IF AT FIRST YOU DON’T SUCCEED
ELYRIA
Elyria’s wingsached as she soared over the Chasm, the cold air biting at the exposed skin on her face and arms. She should have hired a gryphon in the capital once she learned that Kit had already left for the Lost City. The flight from Coralith to Aerithia had already taken a lot out of her—she wasn’t used to flying long distances anymore. The hours in the sky had sapped her strength. Her wings felt leaden. But Elyria hadn’t been willing to wait. Whether flying on her own or as part of a caravan, Kit would be traveling quickly. Elyria didn’t know how much time she had until the aurora disappeared, signaling the Crucible’s start. She only knew she had to find Kit before she reached Luminaria.
And so,Elyria flew. Her wings beat. Her back twinged. She drew a breath, wound a finger through the air, and wrapped a tendril of magic around her shoulders—a brace. It would do for now.
Her stomach lurched as she glanced down into the seemingly bottomless abyss of the Chasm. The jagged scar separating Nyrundelle from the Midlands was narrower than the one that ran through the human side of the continent, but it still made for quite the sight. Mist billowed along the cliffs, pouring into the gorge like a smoky waterfall. The clouds hung still, as if even they dared not cross the mighty canyon. Above Elyria, the vibrant colors of the aurora mixed and swirled in the sky. Below her, fathomless darkness.
Elyria barely remembered what life had been like before the Shattering. Before the twin Chasms ripped through the continent, from the Sea of Serenity to the Ironpeak Mountains. Before the realm was cleaved in three. To the west lay Nyrundelle—home. To the east, the human kingdom of Havensreach. And the wild, untethered Midlands in between.
Located just south of the Forest of Valandor, the Lost City of Luminaria was the only real landmark of note left in the Midlands. There were, of course, the small bouts of territory marked by encampments and the evidence of battles gone wrong. While the Chasm kept the vast majority of humans tightly locked in their third of Arcanis, groups were constantly infiltrating the Midlands, their sights trained on areas where mana springs had formed.
Elyria thought of what Ollie had said—how the battles over those bits of land were getting worse, how humans were starting to fight dirty. She’d thought by now King Lachlandris would have perfected the art of pushing back the magic-hungry mortals whenever they got too ambitious. But perhaps their desperation had finally reached the point where they felt they no longer had anything to lose.
She recalled the time a dwarven trader, a frequent patron of The Sweltering Pig, had spent an entire evening regaling Elyria with tales of what Havensreach was like. He’d tried to paint the overcrowded streets in the capital city of Kingshelm as exciting, if somewhat pitiable. But one description of navigating through throngs of clamoring, hungry children, and all he’d done was leave her with a sour taste on her tongue.
That part was unfortunate, Elyria would admit. Children of anykind—even human ones—were precious. They deserved full bellies and soft places to lay their heads at night. Still, that was hardly a good enough reason to encroach upon what was Arcanian territory by right. Humans could reproduce so easily, so quickly. So unlike the fae. Perhaps if they took that blessing seriously, they might have carved a different future for their progeny.
That thought left an even worse taste in her mouth.
The tips of what remained of the crumbling Castle Lumin appeared in the distance and whatever feelings she might have had regarding the human situation in Havensreach were erased. Elyria’s heart lurched. The last time she’d flown this route, Evander soared beside her. His golden eyes had been full of resolve. Now, the loss of him echoed through her with each beat of her wings.
Her back twinged again, the burden of keeping Kit from following him weighed Elyria down. She couldn’t let her repeat his mistake.
She spotted the first wisps of campfire smoke making its way up to the sky—a traveler camp that had been set up on the outskirts of the city. The smell of wood smoke and roasting meat wafted up to greet her as she approached.
She noted the clear delineation between the Arcanian and human camps with amusement. Not only were they separated in distance, the human camp set up on the far side of the city gates, but the camps could not have looked more different. Where the human tents were plain and practical, set up in orderly lines, the Arcanian tents were a patchwork of vibrant color, scattered haphazardly.
Typical, she thought. Leave it to humans to suck all the color out of the occasion.
Despite the ancient magic that prevented violence within the Midlands as long as the aurora bloomed, it was clear neither side felt the need to get too friendly. She didn’t blame them. They were after the same thing, not on the same team. Each side sought to win the crown. Wanted to wield its power for their own reasons.
Elyria wanted to scream at them all just how stupid that desire was. Neither side would win it. After a hundred years and countless champions lost to the Sanctum, it was clear nobody ever would.
Heart pounding in her chest, Elyria descended into the Arcaniancamp. An uneasy silence hung in the air, punctuated by the occasional crackle of fire and murmur of hushed conversation as she hovered. Her eyes darted over clusters of travelers, searching for any sign of?—
There. Cropped moonlight hair. Gold-and-silver wings that glinted in the firelight. Water deftly weaving through the air as if at the behest of a conductor’s baton. And radiating from her very being, a vivacity that could only belong to...
“Kit.” Elyria landed with a softthud, folding her wings neatly behind her as she approached with hesitant steps.
Kit stiffened. The water magic she’d been playing with dissipated into mist as she turned with agonizing slowness. Fierce eyes—one blue, one green—met Elyria’s. “What are you doing here?” Her voice was detached, disinterested. As if Elyria were a stranger.
Shame crept from Elyria’s gut. “I?—”
She had rehearsed her speech over and over while in the air. She’d known exactly what she would say to get Kit to see reason. She would appeal to the love and loyalty Kit had for her mother. For the duchy she was one day destined to lead. And if that didn’t work, Elyria would say whatever she needed to convince Kit to give this up, to turn back. She would make her understand how foolish this was, that she was throwing her life away. Would remind her that three times, the Crucible had been met. Three times, the strongest in the realm entered the Celestial Sanctum. And three times, they failed. It had swallowed up Evander and it hadn’t even bothered to spit his body back out so they could give him a proper Sending.
Now that she was here, Elyria couldn’t remember a single word. And so, what came out of her mouth was, “You cut your hair.”
Kit raked an appraising look over Elyria. She took in the wrinkled blouse tucked under beat up leathers. The smears of sweat-streaked dirt running down each arm. Her sharp eyes narrowed when she reached Elyria’s face—lips chapped, cheeks chafed from the wind. “You look like you crawled out of the first quarter of hell.”
Elyria attempted a grin. “Not much time for primping and preening when I’m chasing your ass across the continent.”
“And why would you do that?” Kit asked icily.
Elyria wished she had a drink in hand. “I think you know theanswer to that.”
“My mother has become desperate if she felt the need to seek you out. Truly, I didn’t think she would ever stoop that low.”
