Chapter Thirty-two
I wake to the murmur of voices, sharp and discordant, rising and falling like waves against the shore. My head throbs in time with the noise, each pulse in volume driving a spike of pain through my skull.
Someone groans in the distance, and I realize it’s me. My body feels like it’s made of lead when I try to move, too heavy to obey.
I force one eye open, wincing at the light. It’s not particularly glaring, but it stings nonetheless. The world around me swims in and out of focus. A soft, muted glow casts long wavering shadows across the ground – stone, instead of upturned earth. I’m not in the graveyard any more.
I fight to sit up, and nausea rolls through me. I blink, trying to make sense of what’s happening.
The Nightshade. The last thing I remember is the crushing weight of darkness coating my bones, a bone-chilling roar, my vision blurring … the other competitors. I commanded it to capture them.
“Tal— Uh, Maeve.” The voice is familiar.
I turn my head, squinting through the haze. Taron kneels beside me. His face is etched with exhaustion, veins still spreading across the inside of his neck.
His eyes – cold, blue and normally distant – are soft now, filled with something fragile I can’t place. Worry?
“Finally, you’re awake.” He’s whispering. As if afraid the sound of his voice might hurt me.
I try to respond, but my throat is dry. My tongue feels like sandpaper. I manage a slight nod, and he reaches out, brushing a loose strand of hair from my face. His touch is feather-light, gentle, but the chill of his skin sends a shiver down my spine.
“What … what happened?” My voice is hoarse. I search his face for answers, but all he gives me is a faint, almost disbelieving smile.
“We’re the champions,” he says.
I try to grasp the meaning of his words. I understand what he’s saying, but it feels unreal. Like it belongs to another world. We won? The tournament?
“The Reckoning is over?” I croak.
“It is.”
Slowly, my senses sharpen. I take in my surroundings. We’re inside the temple, but we might as well be under an open night sky, glittering with bright, beaming stars.
Stone walls rise around us to form a circular space, adorned with carvings that depict stories of a bygone era. The rise and fall of empires, the triumphs of great leaders and the struggles of the common folk.
I spy carvings of elementals harnessing their talents to shape the world. The emergence of herbal remedies and the mastery of fire for crafting weapons. The evolution of the watercraft. The first harnessing of solar energy.
Mingled within these carvings are also glimpses of darker times. Tales of conflict, wars waged and lives lost. It’s unsettling, yet captivating. Because, even amid the turmoil, there are flickers of compassion.
All along the circular space, columns stretch upward to support a vast dome resembling the sky. In between these columns are rounded archways that seem to glow with moonlight. I can’t see beyond them, whether they lead anywhere at all.
My hand comes away wet from the ground. I realize I’m sitting next to a stream. It flows along the perimeter of the space, like slender veins. The crystal-clear surface reflects the stars above.
My gaze follows the stream to where it flows into a large pool at the centre of the space, and there, towering over everything, stands an ancient tree.
Gnarled roots spread across the floor, drinking from the pool, and branches curve against the surrounding columns. They cradle a statue on the floor, impossibly tall and regal – the figure of a god.
The statue wears a delicate crown of crescent moons, and its hands are raised as though holding the weight of the world. It’s Aether. The Spirit of the Cosmos. The most revered of the Ancient Spirits, representing the void of space, the stars and the moons.
Their expression is serene and wise, and around their neck hangs an amulet – a glittering orange crystal. The fallen star. The wish.
I’m at a loss for words. This is all too overwhelming. Sitting up, I gasp. There are people here. Three figures linger in the shade of the ancient tree, watching us.
They’re impeccably dressed, draped in vibrant silks and luxurious velvets. Two of them glide forward in flowing gowns – one a deep jewel-toned emerald with cascading layers, and the other a rich sapphire, adorned with delicate gold embroidery.
The third figure stands in a striking vest-and-tailcoat ensemble. His velvet jacket is a deep burgundy colour, perfectly tailored to his form, with silver detailing along the lapels.
He stands a little taller than the others, his frame lean but imposing. His dark hair is smoothed back, not a fly-away in sight, and a gleaming monocle rests over his right eye.
The woman in green, tall and willowy with raven-black hair that tumbles down her back in waves, folds her hands in front of her. Her gaze is sharp, like a knife, cutting into me as though she’s dissecting everything about me in one glance. It’s the look of an Astro.
