Kit pursed her lips at Elyria’s overeager reaction, but Zephyr only laughed. The sylvan healer fished a tin from one of the many pouches hanging from her belt. “Given where we are and what we’re doing, perhaps there’s no point...but here, give this a try. Layer it over the worst of the scars before you go to sleep each night. I warn you it doesn’t smell amazing...”
She popped the top off the tin and Elyria took a tentative sniff. She immediately regretted it.
Zephyr took in the look on Elyria’s face and was quick to add, “But the smell doesn’t linger, I promise. And you should see a marked improvement in both appearance and texture within a few days. Is there pain?”
A mock gagging sound came from nearby before Elyria could answer. “Four fucking hells, cap that foul shit, greenie,” sneered Belien, crouched on a pillow a few feet over while Alden wrapped his ankle.
The word might’ve been a derogatory term for Zephyr’s people, but it was Elyria who saw red. “Why?” she spat. “I’d think your tear ducts would appreciate the reprieve.”
“What was that, fae scum?” Belien hissed.
Elyria sighed at the distinct lack of creativity in his insults. “Just that if you’re busy protecting your delicate sensibilities from a smelly bit of medicine, at least you’re probably too busy to keep crying. I imagine your eyes could use the break.”
Belien stood abruptly, a movement designed to intimidate. The effect was rather lessened by the way he wobbled on his good ankle, however. “Watch that smart tongue, pixie, lest I be tempted to tear it out.”
Elyria rolled her eyes. So much for choosing the path of unity. “Didn’t you learn your lesson about threatening us back at the castle?”
His eyes narrowed. “There’s no celestial magic to stop me now that we’re in here.”
Her mouth pulled up in a lazy grin. “Shall we put that to the test?”
“Don’t waste your energy on him, gorgeous,” called Cyren from across the room. “Though I can’t say I wouldn’t enjoy the show.” He shot yet another wink at Elyria, and she raised an eyebrow in response. She was starting to suspect it was his signature move.
“The man has a point,” Kit said. “Just because wecanfight each other doesn’t mean we should. Not when the Crucible seems more than happy to do the deed itself.”
Elyria was readying another cutting remark to direct at Belien when a petite, green hand touched her forearm.
“It’s all right, Elyria,” Zephyr cut in, her tone pleading. “Please don’t trouble yourself with him. I’m fine.”
Belien snorted as if he’d won something and sat back down with a smug grin. Alden snickered, and Elyria could’ve sworn she heard the saint mutter something that sounded like “herbwitch shit” under his breath.
She wasn’t familiar with the term, but it was clear from the way Zephyr’s face fell further that it was just as unwelcome as the slur Belien had used.
Zephyr hastily crammed the cap back on the tin before handing it over. “Each night before bed,” she reminded Elyria, her voice timid.
Fury burrowed deeper in Elyria’s chest. But Zephyr had askedElyria to back off, not wanting to cause a further scene. So, instead of taking out her ire on the bigots who deserved it, Elyria’s dagger-filled gaze sought someone else.
18
ON WITH IT, BOYO
CEDRIC
Cedric didhis best to remain unobtrusive, observing the various interactions unfolding around the chamber. He had no intention of getting involved in the bickering and posturing that had ensnared the other champions—least of all whatever Elyria was engaged with. After that embarrassing display in the arena, Cedric was keen to put some space between the fae warrior and himself.
So, why did his eyes keep wandering over to where she and Kit sat? And why did something twist in his gut when he saw Zephyr working her healing touch on a deep gash that cut across the Revenant’s back?
Observing the way Elyria fought in the arena, how she’d danced with that dragon, had made it clearer than ever how she earned her moniker—and that she deserved it. And thatwaswithouther magic. Cedric shuddered at the thought of what it would be like to meet the Revenant in battle at full power. He hoped he never had to find out.
And yet, for a reason he could not possibly begin to explain, he also hoped he did?
Learning—or, at least, being told—that the figure he’d long thought responsible for his parents’ murder was, perhaps, not quite the monster he had imagined was really fucking with his head.
He’d gone most of his life nursing a visceral hatred for the Revenant. The name was seared into his memory as deeply as his own. It had pushed him toward a desire for retribution against the Arcanians for as long as he could remember. A justice he’d thought he could attain by beating the Crucible and securing the crown for his own people.
He hated the Revenant.Hatedher.
But when Elyria looked at Kit, it was like she was a different person—someone Cedric had never imagined the Revenant capable of being. Was this truly the same person he’d sworn vengeance against?
