Chapter 18
Consciousness creeps back, ushered in by sharp pinpricks of light stabbing through the darkness behind my closed eyes and a persistent throbbing ache in my skull. Each pulse pounds like a distant drum, echoing through my head as I grapple to make sense of where I am and what has happened.
The scent of herbs and oil makes my head spin as I open my eyes to a blur of shadows and shapes, the world coming into focus.
A single aura in the room’s corner provides a dim, cool light, casting an eerie glow over the wooden benches lining the wall, scattered with clay jars, bandages, and bronze tools.
I look to my side, wincing at the movement as I eye a row of narrow cots just like the one I’m lying in now.
The infirmary. Gods, the trial.
I attempt to sit up, but a shadow looms to my left, stepping closer. A steady hand rests on my shoulder, guiding me back down with care. My eyes lock on to a pair of golden ones, steady and filled with concern.
“Raven,” I say, though my throat feels parched and tight, his name escaping my lips like dry leaves skittering across gravel.
He settles into a chair I hadn’t noticed earlier, sliding it closer to my cot. Reaching for a pitcher and cup on the small nightstand, Raven pours a drink and places the cup in my hands, lifting it gently to my lips.
“What happened?” I ask. My voice is still weak but clearer now.
“They brought you here after the trial,” Raven replies, his voice calm but laced with something that forces my eyes open and back to him. “You lost consciousness.”
Something about his words gives me clarity, and I sit bolt upright, ignoring the way my body protests. “Did I pass?”
“Yes, you did,” Raven replies, his expression softening as he places a hand on my arm. A comforting warmth radiates from the small point of contact, spreading across my skin. “All the contestants made it out in time, which means everyone will advance to the next trial.”
“Thank Notos.” I suck in a shallow breath, guilt sharp as daggers in my chest. I came so close to failing—not just myself, but Nyssa.
All because I had grown careless, lowering my guard and leaning too heavily on the comfort and privilege of my title as a princess.
I had underestimated just how far others would go to claim even a fraction of that same power.
The weight of it crushes me with brutal clarity.
Nyssa is the reason I endure this madness, my anchor through the chaos. If I can’t protect her, then what is all this even for? My determination sharpens, slicing through the fog of exhaustion.
There is no space for weakness here.
“I thought the Aviary would have trained you better to detect poison by scent,” Raven says. His tone is serious, not even a trace of teasing hidden beneath.
The memories crash over me like a tidal wave—fragmented, chaotic, impossible to fully grasp.
I struggle to piece them together: the waiting chamber, the searing burn of nightshade coursing through my veins as I tore through the labyrinth, and then…
nothing. Just an infinite void of darkness—until now.
Yet, there’s something more.
“There were marks in the labyrinth, Raven.” My fingers trace invisible patterns against the sheets. “They hid gaps in the walls. Like goiteía, but different. Similar to the ones in Keres’s chambers and the passage in the servants’ quarters. This specific one seemed to be for concealment.”
“I’ll look into it. If what you’re saying is true, it could shed light on the purpose of the sequence of the symbols as a whole.
For now, though, you need to rest.” Raven’s hand trails down my arm, turning my palm upward to reveal the grazes from my fall, and my still-scattered mind drifts to a day I’d almost forgotten.
The training grounds at the Aviary are brutal this morning, the stone walls slick with clinging humidity.
My fingers, raw and aching from gripping the jagged surface, slip near the top.
I tumble down hard, knees and palms scraping against the coarse ground.
The sting burns deep, but panic grips me tighter than the pain.
I can’t keep failing—not with Raven watching.
Footsteps draw closer, the soft crunch of gravel echoing with each step. A wave of humiliation crashes over me.
“I’m fine, just go,” I mutter, keeping my head down as I brush dirt off my knees with trembling hands.
But Raven doesn’t listen.
He crouches beside me, his shadow blocking out the harsh midday sun, and without a word, he starts cleaning my torn palms. I try to pull them away, but he holds steady, calm and unwavering.
“You’re stronger than you know, Aella—strong enough for this.” His voice cuts through my embarrassment. “A few scrapes won’t keep you down for long.”
