“I wasn’tworried,” she insisted. “I just wasn’t sure where you’d gone, and it caught me off guard.” Her eyes darted to the doors lining the back wall. “Thought we were heading to the same place. That’s all.”
“As did I,” Cedric said, reaching for the now overfull tankard of ale in front of him. Its amber contents rippled as he took a careful sip. Then another, less careful one. And another, which was really more like a gulp.
He hadn’t realized how desperately he needed a drink until this moment.
“But I suppose all’s well that ends well,” he continued after finally setting the tankard down, nearly drained. “Even if I ended up with a far less pleasant partner than I would have liked.”
The good-natured jibe was barely more than a conspiratorial whisper in Zephyr’s ear, inaudible to anyone else. But that didn’t stop Elyria’s head from whipping to the right, her eyes narrowing on Cedric as if she’d heard every word.
Already feeling emboldened from the ale, he tipped his chin at the fae with a lopsided grin. She responded by chugging the contents of the goblet in her hand.
He turned his attention back to Thraigg. “Are we the last to arrive?”
“Aye.” The dwarf hiccupped. “Wait, no. Still waiting on that mousy li’l human bloke—the healer.”
“Alden.” Cedric scanned the remaining champions, confirming that the saint wasn’t there.
Thraigg blinked slowly before nodding, like the action took some effort. “And that other fae fellow, too. With the blinding hair.”
“His name is Paelin.” Gael’s voice cut across the table with no hint of the colorful humor Cedric had come to expect from her.
“I’m sure he will arrive any moment,” said Cyren, tucking a lock of blue hair behind his ear. He patted Gael’s shoulder, but Cedric caught the uncertainty flickering in his eyes.
Across the table, Elyria nodded in agreement as she refilled her goblet.
“That’s what that ginger twit said ‘bout the other one,” Thraigg muttered.
Gael tensed.
Elyria shot Thraigg a warning glare.
“How long have you been waiting?” Cedric asked—an attempt to shift the dwarf’s drunken focus.
Thraigg took a long drag of his drink before shrugging. “Dunno. A while.”
Cedric was too exhausted to stop himself from rolling his eyes. “Very helpful.”
“You two did seem to take quite a while. We thought...” Zephyr trailed off.
Cedric leaned back in his chair, understanding washing over him. The nervous way Kit clung to Elyria made a lot more sense now. They’d already thought them lost.
“Well, if we managed to squeak through,” Elyria said, a sudden lightness in her voice that Cedric suspected was very much forced, “then I’m sure Paelin isn’t far behind either.” Her green eyes met Cedric’s for the briefest moment before flitting back to Gael.
For a long time, nobody spoke. Despite his efforts to dispel the tension in the room, it hung heavy in the air—a storm waiting to break. Cedric could see it in the way Gael’s restless fingers tapped against the table, in the suspicious squint of Belien’s eyes, in the perpetual sneer gracing Leona’s lips. They may have survived the Trial of Spirit, may have all faced their truths, but bonds of camaraderie were thin, sparse, primed to snap.
Leona’s sharp voice shattered the silence. “How long are we to be expected to continue waiting?”
“As long as it takes, Blackwood,” said Gael.
“You had no problem moving right on when the one we were waitingfor was my sister,” Belien spat. “But now that it’s your little fairy friend, I suppose we should wait forever, is that right?”
Cedric’s hand tightened around his tankard.
Lethal calm blazed in Gael’s eyes. “The Crucible moved on. Is it my fault that the Arbiter declared the trial over? I would have waited as long as necessary. I expect whether Paelin will?—”
“And Alden,” Leona chimed in.
“I expect whether Paelin and Alden”—Gael’s jaw ticked—“will best the trial still has yet to be determined.”
