5. Contest
CONTEST
ELYRIA
“I’m entering the Arcane Crucible.”
Evander’s words landed like a physical blow. They rang in her ears, pierced between her ribs like knives, each syllable sharp and heavy. Elyria’s stomach dropped and, for a moment, all she could do was stare at him.
“You’re—” She shook her head, words dissipating on her tongue before she could grasp what she wanted to say. “You can’t be serious.”
Evander’s jaw tightened, but his voice was steady when he said, “I am. I will represent Nyrundelle in the Arcane Crucible. Become a champion of the realm and win the crown for glory and country.”
A sharp, bitter laugh escaped Elyria. “No, you won’t.” Rage surged up from her chest, blazing through her composure. “Are you insane? Do you realize what you’re saying?”
Evander didn’t flinch. “I do.”
Her wings twitched at her back, the darkness deep in her gut starting to roil, agitated. “You know what happens to the champions who go through the Gate.” She took a step closer, pointing a finger at his chest. “It’s stars-damned suicide, Evander. Tell me this is some kind of joke.”
His expression didn’t waver.
“Why?” she demanded, her voice rising. She wasn’t sure if it was the wind or the way her power flared that had the air between them crackling. “You’re the heir to the duchy! You have everything—you don’t need to prove yourself, you don’t need glory, you?—”
“It’s not really about glory,” he said quietly.
“No shit.” She rolled her eyes. “Because ‘for glory and country’ sounds like something you rehearsed in the mirror this morning.”
The corner of his mouth quirked. “You’re not wrong.”
“You think this is somehow your duty?” she spat. “I guarantee it is not. This is a choice you are making. That the king would choose to send his only nephew through the Gate is unfathomable enough, let alone that your mother would agree to this insanity.”
His jaw tightened. “Someone needs to claim the crown.”
“The other champions ride for the Lost City as we speak, already willing and wanting to take on the Crucible. Let them throw their lives away! Why does it have to be you?”
“The other champions . . .” He sighed. “Arcanis needs that power, and we need someone worthy to wield it. With the crown, we can fix everything. We can fill the Chasms that split the continent apart, we can banish the darkness and restore the balance and?—”
Elyria’s fingers twitched at her sides. Darkness. “You expect me to believe this is about balance? The greater good for Arcanis?” She took another step toward him, her voice rising. “Give me a fucking break.”
Evander sighed, raking a hand through his curls. “Elyria?—”
“You’ve deemed yourself worthy, then? You think you’ll be the first and only person to ever make it out of the Sanctum alive?
What makes you so special?” Her tone was icy, venom dripping from every word, even as shame crept through her gut at the flash of hurt in his eyes.
Still, she didn’t stop. “You think you can pull off a miracle? That only you can win the crown?”
Evander exhaled sharply, rotating his shoulders like he was trying to roll something off them. His patience was starting to fray. “I think I have to try.”
Elyria barked a humorless laugh. “Why?”
His golden eyes flashed but he didn’t reply.
It took everything in her to keep from screaming. “That’s not your responsibility! You don’t have to—” She cut herself off, breathing hard, struggling to tamp down the shadows stirring in her gut. “It’s not dishonorable to choose to live, Evander.”
His expression softened. “Elle.”
She hated how gentle he sounded. How resigned. She wanted anger, rage, fire. She wanted him to fight. Fight to stay. Fight for them. Fight for?—
Elyria’s breath hitched, an understanding of everything he wasn’t saying crashing down on her all at once. This was him fighting for her. If she wasn’t like this, if her inner darkness wasn’t such a threat, if she hadn’t lost control yesterday, he wouldn’t?—
“I didn’t just decide this,” he said, voice low, as if he knew the exact path her thoughts were heading down.
“I’ve been thinking about it for a long time.
Planning for it.” Evander pinched a loose strand of Elyria’s periwinkle hair between his fingers, then tucked it behind her ear.
“I’m tired of doing nothing. Of watching you struggle, watching you suffer. ”
She turned her head, dipping her chin, her eyes downcast. She couldn’t look at him.
“You’ll forgive me,” he said. “One day.”
