Chapter 35
Returning is a terrible process. Dying is traumatic, and the soul needs to recover from being ripped from the body it’s grown to love, but those that are Returned are not allowed this time.
Instead, the soul and its memories are thrust back into a broken and healing body as though nothing has happened.
This could only have been designed by someone who knows nothing of pain.
~Erik Halden, Letter to Brandor Halden after his first death
Fiona
It’s been exactly one month since all the competitors vying to become Nyxthos’s next champion last gathered in the Great Hall of Castle Lachlan. Thinking back to the first night I arrived here, it’s hard to believe so few of us are left.
Everyone’s split into their teams, with the other champions and nobility being the only ones mingling.
Strangely enough, two of the teams are missing members.
Were they attacked within the last month?
Could they have been caught alone in a hall somewhere?
How many times did I walk through those hallways alone?
Then again, was I truly ever alone? Or was Azric watching me? How many times had he interfered in ways I can’t even begin to understand?
Or maybe they’re just taking longer than expected to get ready? We haven’t been in the Great Hall long, and Erik’s still in his room after a last-minute decision to alter a piece of his armor that’d grown a bit too tight with all the focused training we’ve been doing.
Darian says nothing about the missing competitors, so I don’t either. “Finally,” Rurik says from beside me. “Don’t get me wrong. I like you five much better than the rest of the goat fuckers here, but it’ll be nice to be home again. I’m a little tired of hearing Jorren snore.”
“I don’t snore,” Jorren replies softly, his eyes constantly wandering over the crowd. I follow his gaze to see who he’s watching, and that’s when I notice he’s not looking at the competitors. Instead, his eyes are taking in the people who aren’t wearing armor.
Isola moves to Jorren’s side and says in barely more than a whisper, “They’ve come back. All those who failed the trials are here.”
Jorren says, “It always takes a month to Return.”
Then a woman I know far too well steps away from her group of contestants.
Wearing brown robes made of human skin, the Corpsebinder holds her head high.
Serica Dramont. Black hair that seems as if it’s made of silk has been woven into a crown-shaped braid.
Her lips draw a hard line, and there’s no doubt she’s furious about something.
Her jaw flexes as she walks, her robes brushing the ground with every step.
Behind the robes, I see strange reddish-brown armor, and hanging from her hip is a short sword. In her hand is a glass of wine, or maybe human blood. It’s a question I don’t want to think too hard about.
I expect her to talk to Darian or any of the other people in our group she’s probably known for eighty years, but she walks right up to me. “Corentin Maroux didn’t come back.”
The mention of my torturer’s name shocks me. “What do you mean he didn’t come back?” Isola asks from beside me.
Serica doesn’t look at the Undying. “This human killed him, and he didn’t Return with the rest of the ones who died that night. Why is that?” she asks. Her eyes never stray from me.
“I have no idea,” I say, doing my best to mask the lie. “How would I know anything about people coming back from the dead? Until I came here, I thought you all were just very good at not dying.”
The anger in her eyes is a bonfire. If we were anywhere but this specific room in this specific castle, she would do her best to murder me, but Nyxthos’s rules protect me. “What did you do to him, human?” she hisses. “He was a close friend. He was…”
Darian chuckles beside me. “Maybe he didn’t want to continue to warm your bed, Serica. Maybe he’s just hiding from you. Doesn’t that sound more reasonable than him not Returning?”
Her head snaps toward Darian. “You watch your mouth, Darian Emlyn. In just a few hours, we’re going to be in the trial together.”
Darian’s smile widens. “I don’t know if I’ve ever relished the thought of meeting someone at midnight as much as I do right now.”
I can see the war going on in her eyes. She’s desperate to lash out at Darian and me.
She craves the violence, but she’s not willing to break a god’s rule.
Her eyes move back to me rather than raise a blade, like I’m sure she wants to do.
“I will find out what you did, and I will punish you in ways a human couldn’t even begin to comprehend.
I will hold your soul to your body even as the body dies.
I will force you to watch as your entrails rot.
You will stay behind as I create an Abomination out of your body. ”
Rather than let any of my fear show, I smile like Darian. “That sounds like a lot of effort just because your lover found a woman that didn’t reek.”
