Chapter 18
Draeven and Rivena instilled their Godforged with unnatural strength and speed rather than magic. This is not surprising given their own particular abilities. Infusions will be of little use against them. Use your Marks instead.
~Cedric Penrose, A Treatise on the Gods and Their Powers
Fiona
I appear in the middle of the Great Hall after at least five hours of waiting. All the people who had gathered to cheer on their favorite competitors are here, but so are all the competitors, most of whom are wearing torn or completely missing clothes.
I don’t think I’ve seen so many nearly naked people in all my life.
Most of them are bleeding or bruised. Their varying gear falls to the ground next to them in a cacophony of clinks, clunks, and bams, sending a ringing through the Great Hall loud enough that nearly all of us put our hands over our ears.
After the echoes fade, I look around at the crowd. There are so few of us left. I’d estimate only about thirty have survived.
I pick out Darian, who doesn’t seem bothered at all that he’s completely naked in the middle of the crowd with his fighting leathers in a pile at his feet.
The long gash across his chest that’s torn through muscles doesn’t seem to bother him either.
He’s laughing at something that one of Rivena’s Wind Riders said.
I move toward him, and with each step, I realize just how bad he had it.
The wounds are already slowly healing, but his fingernails are gone.
The entire left side of his head is covered in a bruise, like he was hit with a mace.
I wonder how he survived a hit that hard.
Smaller bruises dot his body, no doubt already partly healed.
“How Nyxthos thought that a bit of pain would keep any of us from surviving that trial is insane. After all we’ve been through?
” the woman says with a grin. She doesn’t look much better than Darian.
Her gleaming silver armor lays in a pile at her feet, and the wool arming coat she wore underneath it sits on top.
Her breasts are black and blue from what look like bite marks, and she does nothing to hide them.
Thin cuts crisscross every other bit of skin from her waist to her neck.
Somehow, after that abuse, she’s still smiling.
Blood from a freshly healed cut drips over Darian’s lip as his smile widens, his eyes never straying from her face to look her over. “I think he just wanted an excuse to strip us down. If that was the case, he could have just asked.”
She gives him a sly smile, and her eyes do roam over his body. “Maybe he likes it when chains are involved. I heard Echo had a…” Then she sees me approaching and stops talking.
“Are you the human?” she asks, turning toward me.
I nod to her. “I’m Fiona from Selithar.”
The woman looks me over before asking, “You weren’t tortured like the rest of us?” I knew this would happen. I’m fully dressed, and all my wounds are healed. There’s a bit of blood on me, but I don’t compare to what the others look like.
I’m about to give my rehearsed explanation for what happened, but Darian interrupts. “How rude of me. Fiona, this is Elara Vantrel, one of Rivena’s favored Wind Riders, the ones who were given winged horses as mounts. We’ve known each other for…” He pauses for a moment to think.
“Since that battle for Highland Castle,” she responds.
Just as I’ve done so many times to Bram, he’s trying to draw her attention to “the good old days”.
Her eyes don’t leave me, though. “I commanded my troops to change position to protect one of the villages from the Burning Ones. They were the perfect bait, and you were very convincing.”
He gives her a wide grin and keeps her talking about the safe topic. “That’s right. That was a long time ago. Seventy years?”
“Something like that.” She and Darian share a lingering look before she bends down to pick up her arming coat, wincing with each movement.
“That son of a whore really enjoyed having his way with my breasts. If I win this thing, I’m going to spend a week showing him how much fun it is to have your sensitive parts bitten. ”
Darian pulls his fighting leathers on, and the rest of the competitors seem to have concluded that it was time to get dressed as well. Elara doesn’t bother with her armor yet, though, and continues to give me a quizzical look.
Then she shakes her head. “I have to ask, Fiona. Why do all the rest of us look like a herd of demons trampled us, and you’re still wearing your clothes? I don’t even think your hair’s rumpled.”
I pause, not sure what I should say. My hand runs through my short red hair, but I don’t have a chance to come up with an explanation. Someone I know based purely on her description does it for me.
