They’d either work together and get past her stone wall, or they’d fight and hopefully subdue Mac Carra, and perhaps between Tariq and Telva, they’d figure out a way past it.
A great thud hit the stone wall, and it shuddered. The time to leave was now.
Casting earthsight, she searched her surroundings for the others. Most clustered ahead and to the left, so she dispelled it and chose that direction. Perhaps the routes had converged, and they were all near the end.
She spelled a stone path over the pit, crossed, and left it in case Tariq and Telva followed. It was the least she could do to make up for leaving them with the likes of Mac Carra.
The corridors were dark and quiet—all too quiet—as she made her way deeper, taking any turns that took her left or ahead.
Activated traps lingered in some areas—oil, nail-studded rams, pits. Others must have already passed through. It meant the route was safer, but she was behind. And at what cost?
A distant, quiet voice called out.
As she continued, the voice became clearer, louder. A girl’s.
“Chao?” Sileni for hello.
Ahead lay another pit, this one narrower. No, narrowing. It tightened an inch.
“Che nessuno? Chao?”
She peered over the edge. Far below, a young woman braced against both walls of the pit with her arms and legs, keeping herself steady. Dark hair in a braided bun. Ariana Orsa. “Run into some trouble?”
Ariana looked up, eyes widening. “Ah, you! Um, Gabrielle!”
Rielle arched a brow. “Favrielle.”
Ariana winced. “That’s it. Oops.”
The pit narrowed another inch, and Ariana staggered but caught herself. “You wouldn’t, um, be willing to lend a hand, would you?”
With a sigh, Rielle squinted into the darkness.
“Oh! Um… So there’s also this rope around my ankle with a weight, courtesy of Bexley, and it’s… well, pulling me down.” Ariana puffed a breath and wisped a lock of hair off her nose—for a moment—then grimaced.
Rielle almost wanted to laugh. Almost. “That’s not good.”
“No, it isn’t. Not good at all, really.” Ariana blew out another breath.
As the pit narrowed yet again, Rielle spelled an updraft inside and jumped in. She thickened the gusting air to catch her just at Ariana’s level, and it did, blowing her coat and braid up about her.
It would be costly to maintain for long, but her anima was still bright.
“Hello,” Ariana said, her olive cheeks flushing as Rielle examined the rope around her ankle.
She nodded a greeting in reply, then spelled a flame in her free hand. “I don’t know what’ll happen when I break this rope, so be prepared for a… swift ascent.”
Smiling, Ariana nodded half a dozen times. “Ready when you are.”
Something hit her in the back from above. A rock.
Up high, Mac Carra waved at her as he jumped over the gap, followed by a wincing Tariq and Telva.
Smug boor.
After hopping across, Telva glanced over the side. “Need any help?”
“I’ve got this,” Rielle called softly. “Get clear of the pit. It’s going to get… windy.”
Telva nodded. “Good luck to you.” And disappeared.
“Friends,” Ariana blurted. “It’s nice to have, um, friends. I wish my group had been friendlier. Well, friendly enough not to, well, push me in here and leave me to die. Bexley said I’d find my way eventu—”
“Prepare yourself.” Rielle burned the rope, and just as it charred through, she flared the updraft, sending them both flying back up into the corridor.
Her palms met the ceiling, and she dispelled the aeromancy, casting a stone slab over the pit as they landed heavily.
Ariana clutched her face, which apparently had hit the ceiling. “Ow,” she murmured, then rubbed her backside. “Also ow.”
Rielle shook her head and let her laugh free this time.
“Favrielle, um, I think we’re the last ones left, and I really hate to do this, but—”
A bright flash of light blinded her field of vision.
Divine’s flaming fire—she covered her aching eyes, hissing at the pain, while quick footsteps retreated.
Not too bright, Mac Carra had said. Brennan would tease her for this later.
She struggled to her feet, bracing a hand on the wall, and forged ahead as her vision began to return.
