The shock that flitted across Elyria’s face was quick as a lightning strike, but Cedric saw it. Saw the flash of hurt, the words cutting deep. And then, in the next instant, he saw the way she transformed. How she masked the pain, clawed the raw anger she’d been exuding back into herself.
A chill ran over Cedric as Elyria rolled her shoulders. Cocked her head to one side. Pasted on a caustic smile. “Apologies,my lady,” she said to Kit, the words dripping with sarcasm. “I misspoke. I meant only that as I was sent here by your mother, I am acting in the best interest of yourremainingfamily.”
Kit flinched.
Cedric didn’t understand the sudden need he felt to move closer, like something was tugging him toward the arguing fae. He took a single step forward before a hand wrapped around his upper arm, keeping him in place.
“Control your emotions,” Lord Church hissed in his ear. “Extricate yourself from this mess. This is behavior unbecoming of a champion.”
They’re champions and look how they’re acting,Cedric wanted to say. But he was quiet as he stepped back into place at the nobleman’s side.
Elyria was still speaking. “I see now my efforts have been in vain. Do allow me to take my leave.” Kit didn’t meet her eye as Elyria sketched a mocking bow, slung her staff over her back, and turned toward the entrance doors.
Cedric’s brows shot up. Was she truly leaving? The thought shocked him into motion, even as he felt Lord Church’s hand tighten on his arm. This was the opposite of controlling his emotions, he knew this.
He just couldn’t help himself.
“So, you aren’t a champion, then?” he called out, ignoring LordChurch’s sharp inhale as he pulled himself free and took off after Elyria.
Her steps slowed. She turned. “Decidedlynot,” she said with a derisive snort.
“Then why?—”
“Best of luck with your little game, Sir Knight.”
His temper flared, heating his chest. “This is not a game.”
“It is the precise definition of a game. We simply aren’t the ones making up the rules.” She threw her narrowed gaze to the ceiling, as if issuing a dare to the celestials themselves. Her mouth had curved up on one side when her green eyes met Cedric’s once more. “Hope you all have fun playing together.”
“You’re not taking this seriously. People die in the Crucible.”
Her smirk faded, replaced by a hard look that she directed at Kit. “I take it allveryseriously. Now, why don’t you go back to sending your futile prayers up to your banished god? You’re going to need all the help you can get in there.”
“Just fucking go, Elle,” Kit said, sounding tired.
Cedric’s mouth quirked as he attempted to smother a laugh.
He failed.
Elyria’s eyes narrowed to emerald slits. “Was there something else you wished to say?”
“I suppose I’m just surprised that, for all your posturing, you won’t be entering the Sanctum.” A wave of boldness crested in Cedric’s chest, pulled the next words from his mouth. “And perhaps I am a little disappointed that I won’t have the opportunity to best you.”
“Well, I’m not!” called Gael, humor still scrawled across her face. One of the fae next to her let out a bellowing laugh. “And neither should you be, Sir Knight, given the way you’ve managed to rile up the Revenant.”
Cedric’s breath stalled in his lungs. He was sure he’d misheard those gossiping girls outside. He was sure there was no possible way that this fury-filled harpy was...
Disbelief carried Cedric forward, closing the distance between Elyria and himself. “You’rethe Revenant?”
12
GAEL WINTERS, FLAMECALLER
CEDRIC
Elyria shrugged. “So they call me.”
Cedric’s vision turned crimson.