It’s not the words themselves; I’ve heard plenty of empty reassurances about strength. It’s how he says them, so certain, as if he’s stating a fact no one could argue against.
By the time he moves to my knees, I’ve stopped flinching. His touch is gentle, his patience endless, as though there’s nothing else in the world demanding his attention. He doesn’t look at me with pity—only care—and it leaves a mark on me, one far deeper than the jagged stone I fell from.
Raven’s thumb brushes the inside of my wrist, drawing me back to the present and sending a shiver across my skin. My gaze drifts to his lips, the memory of our kiss hovering at the edge of my mind, igniting a spark that burns its way down to my core. And I want more.
More than the soft sweep of his thumb against my skin.
More of him.
When I look up, his amber eyes meet mine with heated intensity, leaving my throat dry once more. “Raven—”
Faint voices seep through the stone walls, cutting me off. I snap my mouth shut, my lips pressing into a tight line. He pulls away, and I watch as the vulnerability in his eyes vanishes, replaced by the cold, unyielding composure of a Nightwing.
“I should go,” he mutters, his tone distant.
I nod, not trusting my voice to respond.
As he rises, the aura’s glow catches the golden eagle piercing dangling from his ear—the Aviary symbol mocking me for my foolishness.
He stands to leave but hesitates at the door, glancing back at me with an expression I can’t quite decipher.
“Remember your strength, princess. I need to see you well again.”
The door clicks shut behind him, leaving me alone again. Silence fills the room, broken only by the racing of my thoughts and the pounding of my heart.
It takes a full week for me to recover from the nightshade. My body has been achingly weak, my mind foggy and uncooperative as it fought off the lingering effects of the poison. As healers in the infirmary had imprisoned me, a steady procession of people came to keep me company.
Nyssa rarely left my side, concern etched deep into her features.
She brought sweets from the kitchen after I complained of the bland food the healers served and distracted me with updates of all the court gossip.
Titaia joined her often, and the three of us played card games or told stories to pass the time.
Even Myna stopped by, delivering books stolen from the library to keep me entertained.
They all avoided any mention of the trial or my poisoning, steering our conversation toward safer, lighter topics.
Yet, despite the surface calm, my pain and trauma lingered unspoken between us, weaving an invisible thread of tension through every exchange.
I was grateful for their silence—the unspoken understanding that I needed a break from the burden of our circumstances.
Their presence brought a semblance of comfort, a steady anchor amid the chaos.
When the night reached its deepest hours, Raven sometimes appeared.
His presence was a paradox—both a soothing balm and a spark to the turmoil within my mind.
We never spoke of that first encounter, when I awoke to find him by my bedside, nor of the lingering heat of his touch that still burned on my wrist. Yet the memory hung between us, unspoken but palpable, during his brief and fleeting visits.
Other visitors were less welcome.
On the seventh day of my captivity under the care of the healers, Prince Keres arrives unannounced, his presence commanding attention as soon as he steps into the room.
The air shifts, an undercurrent of tension filling the space.
His piercing gaze sweeps over the room before settling on me as he moves closer.
“My healers informed me you were poisoned during the trial, Princess,” he says. No hesitancy in his tone. No doubt.
“An unfortunate accident, I’m sure,” I reply, keeping my voice calm even as a glint of malice flickers in his eyes.
He raises an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Accidents don’t happen during my trials. Do you know who was responsible?”
I can’t be sure if denying him the truth is a selfish act on my part.
It’s a question that has circled my mind endlessly during my confinement in the infirmary.
Helen’s hesitant steps toward the refreshment table, her hurried retreat.
And Lydia’s sly, knowing smile as I lifted the cup to my lips.
While Helen may have been the one to deliver the poison to my cup, I suspect she was not its source.
Though the rage simmers within me, it burns for them both. And I prefer to take revenge with my own hands.
“I’m not sure, Keres,” I say, the lie slipping effortlessly from my lips. “With everything happening during the trial, it’s all a blur. I can’t think of anything that might guide you in the right direction.”
His expression leaves no doubt—my answer isn’t what he wanted to hear. He reaches for my hand and brings it to his lips. The cool press of his mouth against my knuckles sends a shiver skittering across my skin.
“Rest assured, Aella,” he murmurs, “it won’t happen again.”