After trudging into a pile of rubble, she scrambled over it to enter a small chamber with a single door. In the center were seven plinths, all empty but for one.
She approached the only one bearing an item, a dark scale of some kind, the size of her palm, and she took it. It was hard as stone, but smooth as a snakeskin.
There was nowhere to go but through the door.
She cast a flame cloak, and when the flames wrapped her entirely, she turned the knob.
On the other side were the other candidates, some dusty and injured, in a circular stone chamber bearing only torches and ascending stairs leading to no exit. The door thudded shut behind her, and she risked only a quick glance backward.
There was no knob. It only opened from the other side.
There were only six of the other candidates before her, which meant two hadn’t made it yet. Sen was one… and the other was—
Before her stood Tariq, Telva, Ariana, Bexley, Nandi, and Mac Carra. Which left… the Kezani master, Luca Iagar. What had happened to him? Was he still coming?
There had been no eighth plinth. Maybe only seven were supposed to advance.
Tariq sauntered over to her. “You made it.”
“No thanks to you,” she remarked, rubbing the scale she held.
He smirked. “Every man for himself. Besides, I knew you’d make it out.”
Telva approached with a warm smile. “It was a generous thing you did.” Her gaze darted toward Ariana and back, who seemed to be trying very hard to look everywhere but at her. “Even if not everyone deserves it.”
Finally there was a great sigh, and eyes fixed on the ceiling, Ariana trudged to them.
“I’m… sorry,” Ariana murmured, before meeting her gaze and then looking away again. “I really appreciate you saving me and everything, but, um, I came here to pursue something really important, and I had to make sure I passed the first trial, so… I did what I had to do, and it feels really bad, but you understand, don’t you? It wasn’t like I… wanted to do that or anything, I just—I couldn’t—”
Rielle raised a hand. “Save it. It was an underhanded thing to do. We’re competitors, but we don’t have to be enemies.”
Ariana’s cheeks colored, and she lowered her gaze. “I really am sorry, and if I could save your life in exchange, I would,” she murmured. “But… ah! Um, you got the basilisk scale. Maybe that’ll help you.”
Basilisk scale? Was that it? She looked at the thing, rubbed it.
“I got the wyvern tooth.” Ariana removed a long, narrow incisor from her coat. “For once, the random things I know actually pay off! It should be easier to pass the second trial if you know what you’re facing, shouldn’t it?”
I’m facing a basilisk. She tightened her hold on the scale. How she’d fight a basilisk, she had no idea. There would be a mountain of research ahead of her.
Telva raised a black feather before Ariana, and Tariq revealed a horn.
Shaking her head, Ariana sighed. “Sorry. I’m only helping the person who saved my life, so, um, maybe you should’ve done that if you wanted me to help you back.”
Tariq rolled his eyes and stuffed the horn back into his dusty coat.
“I would have,” Telva said, “if my magic had allowed.”
What magic was that, exactly? Telva hadn’t revealed it.
Just then, a great rumbling filled the chamber. As the door opened behind her, Rielle looked back.
It flung wide, and Luca Iagar gestured a spell at the nearest mage—the Hongo master, Nandi Sinethemba.
&n
bsp; She immediately collapsed in a deep slumber, and Luca crouched, patting her coat, then removed a large—it looked like a toenail? But the size of a person’s head.
Rielle gasped, and a couple more rippled through the group.
As Luca pulled it away, the ceiling opened above them, and the Divine Guard stood aside.
Everyone moved to ascend the steps.
“You just—” she stammered as Luca sauntered past her.
“No rules,” Luca remarked as he ascended the steps, raking fingers through his shoulder-length black locks.
Shaking her head, she trudged up the steps herself, out to the far side of the great hall.
The Grand Divinus sat on a massive golden chair, legs crossed, surrounded by her Divine Guard. Stone ground against stone behind them, the stairway exit closing. She stood. “Each of you in possession of a key will advance to the next trial,” she declared, “where you will fight the Immortal whose part you’ve chosen.”