I scramble to my feet, fighting through the pain. I’m not sure what the protocol is here. Do I curtsey? Tip my head?
No one says anything, and at last I can’t stand it.
“You…” I manage, looking at the monocled man. “Who are you?”
He tilts his head as he adjusts his monocle. A faint smile unfurls around the corners of his lips. “You know who we are.”
“They’re the Astrals,” Taron says beside me. His voice is tight with something close to awe – or maybe fear. “The founders of the Reckoning. The conquerors of Valerius Halo and the guardians of the fallen star.”
“Are you … the Games Master?” I breathe.
“Of sorts,” says the woman in sapphire, her voice as smooth as glass. She’s smaller in stature, with porcelain skin and platinum hair that falls in soft curls around her shoulders. Her face is beautiful in the way that marble statues are, flawless yet devoid of warmth.
“We, the architects of the Reckoning, provide detailed reports of the tournament to the High Council,” says the monocled man. “Unfortunately, they’ve been known to twist our words while reporting back to the public.”
He upturns his palms as he gestures at the chamber as a whole. “Please accept our congratulations. You have both emerged as victors of the Reckoning.”
A swell of emotion rises within me. Overwhelming joy, but also a whirlpool of everything else I’ve been forcing down. All the anger, fear and uncertainty.
This is it, the moment we fought for. Bled for.
We won the Reckoning, and, now, standing in front of the Astrals, it should feel like a triumph. I have fulfilled my part of the bargain, and I know that Madame Vera has the power to resurrect my sister. But I also know what she will do with the wish now.
Taron’s words echo in my mind.
If that tyrant is resurrected, there might not be a home for you and Elara to return to.
But I have no choice. I need to save my sister.
Elara was innocent. I stole the Necroseals, and she paid the price. She didn’t deserve to die.
For a moment, I imagine telling the Astrals the truth. They thwarted Madame Vera’s plan once. I don’t see why they can’t do it again.
They’ll erase her memory, hand her over to the Principal Guard, hopefully having learned from their past mistakes. She’ll be locked away, brought to justice, and Taron would be … free. It’s a fanciful thought. Me. Him. Elara by our side.
“What burdens your spirit, child?” the monocled man asks.
I swallow hard, feeling the weight of his gaze pressing down on me. As if he can see right through the walls I’ve built. Into all the doubts I’ve tried so hard to bury.
It would be so easy to give in. To believe that the Astrals will handle everything and that I don’t have to bear the responsibility.
But I didn’t come all this way just to play some kind of hero. I came to save my sister, and that’s all that matters.
My voice is steadier than I expect when I answer, even though my heart is pounding so hard it hurts. “Nothing burdens me. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I square my shoulders, willing myself to meet his eyes, even though my skin crawls under his gaze. “We’d like our wish now, please.”
There’s a beat of silence, the kind that stretches far too long, taut with the tension of unsaid things. Taron shifts beside me. He speaks – it’s a whisper meant only for my ears. “Maeve, can I talk to you? Please.”
I turn, startled. “There’s nothing to say,” I tell him firmly. “We’ve agreed.”
Why is he hesitating after everything we’ve been through? Taron takes my arm, but I pull free. Now isn’t the time for second-guessing our choice. We’re standing on the precipice of everything we’ve risked our lives for. There’s no time to talk.
The Astrals are watching us with unreadable expressions. “If you need a moment to discuss your desires, feel free to do so,” the woman in green says.
“Thank you,” Taron says, and I have no choice but to follow him.
We stand at a distance, while the Astrals wait.
“What are you doing?” I hiss.
Taron fixes his gaze on me. “You know,” he says, “we can wish for anything. We can wish to be miles away, somewhere else – safe, you and me. We could run away and disappear. To Brim, like we talked about.”
I can’t deny that his words are tantalizing. I can feel the pull of it for a second, only a second. A life far away from all of this, away from the tangled web of danger and deceit. A life where Taron and I could simply be together, without the weight of death and destruction looming over us.
But then Elara’s face flashes before me. Her laugh, her warmth, the way she used to hold my hand when we were little, as if she could protect me from everything. That’s why I came here. Not for myself. For her.
“But Elara…” My voice wavers, my resolve cracking at the edges. I force myself to hold steady. I can’t falter now. “No. I’m doing this for her.”
Taron grabs my hands, his grip tight, almost desperate. “She won’t give you your sister back. I know her. She lies and cheats. Her word means nothing.”