Chapter 7
Before the gods, there were four Great Houses of Fae that ruled Nyth.
A dragon gave each of these bloodlines their powers.
Shadows, Flames, Steel, and Earth. These powers were controlled through the use of emotions, just as the dragons control their own powers.
Joy and sadness ruled Flames, pride and fear ruled Steel, desire and revulsion ruled Shadows, and peace and anger ruled Earth.
It was thought that no one could use all four.
The Prince of Bones is proof we were wrong.
~King Rhion Rahn, The Future of Magic and Dragons
Fiona
I can’t stop feeling the soft throb of pain from the new Marks as the sun begins its slow rise over the horizon. Even as I sit across from Cedric at his desk, the same place I’ve sat each morning for as long as I can remember, they have my emotions in a whirlwind.
He’s a Priest of the Ninth Degree, one of a dozen men still living who’s achieved this. He’s been my tutor since I was five years old, a time when I had to stack books on this chair to see over his desk.
Time hasn’t been kind to him, though. The thick gray hair on his head and his short beard are the least of his worries.
His ornate silverwood cane and half-moon glasses have become as much a part of his daily equipment as the armor I wear.
Yet, he still sits up straight and proud.
More than anything, though, age has not reduced his mental faculties in the least. Still, he’s the cleverest man I’ve ever met, and even my father rarely argues with him.
“You’re about to walk into the viper’s nest. What are you expecting to face?
” he asks as he slides the half-moon glasses up higher on his nose.
“What have you heard about these so-called trials?” My emotions regarding my new Marks fade into the background as Cedric gets right to the heart of why I need him.
It’s a question I knew he’d ask, and I lean back in the chair.
“Not enough. Darian and Rhion explained that the first couple will be to sort the wheat from the chaff. There was another set of trials fifty years ago when Draeven’s champion died, so there is some precedent for them.
The issue is that Draeven’s trials became a tournament as he wanted the strongest warrior.
They don’t think Nyxthos will be as interested in that style of trials. ”
Cedric pushes his glasses further up his nose as if he’s going to become even more serious. “Exactly. Do you know the trials Draeven set forth?”
“There was something about choosing a sword in the first and then some kind of obstacle course in the second. After that, there was a group melee and then a tournament for the group that won.”
“When you consider Draeven, that makes sense. Throughout the entire war, he has focused solely on martial combat. The culture of the Kingdom of Ironvale revolves around it now. Slaves mine and farm while anyone considered of use learns to support the Chained in the wars.”
I nod to Cedric. “We should assume this will be the format when considering Nyxthos’s trials, but he won’t be so focused on physical prowess, right?” I ask.
“He’ll want a champion who will work well with his powers and has the same set of…
priorities. If he’s truly afraid of his future, it’s likely he’ll need someone who can act without his direct command to accomplish his goals.
He’ll be looking for someone who can command, who can manage themselves on a battlefield, but also who can truly act as his representative on Nyth. ”
I lean back in the chair, feeling very much like a powerless idiot in this world of gods. “What does that mean, though? How do I prepare for that?”
Cedric frowns at me. “Fi, what is training for? Why do you spar with Bram every day? Is it so that you can go into each battle knowing exactly what you’ll do?”
I shake my head. “Obviously not. I train so that I react to my opponents more efficiently, more instinctively. If I haven’t seen something before, then I’ll have to think about it before I move, or I could move incorrectly and put myself at risk.”
“That’s the same thing we’re doing here.
You need to have as much knowledge as you can gather before you leave here.
I can’t force eighty years of Nyxthos’s decisions into your mind in that time, but we can familiarize you with his actions over those years.
We can look at the battles that Echo was a part of—her triumphs and defeats.
Nyxthos will most likely be keen on finding someone who won’t make the same mistakes. ”
We’ve had conversations like this too many times to count, though none of them have ever been nearly as pressing as this.
“I have a request. I know you think we should focus on what Nyxthos is looking for, but I think one of the biggest disadvantages I have is that I don’t know any of my enemies.