Her control slips, and her hand moves faster than any normal human could.
She lunges for my throat, but I’ve trained enough with Darian and the rest of our team, most of whom are faster than her.
I’m quick enough to step back. My hands go to my daggers reflexively, but Darian’s hand holds my wrist in place as I grip the hilt.
“Now, now, Serica. You know the rules. We wouldn’t want you to be punished by Nyxthos. Get a grip on yourself. You’re acting like a fucking child. Go back to your team. We’ll see you in the trial, and we can all have a grand time working out our differences there.”
She stares at Darian and takes a step back, smoothing her robe. Then she smiles wide enough to show a bit of teeth. “I can’t wait. I’ll enjoy skinning you.”
Then she turns and walks back the way she came. I watch her as she goes back to her group, back to the team that terrifies all of us. Two Chained and a Burning One. An Undying, a Mage, and another Corpsebinder. Of all the groups, that one is the most capable of a war game.
Isola interrupts my thoughts as she whispers, “What did you do to Corentin to keep him from Returning?” She’s not asking if I stopped him from Returning. There’s no doubt based on the tone of her voice. She just wants to know how.
I take a deep breath and prepare to give her enough of what happened that night to satisfy her without revealing anything important. They’ve all questioned my strangeness already, but now that something new has come up, I need to give them more information.
“That night, when I found myself bound to a metal cross, I knew I was going to be tortured. Before anyone entered the room, I noticed there was a tiny flaw in the steel near where my hand was bound. I decided I would distract him long enough to cut the leather that held my hand to the metal.”
Isola, along with everyone else on my team, hangs on my words.
They’ve all wondered how I killed my torturer.
“Corentin Maroux was very keen on watching my blood flow, but more than that, he was interested in drinking that blood. He took his time making little cuts all over my most intimate parts, and then, disgustingly, licking the wounds.”
The memory of his lips on my skin makes my stomach turn.
My group listens raptly as I continue, “The whole time he was focused on drinking my blood, I slowly slid my hand back and forth over the little shard of metal that rose above the rest of it. It took about thirty minutes of continuous work, but then the leather snapped. I drew my dagger and slit his throat as he tried to stand up. I made sure to stab him in the heart afterwards in case he could heal, if that makes any difference. After that, I waited around for the rest of the night. I don’t know what else there is to say.
If he didn’t Return, then it probably has nothing to do with what I did unless stabbing him in the heart did it.
Maybe Nyxthos was pissed at him for getting killed by a human in one of his trials? ”
Isola frowns and looks at the ground in thought. “No, piercing the heart just ensures he dies. It doesn’t sound like you did anything unusual. Can I look at your dagger?”
I nod my head and draw a dagger from its sheath to offer her. She examines it, taps on the metal, and flicks the little mechanism on the hilt that will ignite any oil on it. “No sigils. No magic. This is just a blade made by a human.”
“It is. They’re nothing special except that they have little fire starters on the hilts so I can fight demons.”
Isola frowns even deeper, but it’s Jorren who speaks up.
“There certainly are a lot of unanswerable questions that revolve around you. A human who can win fights against Godforged. A human who survived two trials that killed more than half of the Godforged who attempted them. A human who can somehow keep Godforged from Returning. Fiona, what is it you’re not telling us? ”
I shrug. “How am I supposed to know? I grew up with humans other than the Priest that trained me after my parents were killed. I’ve stayed as far away from the gods as possible, and I obviously know very little about them.
If it weren’t for Ainslee asking for volunteers to help save more humans from your armies, I’d still be in Selithar leading a relatively peaceful life. ”
Jorren shakes his head, not at all happy with my response.
“Does it matter?” Elara asks. “Yes, we’ve all noticed that Fi’s the oddest human we’ve met, but right now we’re about to start the trial. Let’s not get sidetracked with questions we probably won’t get answers to.”
Isola and Jorren hesitate, but then they nod in agreement. “You’re right,” Jorren says. “We have to win this trial.”
That’s when, thankfully, Rhion and Ainslee appear in the crowd. With smiles on their faces, they glance from Darian to me and then to the rest of the team. Then Rhion hands Darian a burlap sack. “Everything you asked for,” he tells Darian. “What are you going to do with it all?”