“You’re not alone in this, Cedric,” she said, as if in answer to his very thoughts. Her voice rang like a bell, rinsing away the final traces of cloudiness in his mind.
“And if you still feel like throwing punches,” she continued, “save it for whatever’s waiting in the next trial. Or for Belien’s smug face.” She gave him a playful whack, her forearm connecting with his shoulder.
Then she winced, a breath hissing from between her clenched teeth.
“What? What is it?” Cedric asked, his words coming out in a frantic jumble that was far from how he’d intended.
“It’s nothing,” she said.
But Cedric didn’t miss the way her hand twitched toward her forearm, the way her brow pinched in pain.
“You’re hurt.”
“I’m fine.”
“Show me,” he demanded.
With an overly dramatic roll of her eyes, she acquiesced, sticking her arm straight out in front of her like a child.
Cedric’s eyes immediately went to the raw, pink skin on the underside of her forearm. Burned.
“How did this happen?” He turned her arm over in his hands, checking the rest of her for injury.
“Oh, I don’t know. Couldn’t possibly have been when I was trying to lug two hundred pounds of human deadweight out of a burning building, could it?”
Cedric wanted to retort, but guilt twisted at him. “I-I’m sorry.”
She waved him off. “I’ve had worse.” Her free hand flexed over her leg, like she was about to rub her thigh but stopped herself. She coughed. “Got it worse in my own trial, to be honest.”
She pulled a corner of her blouse out from her waistband, lifting it to reveal a line of smooth pale skin over her stomach.
Cedric cursed himself for the way his pulse jumped at the sight.
“What are you doing?” he said quickly, dropping her forearm like it was suddenly poisonous.
“Calm yourself, Sir Prude. I just wanted to show you where I...” She trailed off. “Huh. That’s odd.”
“What’s odd?”
“I got a nasty slice here when I was—” She paused. “I suppose it really was just all part of the illusion, wasn’t it?”
An illusion. But if her trial had been nothing more than an illusion—a compelling, mind-bending one, he was sure, but an illusion nonetheless—then why hadhistrial left her nursing a burn wound?
If Elyria was wondering the same, he couldn’t tell. No, she’d abandoned her own injury and was now running her eyes over Cedric’s body. Scanning him, inspecting him.
“Where are you hurt? Where are your burns?” she asked, a fervency in her voice that only made the guilt burrow deeper in Cedric’s gut.
He glanced at himself—checked his arms, his legs. His clothing was seared, scorched in places. He knew he’d felt the heat of the flames lapping at him. Yet, he couldn’t find a single mark, any sign of where the fire had touched his skin.
It made no sense.
The lines between reality and whatever this was blurred further. Cedric didn’t understand this trial, this test. What was the point of allthis? Of any of it? How did this prove someone worthy of the crown?
“When I figure that out, I’ll let you know,” Elyria said.
Cedric ground his jaw. He hadn’t realized he’d spoken aloud. Releasing an exasperated breath, he raked his hand through his hair, pushing a stray curl from his brow.
Elyria watched him closely, some emotion he couldn’t identify on her porcelain face.