When I was signing up for the list, I met Serica Dramont, and I didn’t know who she was.
How can I predict what she might do if I know nothing about her? ”
Cedric takes a deep breath. “You’re not wrong. Knowing your opponents is valuable, especially since no one will know you. Having that edge against them could be nearly as valuable as being able to predict what Nyxthos will throw at you.”
He runs his hand through his beard as he always does when he’s considering something I’ve said.
“Can you remember who you saw in the Keep of Shadows? Maybe I’ll be able to name them based on their appearances if we assume that most of the competitors will be powerful members with well-known histories. ”
I describe anyone I can remember, and Cedric takes notes. He says, “I should have used the Mark of the Eye to see who was there. Damn the years for making my mind slow.”
The Mark of the Eye allows Cedric to see another place regardless of how far away it is.
Just like every Mark after the Coin, it’s not very useful on a battlefield, but it can help to gain information before a battle.
My father used it to impressive effect while monitoring his enemies prior to the expansion of his spy network.
“Everything happened so fast. I should have asked Darian for more of the competitors’ names so you could tell me about them. I guess we both missed our strikes on this one.”
He nods, somewhat mollified that I made a mistake as well. “Regardless, we must work with what we have. Now, are you ready to get to it? We have a lot of material to go through in the next thirteen days.”
I sigh and prepare to absorb as much information as possible before I’m on my own in a world that I know far too little about.
Six hours of information overload has my mind foggy.
The lessons history offers us are paramount to guiding us to future victory.
Never be forced to learn lessons on the battlefield that could be taught in a library.
Truer words probably haven’t been said, but no amount of information will be as instrumental to my survival as knowing how to react when something is trying to kill me.
Bram Mercer leans against a wooden railing and stares at me as I walk into the circle.
The man isn’t as old as Cedric, but he’s just as trusted by my father.
With wild, long gray hair that hangs over his tattered black cloak and skin that looks as tough as leather, he is as much at home on the sand of the training arena as he would be under any roof.
His dark brown eyes show no sign of age, though, and they take in every movement.
Unlike Cedric, Bram never moved past the Mark of the Coin to the Mark of the Veil.
Under the Priest’s hierarchy—if I was part of the Order—we’d be equals as of yesterday afternoon.
But that won’t ever be the case in my heart.
He rubs a rather gruesome scar that runs under his left cheek, as he does so often. “The librarian turn your head to mush?”
I grin at him, my hands at my sides, always near my daggers when I’m in this ring. “Soup is probably a better term.”
He pushes off from the railing. “Like it’ll pour out of your ear holes if you’re not careful? I remember those days. It’s a good thing Rhaskar prefers I just hit things.”
I adore Cedric. He’s always had answers when I had questions. About anything. I was a small girl in a world full of men with a father who’s always been cold and distant. Cedric was the man I went to with questions about life, about existing in this world that wasn’t built for me.
But Bram was the one I ran to when I needed to scream, when everything was too much. He’d take me into the ring, and he’d let me be as human as I wanted. He always told me a scholar shouldn’t let their heart rule, but when weapons were drawn, the head was too slow.
“What are we doing today? Thirteen days until I go.”
He gets into a guard stance and slowly circles me, but he doesn’t answer.
I never let him get to my side, just as he trained me to do.
He lashes out with a wild punch that would knock me out if it connected.
I slip to the side, his attack missing my face by inches, and I slam my left fist into his ribs.
He’s already spinning toward me, though, and my fist doesn’t have the right angle to really hurt him.
His words of wisdom echo in my mind. It’s all about angles, Fi.
Sometimes, it’s better to let them have a light shot so you can end the fight.
You’re not made of fuckin’ crystal. The goal is to survive, not to avoid getting hit.
His spin turns into a kick that I duck. “First,” he grunts as my other fist hits him in the kidney, this one much harder.
“We warm up,” he says as he slams his hands into my shoulders.
I can’t move quickly enough to stop him, and I go flying.
If you fight, you’re going to get hurt. Embrace it. The only way you lose is if you die.