Chapter 9 Let the Games Begin
LET THE GAMES BEGIN
ELYRIA
His hair was wet.
His chest—broader than she remembered—rose and fell like he was taking in deep breaths, light gleaming off the intricate silver stitching woven into the royal blue doublet he donned, his mana token resting on top.
She wished he was wearing black.
He looked really fucking good in black.
He looked really fucking good now.
Better than any man had the right to.
But worse, somehow, too. Like the weight of their months apart sat heavy on his shoulders. Cedric’s jaw was tight, and it was like she could feel the pressure of his clenched teeth as their eyes met, and her own breath was punched from her lungs.
He was here.
She’d told herself he wouldn’t be. Had prepared herself for that fact.
Had rejoiced in the idea that she wouldn’t have to face him.
Face this. She didn’t think she could. Not when just the thought of him over the past few months had brought her nothing but misery.
Done nothing but summon the memories of the Crucible—the bad outweighing the good.
The heat of his body against hers.
Her name on his lips.
A knife in his chest.
The thrum of celestial power tearing through her veins as she willed him back to life.
Elyria blinked, forcing herself to hold onto the present. The here. The now. Because that’s exactly where he was.
His brown eyes were warm, that ring of gold encircling each iris gleaming. It pulled at the final knot in her shadows—a thread unraveling.
Not a thread.
A cord. A chain.
An anchor.
Elyria’s heart was beating so hard she swore the entire room must’ve been able to hear it.
Something bright and beautiful bloomed in her chest, her shadows stretching, loose and free in a way they hadn’t been since she’d left the Lost City. Like they wanted to reach for him. And for a moment, Elyria marveled at how she could ever have pretended she, herself, wanted otherwise.
Especially as he raised a palm, the light glinting off a ring on his index finger as he gave her a small, tenuous wave—like he didn’t quite know what else to do with his hands.
She could see the instantaneous regret flash over his face at the gesture, could feel the laugh bubbling up inside her in response.
Enough of this. If she was going to make fun of him for what was perhaps the lamest greeting in Arcanis, she would do it properly. She readied herself to cross the distance between them, not entirely sure of what she would say once she did, and—
Someone else got there first.
Tenny was a blur of silver skirts and buoyant curls as she launched herself at Cedric, her smile radiant as he caught her with practiced ease.
Elyria’s shadows screeched to a halt in her veins, freezing her in place at the sight of his hands wrapping around Tenny’s waist. At the way the scar on his upper lip stretched into a warm smile when he peered down at her.
Tristan gave Elyria a look that seemed to say many things before moving to join his friends. She watched the three of them for a few moments more, swallowing down the bitter surge of jealousy that rose in her throat, tasting of bile.
For fuck’s sake, what was wrong with her?
She had no claim to him.
Wrong, said something in her mind.
He wasn’t hers.
Wrong, it said again.
Shut up, she told herself. She might’ve said more to punish herself for her own mind’s woefully inaccurate interpretation of whatever this thing between her and Cedric was, but a familiar hand on her arm saved her from the self-flagellation.
“The king approaches.”
Elyria had never been more grateful to hear Dentarius’ clipped voice as it pulled her from her spiraling thoughts.
He hesitated, then added under his breath, “We need the king on our side, Elyria. The reports I’ve received since we left Aerithia have been nothing short of troubling.
Whispers from the Midlands, villages emptied.
” His gaze flicked toward the gilded dais.
“Keep your wits about you. I don’t know what Malchior is working toward, or what he’s waiting for, but every sign points to the fact that we are running out of time to locate him before we find out the hard way. ”
Elyria tore her eyes from Cedric, Tenny, and Tristan, who now stood in a row, arms linked together, facing the ballroom doors.
A herald blasted notes of royal welcome on a trumpet, and Kit was suddenly at Elyria’s other side, chin lifted, shoulders squared.
Finally, the king had arrived. Finally, they’d get their audience.
And as Dentarius guided them both to the front of the crowd gathering before the dais on the opposite side of the ballroom, Elyria was glad for the reminder of what she was here for in the first place.
It wasn’t to gaze adoringly at the human knight whose life she’d saved. A human who had a life, had friends, had a purpose wholly separate from her own. The man was living his own After.
She needed to, too.
King Callum of Havensreach looked to be of average height, his presence commanding despite his unassuming stature.
Broad shouldered with dark hair that was graying at his temples and smile lines that carved around both sides of his mouth, he looked .
. . kind, actually. Though, to be fair, Elyria had learned long ago that appearances meant little when it came to court and politics.
She stiffened as the herald’s voice rang out, quieting the final dregs of lingering conversation that had been echoing through the crowd. “His Royal Majesty, King Callum V, Virtuous Defender of the Realm, Steward of the Eastern Chasm, Guardian of the Flame—”
The list went on.
Quartered hell, the titles these humans gave themselves.
Still, Elyria forced a polite expression onto her face, keeping her shoulders straight as the king sat on his throne, Barcroff standing just behind him to one side, Lord Church to the other. Royal guards lined the full length of the back wall.
Elyria cast a quick look around the ballroom to see where Nox and Thraigg had gone, locating them in essentially the same spot they’d been all night.
The two Arcanians continued picking at the platters of food on a nearby table, sipping from their goblets and watching the royal procession with amusement, thoroughly unbothered.
Perhaps they simply were enjoying the fact that the room’s attention was no longer on them.
Celestials knew Elyria was grateful for the same.
Another trio emerged in front of the crowd of attendees, just a few paces from where Elyria stood. The quick pulse in her chest told her without looking that Cedric, Tenny, and Tristan had moved forward to greet the king as well. She looked anyway.
