Chapter 12
Nyx
I wake at dawn at the sound of a fast rapping on the door, dress quickly in my new fighting leathers, and meet Thorian in the hallway.
“We have a long journey if we’re to arrive on time,” he says, not meeting my eyes as I hastily gather my hair and tie it back.
I’ll have to find a moment later to do something more elaborate, like a braid to keep it from being a liability, like I had it yesterday for the presentation.
“We should start now, to beat the other teams there.”
But by the time we make it out to the road leading out of the city, it’s clear the other teams had precisely the same idea.
We walk along the road, ignoring them when we spot them, resting or stopping to fill their canteens.
It’s awkward, and I wish for Ivor at my side, a familiar face for an unfamiliar trek.
Finally, after the sun rises and burns the dew from the crops around us, and the city is nothing more than a speck in the distance, Thorian says, his voice low, “Prepare yourself.”
We’re still walking along the road, with teams ahead of us and others trailing behind. There’s nothing around but swaths of trees, a forest that I have no interest in exploring.
“For what—?” I start to ask, but then I feel it. The sensation of pushing through a viscous barrier, one that feels like my own magic but far stronger, clinging to my skin and dragging at me.
I look to Thorian, wild-eyed and confused. He seems to move easier than I can, and with what sounds like an annoyed grunt, he reaches back and takes my hand.
“We’re moving into lands enchanted by the gods. Stay close.”
His hand is large and warm, and like every other time our skin has brushed, the glance of it sends an electric current running the length of my spine. I stand up straighter and Thorian helps to pull me through the invisible, thick wall.
When we stumble out on the other side, everything looks different.
The air itself seems to hold a rose-gold, shimmering quality.
Up at the top of a large hill sits a massive stone castle, large enough to house an entire town’s population.
Massive gilded spires rise up into the sky, and a long stone bridge leads over a moat into the building.
“I assume that’s where we’re headed,” I say, shivering and breathless from the sudden change.
“Your assumption is correct,” Thorian grumbles.
We stand together, drinking from our canteens.
Thorian slips a small blade from its sheath at his side and starts to polish it.
It’s something I’ve realized through our time together is a tic of his.
I can hear music coming from the castle.
There’s a gentle thump of drums and crooning of many drunk voices all singing at once.
I thought we’d already done the celebrating, but it seems the major divines and their entourages arrived here before us, and have already started indulging in wine and making merry. Distantly, I wonder about the other teams, and if they’re feeling in a celebratory mood.
I, for one, am not. More than anything, I want to start the Trials so we can get them over with. Of course, the event is experienced much differently from the spectator’s perspective.
Beyond the castle is a thick forest that seems darker and more dense than those I’ve seen before, the foliage so deep green it’s nearly black.
It contrasts with the glittering quality of the air and sky where we stand, the gentle blush of twilight against woods I suspect are not kind to anyone who crosses into them.
Far across the forest, almost too far away to make out, is a mountain silhouetted against the clouds. With my hand over my brow, I can just make out a black structure at the top, though my vision isn’t sharp enough to catch any more detail than that.
“Come on,” Thorian grunts, slipping his shining blade back into its sheath.
With a quick pass of his hand over his hair, he says reluctantly, “The teams are invited to join in for the feasting. More shows of the gods’ grandeur.
As much as I’d rather avoid more time in the presence of the major gods, our attendance is unofficially required.
They need time to learn us, find the weaknesses in the teams they haven’t chosen. ”
“Why does it matter to them who wins?” I wonder out loud, as Thorian and I start to make our way over the large stone bridge.
If it weren’t for the fact that I’ll be risking my life tomorrow, I might enjoy the beauty of the place.
The large, white birds swooping low over the lake, the gentle hum of evening insects.
It’s nothing like home, and yet makes me ache for it, anyway.
“Well, it’s a bet,” Thorian chuffs, rolling his eyes. “They get bored with their neglectful governance of the lesser beings down here and need something to occupy their time.”
“Yes, but what is some coin to a god?”