So Luca, who’d taken the part from Nandi, was advancing.
No rules.
There really was no cheating in these trials—only victory or defeat. And death.
“Stay and enjoy the feast,” the Grand Divinus said. “You’ve earned it.”
Feast? After watching Sen Taneie fall to his death, the last thing on her mind was food. Perhaps he’d come with his family or friends, someone she could approach?
She turned to the crowd in the great hall, finding Jon’s relieved face and Olivia’s grin among them, and Una gave her a proud nod.
Brennan still wasn’t here—no doubt still looking for the Archives. Hopefully he was safe and would—
“Thahab!” a thin, high-pitched voice called.
Samara? Rielle followed the sound, where Samara stood, her hand over her mouth, and behind her—
Farrad.
She pulled on the bond.
Chapter 28
Jon’s entire body went rigid as Rielle staggered backward in the great hall, paling.
A tall, dark man with hair black as night advanced on her, his hands balled into fists, a young woman pulling on his arm to no avail. He walked as if he owned the place and everyone in it, with a warrior’s bearing.
Rielle receded until her back hit the wall. Jon was already halfway across the hall before he knew what he was doing.
As she shot a force of flame from her hands, the man held a bare arm before him, dispelling it. He had a sigil somewhere on his body. This great hall was supposedly made of arcanir—she had run out of options.
Her breaths came rapidly, her eyes widening as she shook her head, flattening against the wall, blocking her face with a raised arm.
“Blood for blood,” the man snarled at her in clear but deeply accented Emaurrian.
Over my dead body.
The young woman pleaded with him in a foreign language, but he flung her back. She hit the floor as the man turned back to Rielle, who pressed against the wall, her body tightly compact, trembling as her gaze locked at the man’s feet.
Kill him. He would kill him.
“Now I will have justice,” the man shouted at her, and she shook. “I challenge you to a duel. Swords. To the death.”
The mages around her looked to the Grand Divinus, who merely observed, as if this were a commonplace event in her court.
“What say you?” the Grand Divinus asked, turning to Rielle.
The harsh words echoed through the hall, and Rielle flinched, looking up at her. “I… I…” She lowered her gaze, swallowed, and looked back up. “I… c-can’t use a sword.”
“If you or a champion in your stead do not agree to this man’s duel, he wins his grievance against you.” The Grand Divinus turned back to the man. “What justice do you seek?”
The young woman wept behind the man and tearfully shouted something that he ignored.
“I am Farrad abd Nasir abd Imtiyaz Hazael, Zahib of House Hazael, Shafi of Xir. This woman is my property and unlawfully escaped,” he said, rolling his shoulders, watching Rielle with an unwavering glare as she crumpled to the floor. “I would rightfully take her back to do with as I wish.”
Property? Take her back? Every word made Jon’s pulse pound louder, his muscles harden.
This man was the master Rielle had told him about in Courdeval. Who’d owned her. Who’d coerced her into his bed. Who’d killed Sylvie.
His knuckles popped; he’d clenched his fists. His heartbeat thundered in his ears as he crossed the hall. With his bare hands. He’d choke the life out of him with his—
“Very well,” the Grand Divinus said, although she glanced at him out in the open, “if you decline to duel him and have no champion—”
Jon stepped between Rielle and Farrad, glared down at the man’s face, who took a step back. “I am her champion.”
A ripple of gasps and murmurs spread through those gathered—it didn’t matter. Brennan’s sister broke through the crowd and, her narrowed gaze on Farrad, hurried to Rielle.
This man had taken everything from him. Absolutely everything. And the only way he’d leave this room would be in a long pine box. No matter what it took.
Olivia yanked on his arm. “Jon, no. You’ll—”
Farrad arched a dark eyebrow, a corner of his mouth turning up. “And you are?”
“Jonathan Dominic Armel Faralle.”
A half-laugh. “A singular day. I cannot say I have killed a king before.”
Jon narrowed his eyes and met the man’s curling smile with a glare.