She saw Tenny first, beaming at her father on the dais behind the king, her arm still looped around Tristan’s.
Cedric’s, she had dropped, Elyria realized just as Tenny looked over and grinned at her.
She looked so stars-damned happy, Elyria couldn’t help the soft smile that emerged in response.
Fuck it all if the girl wasn’t making it easy for Elyria to release that earlier flare of jealousy.
Everything about Tenny just seemed so genuine, and Elyria wanted nothing more than to find her endlessly annoying.
But in fact, the only thing she did find annoying was the fact that she wasn’t annoyed at all.
Apparently there was just no helping it.
Just as there was no helping the wink Tristan shot her when Elyria looked at him next.
Finally, she let her gaze drift to Cedric, who was facing forward, eyes fixed on the king. The smooth scent of sandalwood and embers filled the air, and she could feel the pull of her shadows creeping in her veins, her fingers twitching toward him.
She could’ve sworn she saw his fingers twitch in return. Could’ve sworn she saw his lips part, like he could tell she wanted to reach for him.
“Welcome, welcome!” boomed the king. “Welcome all to this momentous night! This momentous age! I hope the food, wine, and company has been to everyone’s liking this evening.”
The crowd cheered.
“There is, after all, so very much to celebrate,” he continued. “New friends being made”—Elyria swallowed a scoff—“and new paths ahead being forged. Two centuries of division bridged. You can thank myself and King Lachlandris in Nyrundelle for that.”
The crowd laughed.
“While I, myself,” King Callum continued, “have my own thanks to offer. To the victors of the Crucible, our most honored guests.” He gestured for Cedric and Elyria to step forward.
Cedric did so immediately. It took Dentarius’ palm on Elyria’s back pushing her forward—rude—for her to do the same.
She didn’t miss the sharp breath the king sucked in as she approached the dais, but wasn’t sure whether it was from fear or wonder. She found she couldn’t be bothered to care either way. Not as the back of Cedric’s hand brushed her own—an infinitesimal contact. Barely more than a graze.
But it was enough. Enough to feel her magic spark to life at his touch, her shadows singing in her chest.
The collective gasp that rang out was the first sign that something wasn’t right. The way the guards surged forward was the second.
“Ellie!” Kit’s voice was a frantic, harsh whisper. Elyria didn’t understand the panic in it.
Not until she looked down and saw the way her hands were covered in dark smoke, ribbons of black twisting up her arms, encircling her torso—a loving embrace.
She wanted to jump for joy at the sight.
Her shadows had not corporealized even once in the time since she’d left the Lost City.
Since she’d left him. Their reappearance seemed a confirmation of something she wasn’t quite ready to face.
Thankfully, the increasing panic from the surrounding nobles and the sound of weapons being unsheathed were a quick reminder that now was not the time for any of that.
Elyria snuffed out her shadows with a single thought, letting them dissipate into the ether as she bowed low at the waist.
“Forgive me, Your Majesty. I, um . . . I was . . . overwhelmed. With gratitude and excitement. The honor you bestow upon us is so great.”
“The Revenant herself,” said the king, only the barest shake to his voice.
With a hand, he waved off the still-approaching guards.
Lord Church, who had taken several steps forward, eyes wide, retreated as well.
The crowd began to settle within a few more moments, and the king continued.
“Well, certainly we now see how you earned your reputation. And what a credit it is to you, Sir Thorne, for having held your own against power like this in the Celestial Sanctum.”
Some emotion flashed across Cedric’s face, and Elyria hoped he wasn’t thinking what she thought he was: That he didn’t hold his own. That it was thanks to Elyria and Thraigg and, well, Zephyr, that he’d survived the Crucible at all. That he was not deserving of his title.
He didn’t know just how wrong he was.
“You are every bit the legend they say,” continued the king, an indulgent smile curving his mouth as he continued addressing Elyria. “And far, far lovelier than the stories make room for.”
The compliment was delivered with charm, and Elyria thought he might even have been sincere.
But it made her skin crawl all the same.
Not because she thought his intent to be malicious, not exactly.
But there was something cold there. Detached.
She felt like she was being watched, observed, scrutinized.
She did not much care for that.
Still, Elyria said nothing, only offered another practiced smile. And out from the corner of her eye, she noticed how Kit’s shoulders dropped, her palpable relief.
The king returned his attention to the crowd, raising his arms. “Let all here tonight bear witness to this union of realms,” he proclaimed.
“Let the triumph of our champions be but the first occasion celebrated within this new peace between our peoples. And may their unity serve as a beacon for all still trapped in the hatred and division of old. This is a new dawn!”
Elyria couldn’t help the slight turn of her head, seeking Cedric, his reaction. The knight continued staring forward, eyes pinned on the king, his hands pressed firmly against his legs as though he was trying to keep them from curling into fists.
Disappointment sunk Elyria’s heart into her stomach.
An attendant handed a goblet to the king, and he raised it high.
“Tomorrow, we begin the true work of healing our lands. Of preparing to reclaim what was lost to Varyth Malchior’s treachery.
We shall retrieve the Crown of Concord, and we shall do it as the Guardian of Balance herself intended—together. ”
Elyria swallowed the laugh that threatened to burst from her.
Together. She had absolutely no doubt the humans would keep the crown firmly in their own grasp if they could.
If they thought they could find Malchior and get it back without the Arcanian’s help.
Just as King Lachlandris made no attempt to hide his own similar motive.
Too bad for both of them that Elyria had no intention of letting either side wield the crown.
Still, she nodded and clapped as King Callum continued his speech, and she had a gracious smile on her face when he said, “But for now, we celebrate. And I cannot think of a better way to honor Aurelia than with our victors leading us in a dance.”