6. The Gate
THE GATE
KIT
Kit had imagined this moment many times on the journey to the Lost City of Luminaria.
She had imagined what it would be like to stand in the decrepit, crumbling halls of the once magnificent Castle Lumin, to gaze upon the Gate and watch the champions take that final step into the unknown.
She hadn’t been there for the previous Crucibles, but from what she’d heard, she expected noise, grandeur, spectacle.
She expected insults hurled between the human and Arcanian champions, expected tensions to be high as both sides rallied for their chance at claiming the crown.
And maybe there had been a little bit of that in the days leading up to this moment. But now? With all the champions about to venture through the Gate and into the Celestial Sanctum where they’d take on the challenges of the Crucible in earnest?
Now it was calm.
Quiet.
Spectators and onlookers and family and friends had gathered in the ruined great hall of the castle, sunlight streaming through broken stained glass, scattering colors across the cracked stone floor.
And there, in the center of the room, stood the Gate.
It glowed as a mysterious figure stepped out from the nothingness waiting between its intricately wrought metal doors.
The white-cloaked being—the Arbiter, executor of the Crucible—beckoned the waiting champions forward. Kit didn’t hear their names. Barely registered their faces as they stepped forward, one by one, and vanished into the light.
She wasn’t looking at them.
She was looking at him.
Evander was a vision in black and gold, his broad shoulders squared. His golden eyes were alight with excitement, anticipation . . . and something else.
Kit’s stomach clenched.
This was real. This was happening.
There was pressure on her upper arm, and Kit looked down to see Laeliana Ravenswing’s fingers digging into her.
The duchess’s face remained composed, still the picture of regal grace.
But as Evander inclined his head at their mother in a silent bow, an acknowledgment and farewell, Laeliana’s grip tightened to the point of pain.
Kit’s heart broke just a little more.
She tried to hide it when Evander caught her eye and offered her a half-cocked smile. She wanted to smirk right back, wanted to roll her eyes and pretend that fear wasn’t crushing her.
She managed a sort of half grin and said, “If you die in there, I’m going to kill you.”
“Noted, Kitty Kat,” he said with a laugh. “See you on the other side.”
He shifted his gaze to where Elyria stood next to Kit, still as a statue, as unmoving as she’d been from the moment they’d arrived at the castle.
Biting the inside of her lip, Kit reached for Elyria’s hand, gripping it tightly in her own. Elyria barely reacted, and a blanket of worry settled over Kit.
Elyria had been unnaturally quiet since Evander’s pronouncement. Nearly silent the entire journey to Luminaria. She didn’t argue with him, didn’t try convincing him to change his mind, as Kit had attempted several times over the course of the past few days.
It had been a waste of breath.
And maybe Elyria knew that it would have been for her too. So she said nothing at all. But the longer this silence stood, the longer everything went unspoken between them . . .
Kit feared for so much more than her brother. She feared for the person frozen right next to her—her friend, her sister. Feared for the ghost she might become, a shell of the fiery fae Kit knew and loved.
The Arbiter called Evander’s name.
Elyria’s grip tightened around Kit’s hand, and all that fear was momentarily alleviated by the sheer relief of Elyria showing some kind of emotion.
Evander looked to the Gate and back again, his brow furrowed as his gaze locked with Elyria’s. He blinked once, twice. Mouthed three little words at her. And her stony expression finally softened.
She smiled at him, bright and beaming. Nodded encouragingly.
The concern on his face melted away, a broad grin replacing the tension there as he strode confidently toward the Gate.
He stopped just before crossing the threshold, turning one last time to look at them. One final goodbye.
He winked.
And then he stepped through the Gate, the light swallowing him whole.
Kit sucked in a sharp breath, staring unblinkingly at the place her brother had just been. A choked sob came from her right as Laeliana started to cry.
“He’s strong,” Kit said, somewhat at a loss for what else to say.
She’d never once had to comfort her beautiful, stoic mother before.
“He’s Evander, for Solaris’s sake. He’ll be coming back through that Gate before we know it.
And he wouldn’t want you falling apart like this.
” Kit moved to put an arm around Laeliana, to offer some sort of comfort from the child who was still here.
It was a small movement, barely a shift of weight and the lift of an arm. But it was enough to make Elyria drop Kit’s hand.
And when she did, something else shifted too. Like gravity adjusting, something weighty and thick settled in the space where they’d just been connected.
“Come on, Ellie, let’s—” The words died on Kit’s tongue as Elyria turned on her heel and walked away. Away from the Gate, from the crowd, from Kit.
From everything.
Kit opened her mouth to call after her, but her voice was stuck in her throat. What was there to say? What could possibly be enough?
So, she let Elyria go.
The light of the Gate faded. Spectators dispersed, heading back to their camps and canvases to wait and see what would come of the Crucible. To see who would emerge victorious—if anyone would at all.
And as Kit led her crying mother toward the castle doors, she couldn’t shake the terrible, soul-wrenching feeling that if Evander did not succeed, he would not be the only one Kit lost today.