He came.
Even knowing how slim the chance was that Cedric would return, he still came.
Any disappointment at not seeing Lord Church amongst those waiting for him vanished. And if he was being honest with himself, Cedric wasn’t sure hewasdisappointed. Something far more akin to relief spread through him, mixing with that ever-present simmer in the center of his chest. He did not begrudge the extra time to prepare, to sort through his thoughts and untangle his feelings before he would have to report to his benefactor on all that had occurred within the Sanctum. Cedric wasn’t sure how much he wanted to tell him—how much hewouldtell him. There was, after all, still so much Cedric didn’t understand about himself.
He gave Tristan a slow, grateful nod, then turned his attention back to Aurelia before that prickling tightness in his throat gave way to something more embarrassing. He was still very much on display, after all.
“See those who have conquered the Arcane Crucible, those who walk the path of unity rather than division,” Aurelia said. “Those who have proven themselves worthy of a crown.”
“But whose crown is it?” came a voice from the crowd. Cedric couldn’t tell who it belonged to, but the question was only the first in a tidal wave of queries and calls suddenly barraging them.
“Which of them won?”
“Surely it cannot be both!”
“Does Havensreach or does Nyrundelle claim its power?”
Their fervor finally stirred Elyria from her frozen state. An odd expression on her face, she stared at the crown in her hand, tightening her hold around it. Cedric felt the presence of the other champions drawingcloser behind the two of them, as if preparing for the crowd to rush them, for a mob to form.
They needn’t have worried. Aurelia raised both hands and a pulse of power spread over the crowd. They quieted again, compelled to listen. “The crown belongs to no one.”
Some of the spectators exchanged sidelong glances, Hargrave and Thibault included, but their fervor did not climb out of control again.
“Not yet,” Aurelia continued. “The Crucible has been conquered but the power of the Crown of Concord has not yet been claimed. And it shall remain as such, until?—”
Several things happened at once.
A blur of forest green darted into Cedric’s field of vision.
A collective gasp echoed through the hall.
Elyria let out a sharp cry as she staggered back, colliding with Nox. She clutched one hand in the other, red blood dripping down the side of her palm.
Her empty palm.
And Zephyr now stood several feet in front of Cedric, the dagger she’d once used to save his life clutched in one hand, the crown in the other.
Anguish was stamped on every plane of her delicate face as she looked at Cedric with pleading green eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice shaking. “I’m so sorry.”
She took a step back. Cedric took a step forward. “Why?” His voice cracked on the word.
“The crown does belong to someone,” she said. “And I have no choice but to bring it to him. He didn’t give me a choice.”
Cedric reached for her, but she was fast—so, so fast. Not weak, not frail, not spent, like he’d thought. No, that ashen quality, the nerves, the jumpiness he’d picked up on in the Sanctum wasn’t due to her waning magic. It was because of herguilt.
“No!” shouted Aurelia, her layered voice sharp with ancient power. Her hand shot from beneath her robes, a galaxy of color swirling over her skin, an orb of magic forming in her hand. A godly strike meant to stop the sylvan from absconding with their hard-fought prize.
But Zephyr still was faster. With a flash of green light, her bodywas suddenly shimmering, shifting, shrinking—changing. Wings burst from her back. Sage-green skin gave way to viridian feathers. And suddenly it was not a sylvan standing before Cedric, but an eagle flying away from him, half of the Crown of Concord clutched in her talons.
Shapeshifter.
Changeling.
Aurelia’s blast missed Zephyr by inches, ricocheting off the far wall and dispersing over the spectators with such force that most were knocked to the ground.
Cedric’s head spun as Zephyr soared over the stunned crowd, a shriek tearing from her avian throat as she soared through the castle doors and out of sight.
“He didn’t give me a choice.”
