finger outstretched. The man had barely moved. But the ache in Cedric’s chest was proof of the magical strike Lord Church made against him.
