Nox neither confirmed nor denied Cedric’s statement, only offered a sphinx-like smile. “Meet me back here at first light tomorrow—you’ll have all the privacy you require to practice properly. I’m confident you’ll be able to gain a modicum more magical control before you depart.”
“Very well,” said Cedric, bracing himself for the cold pull of Nox’s shadows once more. They didn’t come. Rather, Nox simply stepped into a shadow on their own, leaving Cedric alone in the training room.
“Right. Wonderful.” He exhaled a long breath through his mouth, flexing his jaw several times in an attempt to relieve the tightness there. He supposed spending his final day training with the nocterrian would be interesting, if nothing else.
Even if there was someone else he’d much rather spend it with.
And as Cedric exited the room, his final thought was once again wishing he simply had more time in general. Time enough to do not only the things he needed to do, but also those he wanted.
The sun was tauntinglybright as Cedric raced up the winding tower stairs, taking them two at a time, heart hammering in his chest. It was truly spectacular the way he’d lost track of time. And were he not so concerned that he missed Nox entirely, missed his chance to take the nocterrian up on whatever they had planned, Cedric might have thought it a little bit funny.
He wasn’t laughing now. The rest of yesterday had passed in an utter haze. Upon returning from his nocterrian-led detour, Cedric had eagerly dove into the scrolls Magister Yvan had sent him. There were many materials pertaining to sylvan culture, and Cedric found himself reading them ravenously, searching for anything that might help him when talking to the sylvan leaders in Elderglade.
Considering the reception the Arcanians had given the human champions before the Crucible began—indifferent at best, hostile at worst—Cedric very much doubted convincing the sylvans to help would be an easy task. But on the slim chance he might be granted an audience with their elders in the first place, he thought arming himself with knowledge of their customs wasn’t the worst idea. He hoped he might find some nuggets of wisdom within the pages the magister had sent.
Cedric had been so engrossed in the workings of sylvan magic that he barely noticed when the sun dipped below the horizon and the cool calm of night settled over the palace. Verdancy was a fascinating kind of magic indeed. Everything he’d seen Zephyr do during the Crucible was painted in a new light the more he read. Her gentle healing abilities, her deep knowledge of herbs and poultices, even her latently revealed shapeshifting, all stemmed from the sylvan ability to sense and shape the living essence that flowed through all things.
Even as the memory of Zephyr’s betrayal continued to burn, like the sting from a venomous creature that still had yet to fully heal, Cedric couldn’t help but admire her magical mastery. According to what Magister Yvan sent, shapeshifting was a particularly advanced skill. Most sylvans were able to glamour themselves with ease, but being able to manipulate the Verdant Veil to shift one’s own essence? That was a rare talent indeed. Even rarer, apparently, was the ability to apply thispower to other objects—true transfiguration.
It wasn’t until Addison knocked on Cedric’s door the following morning that he realized he’d fallen asleep poring over the fascinating pages. Back aching from sleeping in such a poor position, he was a blur as he dashed from his chambers, shoving his boots on with careless haste, not even taking the time to throw on a shirt before racing out the door.
He wasn’t sure what he expected to find when he reached the top of the western tower. How late was he? Would Nox still be waiting with their sly grin and perpetual air of amusement? Or had Cedric missed them? Had the nocterrian prepared some sort of training exercise for him? Or would Cedric receive a stack of arcane texts to parse through and another lecture about how he simply needed topractice?
Whatever Cedric had thought he might walk into, it certainly wasn’t this.
Wasn’ther.
Elyria was a periwinkle blur as she spun toward Cedric, who had shoved the training room door open with too much force, causing it to hit the interior stone wall with abang.
“What the fuck?” she exclaimed, the mass of shadows in her hands dispersing through her fingers like water trickling through a sieve. Her hair was woven in a simple braid, draped loosely over the shoulder of her off-white blouse and the plain, close-fitting leathers she wore over it. Her wings were hidden, and she looked just as he remembered her during the Crucible—radiant, alert, and, yes, definitely a little pissed off.
She looked like herself.
And stars damn it all if it wasn’t the most beautiful sight.
23
PRACTICE MAKES PERFECT
ELYRIA
Elyria was pissed.
Angry beyond belief, actually.
It started out as shock. Seeing Raefe standing in that hallway had felt like being doused with glacial water. It looked sonormalat first glance. His being there, with his companion, thisSephone Tempus—Elyria snorted as she recalled the name—and conversing with Kit and Dentarius and Thraigg and Nox like he wasn’t the monster who’d branded himself across Elyria’s legs.
But that shock quickly morphed into something else, something raw and ragged and dangerous. There had been no containing her shadows, no reeling in the dark fury that spilled from her.
She hadn’tbeen entirely in control at first, she knew this. Her shadows reacted instinctively, like swallowing the light from the hallway might provide Elyria some sort of comfort in the face of the realization he was there.
It did, though it wasn’t nearly as comforting as the feeling of bone crunching beneath her fist as she shattered his nose, of course.
But even the satisfaction that came from that had faded quickly, leaving nothing but the cold embrace of realization in its wake.
Theywere the fabled final members of the Arcanian delegation?Thiswas who they had been waiting for? Who the party had put their plans on hold for?Why?Why was he here? Why had King Lachlandris permitted this? Or perhaps the better question was how? How had Master Tartanis convinced the king of this? Had his power truly become that great?
Elyria knew that his influence had been growing over the years and decades—throughout Coralith and beyond. But the idea that he wielded such prestige that he had gotten the king to grant a miscreant like Raefe a title and the honor of representing the entire fucking kingdom? It was insanity.
