Eva turns to me at once, her concern sharp, then cuts her glare toward Mael. “What did you say this time?” she snaps.
A wave of revulsion rises. I feel it in my throat, behind my eyes, under my skin.
The pricking in my eyes spreads like heat across my body, seeping inward and outward all at once. My magic ripples beneath my surface—erratic, unstable—surging forward to exploit my unraveling.
I’m seconds away from losing control, seconds from sobbing, screaming, unleashing everything I’ve been holding back.
I try to breathe, but my chest won’t expand. It’s too tight, too clenched to let in enough air. I dig my nails into my sides, silently begging the magic to halt.
But it’s useless. So useless.
Just as I feel myself slipping on the verge of a scream that would split the air and crack the world, my frantic gaze catches movement at the edge of the corridor. A soldier, half-hidden behind the curve of the stone wall, stands waiting in full stone-forged armor.
He isn’t guarding, he’s lying in wait. Poised. Ready. His Borrowglass glints faintly at his chest with whatever magic Zyrel must have infused it with. And in that instant, I understand.
Another trap. Orchestrated by Mael with meticulous care. Another attempt to discredit me, to erase me. One violent burst of magic, one public display of divine power outside the boundaries of the Trial, and I would be disqualified. Removed.
He knew exactly which thread to tug to unravel me.
The realization strikes so hard that it knocks the breath back into my lungs. And before I can stop myself, before anyone can say a word, I burst into laughter.
It’s sharp, cracked at the edges, skirting the line of hysteria. “You’re good,” I say through the laughter, holding my stomach.
My magic, as stunned as everyone else, coils back in retreat, perhaps realizing I’m far too unhinged to be around even by its standards.
“You almost had me.” I wipe a single tear that gathered at the corner of my eye. “But there are only so many times you get to fool me.”
Eva nods, as if we’d rehearsed this moment together, though I’m sure she has no idea what just happened.
“Now that we’ve got that sorted,” Eva says, voice smooth as silk stretched over steel, “kindly get out of our way. The king is waiting.”
When Mael doesn’t move, she tilts her head, grimacing with mock pity. “Mael, you already gave one eye to earn your brother’s forgiveness. If we’re late because of another scandal with your name on it…” She lets the weight of the pause settle, then adds with a venom-laced smile, “You’ve only got one eye left to spare for another grand apology. Use it wisely.”
My laughter has subsided, but the wide crazed smile still sits firmly on my lips as Eva pulls me around Mael.
I can’t believe he’d attempt this, and I can’t believe I caught it. Did I finally grow into a Champion… no, a woman, capable of recognizing the threat before it’s too late?
And as we’re leaving, Mael’s mask finally cracks. His voice cuts through the air. “You will never win, Raylane.”
I stop. Breathe.
Then pivot, heels striking the marble like war drums. I march to him, closing the space until only breath fits between us. I lean in, smile cold and slow.
“You praised my taste as if it were yours to sample,” I whisper. “Well, know this. What you tasted was the flavor of victory. And that’s all you’ll ever get. Just one. Small. Taste.”
His lips part—maybe to deny my claim, maybe to spin another lie.
I spit right into his open mouth.
He reels back, choking, gagging, spitting onto the floor in disgust. I watch in silence for a long moment. Then I turn, spine straight, head high, and walk away.
Eva and I step into the ballroom, bathed in crimson light from the large windows as the Bleeding Moon casts its eerie red glow over the world. As I expected, silence ripples through the crowd like a dropped stone in still water.
Dozens of eyes turn toward me. The room goes still as some faces pale with shock, others tighten with envy or curl in quiet disgust. Their judgment hangs heavy as Eva and I move toward the grand dais where Ryker and Consul Starcrest wait.
I wonder where the other consuls are. It would mean something if they all saw Ryker and me together tonight. Mael is nowhere in sight, and I doubt we’ll see him soon. He’s probably off nursing his pride and planning his next move against me.
Above us, chandeliers burn with hundreds of candles, their light mixing with the red haze to cast a scarlet-gold glow over a sea of gowns and polished boots. The air is thick with perfume and the sharp bite of spiced wine, but all I can smell is tension.
