“No, my lord,” Cedric wheezed.
“Never drop your guard. Never relent.”
Cedric scrambled to his feet. “Yes, my lord.”
“Show me your control.”
With a clench of his fist, Cedric’s sword was in the air again. This time, it was joined by a dozen other blades that had been hanging on the weapons rack moments before. Cedric grunted with effort as the weapons fanned out around the lord, each one pointed at a different vulnerable spot—an artery, a tendon. They were not all practice swords, either.
Lord Church flinched as the sharp tip of a stiletto dagger touched the fleshy divot at the base of his throat. “I yield.”
Cedric returned the weapons to their original positions with a satisfied grin.
“Impressive.” Lord Church’s tone remained measured. “Though I’m afraid these small magics will not be enough if you intend to best your fellow champions.”
“Small magics?” Cedric scoffed. A searing bolt of defensiveness flared through him. He bit down on his tongue to prevent himself from saying something he would regret. He knew the lord did not mean to insult him.
“I say this not to belittle your abilities,” Lord Church said, as if he could read Cedric’s thoughts, “but more than a dozen other champions will be working against you in the Crucible, the least of whom will be spellweavers as capable as yourself.”
Cedric leaned against a nearby training post, his face neutral even as he scowled internally. Spellweaver. To equate what he could do with those who used their tokens to light candles and purify well water made his palms heat with irritation. He may not yet have earned an official designation as a sorcerer, nor would his paltry mastery of curative magic name him a saint. Still, Cedric knew his power went beyond that of a spellweaver, even if he wasn’t quite sure why he feltso strongly about it.
He said none of this, and if Lord Church sensed Cedric’s displeasure, he did not let it show. “Let us put aside the elemental magic of the Arcanians who shall be competing against you. My sources tell me that Cormac and Blackwood will be amongst those championing our kingdom beyond the Gate.”
Cedric pursed his lips. Leona Blackwood was a powerful sorcerer, her magical abilities said to rival even those of King Callum. And Cedric would be a fool to overlook Brandon Cormac. As a sage, he could easily learn of the plans and movements of the other champions. Whether he used his telepathic skills for active sabotage or simply to stay three steps ahead, Cedric would need to remain vigilant and keep his mental walls strong.
“Are there any others I should be aware of?”
Lord Church cocked his head. “Alden Ashford may be worth considering for an alliance. His healing prowess could most definitely be of use.”
Cedric made a mental note to keep an eye out for the saint.
“If there are any other humans of note set on entering the fray, though, I have not heard. And as for those from the other side of the Chasm”—Lord Church’s lip curled—“I do not have much information. Although...” Something that looked almost like chagrin flashed across his face.
Cedric’s eyebrows jumped up his forehead. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen that particular emotion from the nobleman in their many years together. He braced a hand on the training post and leaned closer. “Although what?”
Lord Church sighed. “Word has traveled across both Chasms of a great Arcanian warrior—afaewarrior—planning to take on the Crucible. There are even whispers of some movement stirring, rallying. The calls have grown louder for the Arcanians to make their move on the Midlands, with or without the crown.”
Red flared across Cedric’s vision. His hands felt hot. An array of violent images overtook his mind. Blazing fire. A maniacal laugh. The razor-sharp edge of a blade against his mouth. And blood. Everywhere, blood.
He blinked it all away. “You speak of the Revenant.”
If that fae demon was entering the Celestial Sanctum, Cedric would have to be on his guard indeed. At the same time, something sparked in his chest at the thought of facing the Revenant.An ember of yearning—a deepneedto be the one to cut the monster down.
“Only Aurelia knows whether it is all hearsay or not,” Lord Church said, pulling Cedric’s attention back. “And I see your emotions roiling under the surface. Do not let them control you. There will be no room for distractions in the Sanctum.”
Cedric bit back the retort on his tongue. “Yes, my lord.”
“Our party departs for the Lost City in the morning. Be ready.”
His expression hard, Cedric nodded. “I shall.”
With an assessing look that made Cedric feel as if he’d been stripped of his armor, Lord Church exited the training yard.
Cedric sucked in a deep breath, thoughts spinning. He had to finish packing his belongings before they set off on their pilgrimage to Luminaria. He needed to visit the mana forge so the magicsmith could recharge his token before tomorrow. He wanted to find Tristan so he could say farewell. Should there be time, he’d like to visit the local tavern to find some lady with whom to spend his final hours too. He’d heard that the aurora put them in quite the mood.
He peeled his hand from the training post, only for his swirling thoughts to narrow into one of confused curiosity. The wood was charred where his fingers had been resting. He’d never noticed that before.
Something poked at him, lingering on the edge of his thoughts. He frowned, then dismissed the notion. He had much to do and little time to do it. So, Cedric turned and walked away, the scent of singed wood lingering in the air.
