Who was he to judge her, anyway? He was ahuman.Hardly worth the aggravation she felt simmering in her blood.
She supposed he must have been somewhat important, given the spectators’ reactions as he’d plodded past. A champion. And a well-connected one, if the crest welded to the front of his well-maintained armor and the ornate hilt of the sword swinging at his hip were any indication.
As if the sheer size of him wasn’t already enough to make him a serious contender beyond the Gate, human or not.
All the more reason to ensure Kit didn’t follow him through it.
And maybe the celestials decided to take pity on Elyria after all, because before her standoff with the knight could devolve into anything worse, a flash of moonlight-silver hair flew across her vision. With a final look at the knight, she took off.
“Katerina Ravenswing!” Elyria hollered across the sea of hats and hoods taking their sweet fucking time as they ambled toward Castle Lumin. Heads turned, and Elyria swore she heard a squeak of alarm before Kit darted up the castle steps and out of sight.
Frustration surged within her. She shoved her way forward, ignoring the renewed murmurs and whispers of those around her. She blinked, trying to shake off the sensation that time was slipping away from her, too fast.
Kit would not escape her again. Elyria would get to her, finally make her see reason. There was absolutely no way Elyria would sit back and allow Kit to walk to her death.
She would listen. Elyria would make her listen.
That was, if she didn’t murder her first.
11
A FAMILY MATTER
CEDRIC
The grand hallof Castle Lumin was, Cedric imagined, quite the impressive sight in its prime. Now, the cavernous room where champions and spectators gathered just seemed...sad. Thick layers of dust and rot had settled around the space. Painted frescoes crumbled from the walls.
The Gate stood alone in the center of the room, an archway with intricately welded metal doors that sat open, leading to nothing. Beautiful but otherwise unremarkable. A deception, of course, made all the more evident as the Gate began to glow around the edges, like it was readying itself.
Friends, family, and spectators took up spots along the walls as champions began stalking closer to the Gate. Cedricwatched each face as they stared down their impending fate. He recognized a few and offered a casual wave to Alden Ashford from across the room. He’d made a point to seek the saint out at camp. Cedric agreed with Lord Church’s assessment that allying with a healer wouldn’t be the worst idea—at least for the early parts of the trials. Alden waved back, an excited grin on his face. That was good.
He caught the eye of Brandon Cormac, the sage that Lord Church mentioned. Cedric offered the champion a nod. A lock of long blond hair fell into Brandon’s face as he nodded back. Cedric took it as a positive sign, even while recognizing that a telepath could make for either the best or worst kind of ally.
A group of three other human champions huddled together to the side of the Gate, their heads popping up in rapid succession to cast dirty looks in the direction of the Arcanian champions. Cedric recognized Leona Blackwood, though he hadn’t had the chance to do more than introduce himself briefly to the sorcerer. He didn’t know anything about the other two, a man and a woman with matching ginger hair and sharp gray-blue eyes. Siblings—perhaps even twins. Something told Cedric he would have to be vigilant about the trio.
Several Arcanians were spread out on the other side of the hall. A stout dwarven man with a long, intricately braided beard stood with his arms crossed, scanning the room. Cedric noted the fierce-looking hammer leaning against the wall with appreciation, and when the dwarf’s blue-eyed gaze fell on him, Cedric gave him a nod to communicate as much.
Cedric thought he saw one side of the dwarf’s mouth tip up in a smirk, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. Unlike most of the Arcanian races, dwarves were well-tolerated—respected even—by most of Havensreach. As master weaponsmiths and craftsmen, keeping open trading relationships with the few who crossed into the human kingdom was valuable.
That sentiment did not apply to the other races of Old Arcanis, though, something that Cedric was forced to recognize as his gaze landed on a pair of nocterrians lurking further down. One spoke animatedly, their crimson hands gesturing toward the Gate. They were being fastidiously ignored by the other, a tall and imposing figure with indigo-huedskin and two crossed batons slung on their back. Their slick black hair was pulled into a bun that sat between two curved horns.
Cedric tried to tamp down on the growing discomfort that rumbled in his stomach the longer he looked at them.
Finally, his eyes drifted to a trio of fae who were deep in conversation. Cedric was taking stock of the builds and weapons of all three, trying to catalog them and discern the level of threat they represented, when Thibault’s voice drifted into his ear.
“All good, Ric?” he asked as he sidled up next to Cedric. “We lost track of you for a minute there.”
Cedric’s eyebrow arched. “Of course. Why would it not be?”
Hargrave came to a stop at Cedric’s other side, dark hair slicked back, tied low at the back of his head. “Thought some fae witch might have gotten her claws in you on the way in. Convinced you to enterherSanctum.” He gave Cedric a salacious wink as Thibault made a noise of disgust.
Cedric snorted and resisted the urge to smack Hargrave. “Hardly.” He knew the guard said it in jest, but while Cedric’s reactions were a bit more measured than Thibault’s, he couldn’t disagree that the very idea was insulting. Perhaps a weaker man might be enthralled by the thought of adding an Arcanian or two to the notches on his belt. He supposed he understood the temptation. The unique circumstances of the Crucible offered an opportunity for fraternization that few humans would ever see again in their lifetime. Not Cedric though. It would take a lot more than a striking face, shimmering green eyes, and pretty purple hair to get him to stray from his mission—and his morals.
He frowned at the specificity of the image that came into his mind. He certainly wasn’t referring to anyone in particular.
Hargrave patted Cedric on the back as he turned to continue chatting with Thibault, and as if his previous line of thought had summoned her back into being, Cedric saw her.
She stood on the opposite side of the Gate, perfectly framed by its ethereal glow, the soft light painting the strands of periwinkle around her face silver. Her right hand was wrapped around her carved quarterstaff as she tilted to the side, leaning her weight on it.