“Oh, they don’t wager coin,” Thorian says, coming to a stop. There’s a severity in his eyes that I don’t quite understand when he says, “This year, the winner, the god whose team triumphs in the trials, receives a robe made by the minor god of blacksmithing. It enhances their power.”
“Really?” I laugh, blinking when I realize I’ve started to lean toward him. With a small, startled breath, I force myself to lean away again. “At that point, isn’t it negligible? An increase in power?”
But Thorian has raised his finger, his gaze sparking with intensity. “It’s not about the winner, so much as about the losers.”
“Those whose teams don’t triumph?”
“That’s right,” Thorian says, and I realize the corner of his mouth is starting to curl up, the rare show of amusement from him. “The losing gods must all live like humans for the length of a moon cycle. An entire month.”
“Right!” I say. I knew that, but somehow it slipped my mind in the chaos that’s my life right now.
With that, he turns and gestures for me to follow him, a renewed energy in his pace toward the large, gilded front doors.
It’s clear Thorian knew what he was talking about.
For the hour we’ve been inside the castle, partaking in the food, the gods have been making efforts to poke and prod at the various competitors, muttering to themselves and joking amongst the others about which will ultimately take home the prize.
Thorian says they’re trying to undermine the other gods’ teams, but I think they’re just bored and terrible.
“I don’t envy you,” Terranis says, at one point, to Soryn. “It shall be torture, that month without your immortality. Of all of us, you haven’t experienced life as a human for the longest.”
Soryn, staying cool and calm, raises a single perfectly manicured eyebrow at him.
After which, she politely requests that the shifters turn to their beast forms and spar for her amusement.
Terranis’s chosen team does so willingly, and somehow, under her brilliant gaze, they look more like puppies tussling while waiting to nurse again from their mother than the violent, slobbering monsters they’d been before.
Terranis grits his teeth and vines snap from winding up his ankles and thighs, little bits of plant fiber piling up near his feet, decaying and turning to mulch around him.
With Thorian at my side, answering my questions and guiding me to the furthest part of the room, I remain calm, and more than happy to watch the other teams entertaining the gods, showing off their skills.
Even the obvious fighting capabilities and vicious attitudes don’t bother me. Apparently, I’m at peace with what I already know is coming for me. Tomorrow morning, I’ll be waking up and risking my life to save my sister. And I might not make it.
Ivor always impressed upon me to change what I couldn’t accept, and accept what I couldn’t change. I can’t change this, and so acceptance is the only way to move forward.
After one of the knights demonstrates his ability with his throwing knives, the gods settle back into their seats, seeming restless. I focus on the roast duck on my plate and try not to think about how much better this food is than the simple foods we were eating back home.
And then, a loud voice booms through the room, “Lady Nyx Nocturne.”
Thorian stiffens instantly, his gaze swinging toward the front of the room with mine.
Valtor sits with a self-satisfied grin, his grand, stormy gray eyes narrowed in on me.
And again, I wonder if he remembers my family name.
If he remembers my mother. Or if, like a fly, we humans mean so little to him that he forgot our name the instant he cursed us.
“We would be remiss to exclude you from the demonstrations,” he muses, and Terranis lets out a snort, like the crony of a bully in the schoolyard.
I bite my tongue and think, once more, of my mother, as Valtor tilts his head and seems to consider me.
“But what task would be befitting of a lady who cannot fight?”
I ache to tell him that I do, actually, know a few beginner’s moves with my dagger. But I don’t say that, because the information wouldn’t be the least bit impressive.
“Surely, in your life as a noble, you’ve done plenty of walking through gardens?” Valtor goes on, his massive hands gripping the arms of his throne. “So why don’t you go out among the flowers, and see if you can fetch me one of the Golden Peonies?”
Part of me is offended by the easy task, while the other is relieved that he’s underestimating me so accurately. Perhaps the others will do so, as well. Perhaps that could be my strategy. Let them think I’m completely powerless.
Of course, I have my magic, and I could use it, but I want to conceal my abilities if possible.
For one, I’m not eager to fall out of Soryn’s favor if she holds disdain for my kind, like most of the gods.
For another, the others may target me more pointedly if it becomes obvious that I’m not fully human…
that I am that which so many people hate and fear.