“You think you can fix this if you win,” she finally whispered. “Fix me.”
Evander’s jaw tensed. “I think I can help.”
Elyria swallowed past the tightness in her throat. “And if you don’t come back?”
His expression didn’t waver. “Then at least I’ll have tried.”
There was suddenly not enough air. Elyria’s chest rose and fell too fast. He wasn’t even gone yet, but still she felt the loss of him like a lash across her back—a biting pain. Black smoke coiled at the edges of her vision. A familiar darkness curled at the tips of her fingers.
He saw it.
It didn’t scare him.
It should have.
“Evander,” she whispered, voice raw, pleading.
He slipped his hand into hers, wisps of shadow dancing over their skin as he laced their fingers together. “Just breathe, Elle. It’s all going to be okay.”
For several agonizing moments, there was nothing but him and her and the wind howling between them, ruffling the ends of Evander’s dark hair. His grip on her hand tightened. Her breathing slowed, evened. The shadows receded.
And the look in his eyes when she lifted her head was such a visible, visceral representation of everything he thought. See? he seemed to say. This is why I need to do this.
It cracked her wide open.
“Damn you,” she breathed, yanking her hand from his and surging forward, colliding with him in a flurry of slamming fists and furious sobs.
He let her hit him. Once. Twice. His grip found her waist, steadying her even as she pounded against his chest.
“You bastard,” she choked, her vision burning.
And then his arms moved up her back, tightening around her. His hands brushed her wings, and she hated how it was that easy for a whole new kind of burning to overtake her.
“I love you,” he murmured, his breath warm against her temple. “I can save you.”
A shudder ran through her. But who saves you? she wanted to say. She squeezed her eyes shut, burying her face in his chest, her fingers curling into the fabric of his tunic. He smelled like the sea. Like salt and warmth. Like home.
And that was the problem, wasn’t it? Because despite her best efforts to maintain a modicum of distance over the past century, to protect the heart-shaped box in her chest, he’d become that to her.
When the family Elyria had been born into had failed her time and time again, Evander and Kit and Laeliana had been the family she needed. This place had become her home.
And no matter what he said, no matter how much he loved her, he was leaving. And this home would crumble to pieces without him.
Elyria took a shaky breath. Maybe he could do it. Maybe he could win. If anyone could, it was him. But if history had taught her anything, it was that the Crucible only took. Took the lives of its champions. Took the hope of the people, Arcanian and human alike.
It never gave. And if by some miracle Evander was the one who made it to the end, what it did give would not come freely.
Elyria’s eyes lifted to the sky, where even through the dusk-colored haze, she could still see the morning star gleaming—as it would continue to do until the aurora bloomed and the Arcane Crucible truly began.
They had so little time left.
Elyria would not waste another second of it.
So, choking back the sob that had been threatening to escape since the moment Evander voiced his decision, Elyria tipped her head back and lifted her lips to his.
His breath caught, his hand moving to cradle her face, his touch reverent.
And then his lips were pressing against hers with urgency, fervor.
His arms wrapped around her, two fingers running along the edge of her wing as he pulled her closer, holding her against him as if doing so might tether them together for just a little while longer.
She moaned softly, her core tightening behind her navel while her hands roamed across his shoulders, snaked around his neck.
She tugged him downward, and his strong grip kept her body flush to his as gently—so gently—he laid her down in a soft patch of grass near the cliffside.
He moved over her, trailing kisses down her jaw, the side of her neck, her collarbone.
One hand deftly worked the ties of her breeches while the other crept under the hem of her shirt, drawing circles on her skin that made her shiver.
The rest of the world fell away. For a few peaceful moments, there was no Crucible, no crown, no farewell pressing in on them like a dagger at their backs. There was only this—only him, only her. Only their soft cries of pleasure and all-consuming, heart-wrenching love.
When they finally broke apart, foreheads resting against each other, spent for breath, Evander let out a quiet chuckle. “If you were trying to convince me to stay, that was cruel.”
A sad smile tugged at Elyria’s lips. “I wasn’t.”
And that was the truth.