Belien’s voice rang in Cedric’s head, his final words more haunting than ever now that he was so close to said end. And to said crown—a prize he wasn’t sure he even wanted to win anymore.
“I need to thank you too.”
Cedric had been so momentarily lost in thought he hadn’t noticed that Elyria had slowed her steps, gently pulling him to stop in the middle of the corridor.
Cedric gaped at her. “Forgive me for sounding repetitive, but again I must ask, for what?”
She faced him, chewing on her lip. “For the same thing. You did not hesitate to defend us, to defend Kit. You did not falter as I did.”
He shook his head. “Do not do yourself such a disservice as to think you did nothing. You moved in the end. You made it count.” He sighed. “In all honesty, I should have done more. I knew from the moment he appeared that something was wrong but I...”
“You what?”
He opened his mouth to say more, but at the sight of the pain swimming in her eyes, his explanation died on his tongue. She’d just been forced to kill the love of her life. For him. How could he explain he’d ignored his suspicions because he wasjealous? Everything he might have felt seemed petty and inconsequential in comparison.
If Cedric could go back in time and kill Evander before he attacked Kit, he would. He should have struck him down the moment he appeared in the chamber. Elyria would have hated him for it. Might have murdered him right where he stood in retaliation. But to prevent her from seeing what had become of the man she loved, it would have been worth it.
She stepped closer, their hands still linked, and that thread tied somewhere deep inside Cedric’s chest pulsed, a beam of light amidst the simmering fire inside.
“I should have done more,” he repeated. He tried to turn away, to face forward, to launch back into motion, but she held him back, wrapping her bandaged hand around his wrist as if she meant to pin him down.
“Don’t run,” she said, her mouth curving wryly.
That light in his chest pulsed again, the memory of their near-miss in that moonlit hallway surging forth. She remembered. She still thought about it too.
“You saved me again,” he said. “I don’t even know what to say about that at this point. I suppose I should be used to it by now.”
He didn’t let himself think too hard about what he was doing when he lifted his arm and pressed his lips to the back of her hand.
“Thank you,” he whispered against her knuckles.
Her lips parted, her brow jumping up her forehead in surprise. He half-expected her to protest, to pull away—hells, to slap him. Instead, she simply swallowed hard, and Cedric couldn’t keep his gaze from following the gentle bob of her throat.
“I don’t need your thanks,” she said, the slightest tremble in her voice. “I just...I couldn’t let it happen again.”
He let their hands drop back between them, fingers still intertwined. “I know,” he said. “But you have it anyway.”
“I do believethis officially qualifies as the longest hallway in Arcanis.” Elyria huffed, blowing a lock of periwinkle hair out of her eyes. “It feels like we’ve been walking for an hour.”
“Two,” Cedric said, though if he was being honest, it hadn’t felt that long at all to him. Silence hung in the air, as it often did between them. But unlike the tension-filled droughts of sound that plagued them before, this one was comfortable, casual.
“Doesn’t it seem strange that the Trial of Concord has thus far consisted of nothing more than what equates to a nice stroll?” she asked.
“I don’t know, I’d say I’m feeling ratherconcordantright now.” He grinned. “And a nice stroll, eh? Is this your way of telling me you’ve been having a good time?”
“You’d like to think that, wouldn’t you?” She flashed her teeth in a teasing grimace, simultaneously squeezing his hand. “What I meant was, surely there has to be more to the Trial of Concord than this.”
“I suppose we are about to find out,” Cedric said, pointing ahead to where the winding hallway had finally straightened, revealing a large wooden door at the end.
Elyria stopped walking. “What do you think is beyond there?”
He shrugged. “Is there any point in speculating? We tackled the trials that preceded this, surely this one will be a piece of cake too.”
Elyria’s mouth popped open in protest, closing when she saw the widening of Cedric’s grin.
“Noctis take me,” she said, dropping his hand in a dramatic show of mock surprise. “Once more, the knight makes a joke. Whoareyou, Sir Cedric Thorne? And whatever shall I tell that lord of yours when he asks what happened to you?”
At the mention of Lord Church, Cedric’s face fell. He thought of how far he’d come—how far he’d fallen—from the “great champion”that had walked through the Gate. Cedric looked down at the black tunic draped over his armorless chest, his unguarded forearms. He didn’t know what reuniting with Lord Church once this was all over would look like, and wondered if the lord would even recognize him like this. Bare. Unarmored. Unmasked. The quiet, thrumming power of the simmering embers deep in him pulsed in his chest. Was he even capable of donning those old pieces of himself again? He didn’t think he could go back to being that same obedient, subservient knight.
