Elyria wanted more than anything to succumb to sleep. She couldn’t. She lay on her side, staring at the wall beside her bed, the events of the day playing over and over in her mind.
The rush toward the doors. The golden mirror. The battle. The darkness. That burning house. The...aftermath. And interlaced with nearly every memory, permeating every image:him.
Why did Cedric loom so large in her mind? Was she just feeling the aftereffects of the Trial of Spirit? She thought about the scene she’d come upon after fading out of her own trial—his body curled up on the burning floor, flames dancing around him. She thought of the tightness around his eyes, the clench of his jaw as he fought against pain. It had been her first instinct to run to his side, to sing to him, to try and soothe his fear.
She thought about the way his eyes had widened when he realized it was her, how the pain and confusion in his face had shifted into something like awe. How he had lit up with relief...before crashing back into suspicion.
Elyria grinned against her pillow, recalling the way he came at her after that. He was a decent fighter; she would give him that. She wondered what it would be like to face off against the knight under less traumatic circumstances. She bet it would be fun.
And then she shook her head, burying her face in the cool cotton. What waswrongwith her? Why did she feel his presence everywhere? Why was he alwaysthere?After each trial. Before she’d even entered the Gate. Even here, now, she felt him.
She didn’t understand why. Didn’t understand this flicker of familiarity that seemed to thread through her veins at the thought of him. Was it gratitude? It’s not as if he’d done anything to help her. He had pulled her back from the edge with Belien, yes. But it wasn’t the same as how she’d helped him—multiple times now. How she was here to help Kit.
And Elyria felt like something must have been very, very wrong with her because the more time she spent in this place, the harder it was to remember her reason for being here. Like her mind was pushing out thoughts of Kit and Evander and replacing them with this infuriating, self-righteoushuman.
And fine, she would admit that the man wasn’t as absolutely loathsome as she’d initially thought. Especially now that he seemed to finally—maybe?—believe she’d had nothing to do with his parents’ murder. And, yes, perhaps witnessing him in the wake of his lowest moments had softened her toward him.
A little.
But he was still insufferable. He still had a chip on his shoulder and a stick up his ass.
Elyria sighed. Her head hurt. She thought about how much had happened since that morning alone. It was as though an entirely different person had been the one hoarding bacon and trading barbs with the knight.
Every hour spent here felt like an eternity and like an instant. How much time was passing outside the Celestial Sanctum? Was it the same out there? Or was the ancient magic here warping their senses? Bending the very passage of time?
She rolled onto her back, clutching the blanket under her chin like an anchor, as if it might weld her to the present. She needed herspinning mind to stop, if just for a few moments.
It wasn’t the darkness that kept her awake. She’d made peace with that—at least for now. It was something else. Ittuggedat her, not entirely dissimilar to the feeling of having forgotten something without any clue as to what it is she might have forgot.
Elyria sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, her gauzy white sleeping dress dusting the tops of her knees. Her bare feet met the cool stone floor. With a glance at a peacefully sleeping Kit, Elyria crept from the room, not even bothering to slip on her boots. She just needed to clear her head. Needed space to think.
The moment she closed the bedroom door, unease washed over her. She didn’t have to turn around to realize she was not in the Sanctum’s main chamber, the room where they’d spent all their time outside the trials. She was in a long, empty corridor.
Flickering torchlight lit the hallway. Elyria hesitated for a moment, brushing her hand against the wall as if seeking reassurance from the cool stone.
The night was still. There was no sign of the other champions, not even their bedroom doors. No sign of life at all beyond the low hum of the Sanctum’s ancient magic. It soothed something in Elyria’s soul. A soft melody fell from her lips as she harmonized with the magic, the initial disquiet she’d felt melting away.
She stepped forward, allowing thattugin her chest to guide her down the winding corridor.
Rounding a soft curve in the hallway, Elyria stopped short.
Of course, she thought.Of fucking course.
It had guided her right to him.
Cedric sat on a stone bench in a small alcove at the end of the hall—head in his hands, shoulders hunched. Moonlight filtered in through a window above him. His armor was gone, leaving him in just a simple black tunic and pants.
Open.
Vulnerable.
Human.
He must have heard her because he lifted his head before she could take another step. His brown eyes were wide with an emotion thatElyria had trouble placing. It wasn’t surprise, not exactly. More like, wonder. Incredulity.
Like he wasn’t expecting to see her, but he wasn’tnotexpecting it either.
And Elyria understood that. Because, against all sense, it was how she felt too.