“You little cheat,” Lucine Reden says as she appears from the crowd. Just like the other gods’ champions, I’ve kept an eye on her. After seeing what Azric and Ainslee can do, I know I want to stay far away from any of them.
Queen Lucine Reden is Rivena, the Goddess of Justice’s champion, and she looks the part.
She’s taller than me, but more than that, she’s broader than Darian.
Her short hair is silver, just like the plate she wears, and her blue eyes seem to burn with fury.
Unlike most of the other champions, she’s not older.
When she accepted Rivena’s offer eighty years ago, she’d been in her prime, and she looks every bit the part of a champion, capable of holding her own on any battlefield.
She steps closer to me until there’s only a single step between us. “I didn’t cheat,” I say. “The instructions were that if I said my word, I’d die. If I didn’t say my word, I’d live. That’s all. No one told me I wasn’t allowed to defend myself.”
“It’s obvious you were supposed to endure torture, as the test was to prove you could keep a secret.”
I do my best impression of my father, maintaining as much neutrality as possible even though I’m petrified of the woman.
Emotions are weaknesses, and the Godforged gathered here will pounce on it in an instant.
“I kept my secret. If I hadn’t passed his test, Nyxthos would have killed me.
He doesn’t seem to be the kind of god who gives second chances. Why does it matter to you, though?”
Lucine moves faster than anyone I’ve ever seen, her gauntleted hand going from her side to my cheek in less than the blink of an eye.
My reaction is so slow that it’s only when the steel touches my skin that I pull away.
She didn’t want to hurt me, or my head would be hitting a wall, very far away from my body.
Instead, I’m only left with the cold realization of what she could do if she’d wanted.
She gives me a sadistic smile. “No human should have been able to survive those trials. You killed Corentin Maroux, a friend of mine, to survive your trial, and I assume you cheated your way through the Shadow Road as well.”
Without warning, Lucine’s hand moves back to her side, and she stiffens.
A sultry voice rises around us. “Now, Lucine darling. You know the rules. No violence in the Great Hall. A shame, really. There are so many in this room that I’d love to…
question.” A man I’ve never met before walks out of the crowd, and before all our eyes, he changes his appearance.
From the most nondescript man I could imagine wearing a bland mix of dyed velvet, he becomes Azric Cyrus wearing the same black riding coat that’s been embroidered in red.
I’m struck by how everyone, Lucine included, is stunned into silence.
A tinge of fear crosses Lucine’s face, but she stands tall, not bowing to her fear.
My eyes move over Azric, and I can’t help but recognize that he truly is a perfect instrument for the Goddess of Death and Beauty.
Every movement he makes stirs a strange mix of lust and fear inside me.
The way his riding coat seems to billow even in the stale air.
The way his eyes whisper of possibilities, and yet his face is as cold as death itself.
The desires to run from and toward him war inside me, freezing me in place.
He turns to Darian first, a half-smile on his lips, and he says, “Congratulations are in order, Uncle.” He nods his head ever so slightly.
“And to you as well, Elara. May both of your trials go just as well as the past two.” Darian gives him a small bow, and Elara doesn’t move, accepting the well-wishes but not knowing how to react.
Then he turns to me, and instead of saying anything, he approaches. “Incredible. A human has survived two trials of Nyxthos. What was it you said earlier, Uncle? That she is Veris-touched? Yet, I don’t sense a single bit of Veris’s magic on her.”
I can’t move, not only because of the way he makes me feel, but also because the entire Great Hall is staring at me. How is someone supposed to answer that? How am I supposed to react to the Prince of Bones taking such a public interest in me?
He moves close enough that I can make out the individual stitches in his riding coat, and he smiles.
“They say that humans are more clever than the High Fae or the Godforged, that they’ve never lost a war with anyone save themselves.
No one else thought to kill their captors.
And how did you survive the Road? A secret you’ll never tell, I’m sure. ”
He turns away from me and addresses the crowd.
“Cleverness is a prized trait from Nyxthos. Echo made a name for herself as a champion on the battlefield, but her numbers were always far smaller than her foes. She was forced to do more with less. I applaud your very survival, Lady Fiona. Nyxthos is almost certainly happy you’ve made it this far. ”