“Jon, you can’t,” Olivia whispered. “You know that with your cond—”
He snapped that glare in her direction. “Go find Brennan,” he commanded.
“But—”
“Now.”
With a gulp, she nodded, bowed, and hurried away, her slippered feet clicking quickly into the distance.
“I’ll get a message to Mother,” Una whispered to Rielle, rubbing her arm. “She won’t allow him to take you away.”
Rielle nodded to her, and with a final sympathetic touch, Una rose, met his eyes gravely, and strode from the hall.
Earthbound and away from Emaurria, he was weaker.
His heart condition meant he could have an episode at any moment.
But he would cut the life from this man’s body. Terra have mercy, he would do it. Or die trying.
“When do you wish to duel?” the Grand Divinus asked Farrad.
With arms wide, Farrad walked backward, grinning smugly. “As soon as my blades can be brought.” He commanded a man in the crowd behind him, who then sprinted from the hall.
Blades. Farrad planned to wield two weapons.
One weapon, two weapons—it didn’t matter. His blood would flow. No matter what it would take.
“Jon,” Rielle called behind him, and he couldn’t stop staring down Farrad, couldn’t stop seeing bones break and blood pool, but she called his name again, softer this time, more fragile, and Terra have mercy, but it tore a jagged hole through him.
Breaking away, he turned to her, hitched Faithkeeper at his side, and lowered to a knee to her level.
She trembled on the floor, wrapping her arms around herself, and met his gaze with intense eyes. This man had done this to her, traumatized her—
“Jon, you can’t,” she said. “You can’t fight him. Don’t fight him. Please.”
Her voice took on a shrill hoarseness, and Terra have mercy, that shrill hoarseness clove his heart in two.
As a tear rolled down her cheek, he took her in his arms, and she embraced him. He shouldn’t hold her, he shouldn’t comfort her, shouldn’t presume, shouldn’t do any of this, yet as he held her against him, stroked her hair softly, whispered words of comfort in her ear, nothing had felt so right in months.
“If something goes wrong,” she said, her voice breaking, “you—and the kingdom would—”
He pulled away just enough to meet her eyes, and she sniffled. “This is what I should have gone to Sonbahar to do all those months ago.”
“He… He has a sigil somewhere on his body, against elemental magic. And—and he’s an expert duelist,” she stammered. “I heard it many times and saw him kill a man in Xir. He used a rapier.”
A rapier. In any duel between a rapier and a long sword, he’d always choose the long sword. Greater precision with two hands, half-swording for thrusts, and greater power. The rapier didn’t stand a chance in blocking a crown strike—or any powerful swing. Without a buckler—
“It’s too dangerous,” she whispered. “Please. There’s still time to turn away, and—”
There wasn’t, but that didn’t matter. He cupped her face, wiping a tear from her cheek. “I’m here. Trained, capable, and I’ve been fighting for half my life,” he repeated to her, old words he’d once given to her, that she’d given back to him in Laurentine.
A flicker of recognition, and then a ghost of a smile shone through her tear-streaked face. She pressed her lips together, shaking her head.
This man had made her cry, and for that alone, he would have rearranged his face.
She covered his hand with hers, his Sodalis ring on her thumb—so she’d taken to wearing it again.
As quick steps echoed from the far side of the hall, he pulled away. I love you.
She looked up at him with overbright sky-blue eyes, that world of unspoken words there brimming. Someday, he’d hear them, every last one.
But there was sword work to be done.
Parting from her, he turned to face Farrad Hazael and drew Faithkeeper, staring down the man who’d taken so much from him, who would now pay for it with blood.
Chapter 29
Olivia crept down the dark hallway. She’d last seen Brennan entering it, so he had to be here somewhere.
Great Divine, Jon was about to get himself killed. What was he thinking, sending her away, of all people? The only one who could actually save his life if he had an episode?
She exhaled sharply. He wasn’t thinking.
The sooner she found Brennan, the sooner he could stop all of this.
Court of Shadows Page 27