“Find the other half,” he said, finally releasing her hand and leaving the crown piece in her open palm.
She immediately felt the absence of him, the heat of his touch fading. It felt...final.
“Unite the crown, seal the Chasms. Finish what we started.”
“And you?” Elyria banished the tremble she could feel in her chest from showing in her voice. “What will you do?”
“I will make sure Varyth Malchior never gets his hands on it. I willensure he pays for everything he did here.” Conviction. Confidence.
Elyria’s heart simultaneously swelled and deflated. A bittersweet taste coated her tongue. She didn’t know how he hoped to accomplish that, but she supposed if anyone was in a position to hunt a mad sorcerer through the human realm, it might just be him.
Cedric smiled—small, sad, but capped with the barest hint of hope. Like maybe, just maybe, this didn’t have to be goodbye forever.
She hoped it wasn’t.
She wanted to believe it wasn’t.
Neededto believe it wasn’t.
Even if she knew it was. Knew they’d always been playing this game from different sides of the board. And nothing that occurred between the two of them really mattered outside the confines of the Sanctum.
Even if it mattered to her.
She dug deeper.
Leaning on Thraigg, Kit finally came up beside Elyria. Zephyr shuffled up next to Cedric on his other side, Nox lingering a few paces behind the line of champions. Former champions. Survivors and victors, all—in Elyria’s eyes, at least.
Her fingers closed around the half of the crown.
And she stepped through the Gate.
57
A FINAL BLOW
CEDRIC
The roarof the crowd was deafening. Cheers and cries echoed through the grand hall, surrounding Cedric, coating him in their elation.
Elyria was but two paces ahead of him, seemingly frozen in place by the exaltation bearing down on them. He turned to see Kit, Thraigg, Nox, and Zephyr step through behind him, a similar kind of shock halting their movement.
He would have thought it out of place, the sheer amount of celebration happening in the remains of the Lost City...were that what they had returned to. But Cedric hardly recognized Castle Lumin. Gone were the dust-soaked carpets, the crumbling frescoes, the chipped stone. Billowing banners hung along the walls—the emblemsof Havensreach and Nyrundelle embroidered in silver thread on each alternating flag. Lit sconces made of crystal and glass cast shimmering light across a polished marble floor.
This wasn’t the same rotted place Cedric had left behind when the Arbiter bound him to the Sanctum. It was made anew, as if conquering the Crucible had reawakened Luminaria’s former glory. As if, in coming back through the Gate, he had stepped backward in time.
Cedric looked around the room, at the faces of the spectators—humans and Arcanians both, intermixed—welcoming them home. Most faces were beaming—bright, shining with happy tears. But some were...distressed. Chins quivered, eyes were frantic as they strained to see past the six of them, looking fortheirchampion. And that’s when Cedric noticed the layer of sad sound weaving in between the happy chatter in the room. His stomach clenched at the sight of a fae woman with short-cropped cobalt hair quietly sobbing off to one side.
Light swelled at Cedric’s back, the Gate pulsing with shades of silver and pink and purple and green. A white-robed figure stepped through, and the light vanished. The Gate closed. Her hood was drawn low, her celestial features hidden beneath swaths of thick white fabric as Aurelia’s voice—the Arbiter’s voice, to everyone else present—rang out, an infinite chorus. “Your champions return!”
There was another surge of cheers from the gathered crowd before they fell into reverent silence, their collective breath held in awe. Cedric stumbled forward another couple of steps until he was at Elyria’s side. He shot her a nervous glance, but she wasn’t looking at him. Her focus was wholly on Aurelia as the celestial continued, her many voices carrying across the hall like the toll of a bell.
“Behold your victors, people of Arcanis. Forged by the trials of the Arcane Crucible. They have fought. Have suffered. Have sacrificed. And have emerged victorious. Elyria Lightbreaker and Cedric Thorne have conquered the Crucible.”
A whoop pierced the quiet. Heart thudding, Cedric’s eyes shot to a trio of men standing together at the far end of the hall. Hargrave leaned against a pillar, a grin on his gruff face, dark hair pulled back. Next to him, Thibault shifted uncomfortably as he eyed the Arcanians surrounding him, but when his gaze caught Cedric’s, he lit up with admiration.
It was the third man, though, that had Cedric’s full attention. Not the cool, judgmental visage of Lord Leviathan Church like he’d expected, but a far friendlier face. One Cedric hadn’t realized how much he missed until this very moment.
Tristan’s smile stretched across his face, the scar under his left eye curving up toward twinkling blue eyes. Pride burst from him, palpable even from where Cedric stood, and the back of Cedric’s throat felt suddenly tight.
