2. Ryewood
Ryewood
The roar of the crowd hits us before we even reach our seats. The colosseum stretches out with stone tiers descending toward the arena floor. Father built it himself centuries ago, with nothing but his magic and sheer will.
Most people see it as a marvel, but I know better; it’s a reminder. Father making sure no one forgets who holds the power here.
“All right,” I announce, turning around, finding Finn’s already grinning. “You know what time it is.”
Hayes is fighting a smile, and Grier shakes his head like he’s above this.
“Annual tradition,” Finn says. “Most useless shifter form. I’m going rabbit.”
“Rabbit?” I shove his shoulder. “You’ve picked rabbit three years in a row.”
“And one day, I’ll be right.” Finn spreads his hands wide, insufferably pleased with himself. “It’s called commitment, Rye.”
I laugh despite myself. Only Finn could make a losing streak sound like a strategy.
“Chicken,” Hayes says, like he’s commenting on the weather.
Finn catches my eye across Hayes’s head, the same thought passing between us.
“I’m sorry—” Finn says, holding up a hand. “Did the heir to the realm just join in? Without us having to pry it out of him?” He throws his arm around Hayes. “Well, shit. If Hayes is playing along, anything’s possible. Rabbit’s basically guaranteed now.”
Hayes rolls his eyes, but his smirk ruins it.
“All right, I’m going pig,” I announce. “Percival’s in the trials this year, after all.”
“Cat,” Grier says dryly.
We all stare. Even Grier’s playing along. Fuck, I love today.
He shrugs. “That prissy bastard is definitely coming out as a cat.”
That gets Finn and me immediately, but the real surprise is Hayes cracking up too.
Grier looks pleased with himself.
The laughter carries us to the royal box.
Then we see Father, and the laughter dies in our throats. Hayes stiffens beside me. Finn and Grier fall into step behind us, their easy manner gone, and just like that, Hayes and I are princes, and they’re our guards again.
Father holds court at the center of the box, wearing that warm smile, playing the benevolent king.
The nobles are fucking eating it up, the way they always do.
It always unsettles me how much he looks like Hayes when he’s performing in public.
He barely looks older than Hayes, centuries of magic keeping time from touching him.
They have the same brown hair, light green eyes, and warmth that draws people in.
The difference is that Hayes’s warmth stays when no one’s watching.
We make our way to the far corner, and Hayes drops into the seat beside me. Some of the tension leaves his shoulders.
Finn leans against the railing, eyes on the arena floor. “How many you think will make it out this year?”
“Ten, maybe?” I shrug. “All nobles.”
“Of course.” Hayes’s voice is quieter now, meant just for us. “The trials get harder every year. Father makes sure of it.”
I glance at him. He doesn’t usually talk about our Father so openly, not even with me.
Before I can push further, I catch Finn’s expression. Right, next year, that’s us, Finn and me, walking into those woods.
I reach up and shove his arm. “Quit it.”
“Quit what?”
“That face,” I say, keeping it light. “We’re not dying in there.”
Trumpets blare across the colosseum, and the crowd erupts.
The ceremony master takes position at the edge of the arena, far enough that a stray vine won’t take him out. Smart man, the freshly awakened can’t aim for shit.
His voice booms. “Great citizens of Terrath! Today we celebrate those who entered the Weeping Woods and emerged transformed!”
The same speech as every year.
“Thanks to the benevolence of the Great King Eldric, who grants even the common-born the opportunity to rise to nobility!”
Father raises a hand, and right on cue, the crowd roars.
Benevolence, right. Commoners go in with hope while nobles go in with guards, and of course, only one group comes out.
“Now let us welcome this year’s victor of the trials!”
The crowd’s attention snaps to the far end of the arena, where a huge, towering archway is carved into the imposing stone wall, ancient and foreboding. The unnatural fog rolls through the opening, thick and impenetrable, swallowing any glimpse of what lies beyond.
One way in, one way out. Knowing Father, that’s no accident.
It’s so similar to the entrance archway, deep in the castle grounds.
I hated it when I was young, and so did Hayes.
I didn’t understand why it unsettled me so much back then, but now I do.
It’s just another way for Father to control everything.
He decides who walks through to miles of forest sealed behind the stone wall, all of it funneling survivors to this single point, into the colosseum, in front of thousands of witnesses, in front of him.
Everyone thinks it’s a spectacle. It’s not. It’s Father taking notes of who has magic, who’s useful, who’s loyal, and most importantly, who needs to disappear. My mind goes to the oaks in the atrium.
A figure emerges, and for a moment, I don’t recognize him.
Then I realize it’s Percival Thornwick, clothes torn, hair matted with dirt, but not a scratch on him.
Right, because magic heals you on the way out.
But it’s his face that stops me. His eyes are wrong, too old, like he walked in a month ago and lived a hundred lifetimes in between.
He takes two steps and his knees buckle.
“Mother—” His voice cracks, raw and broken. “You said it was an accident.”
He’s not looking at the box. He’s not looking at anything here.
A few seats down, Lady Thornwick’s face drains of color, and the crowd shifts uncomfortably. This happens sometimes; the trials show you things, things about your family, the kind you can’t unsee.
Then shutters fall closed behind his eyes as he straightens. That familiar smug expression slides back into place, but we all saw what was underneath.
“Fuck off.” Finn stares. “That’s our victor?”
“Not surprising.” Hayes’s voice is flat. “He had double my guards going in.”
Double Hayes’s guards. Hayes, the crown prince. The Thornwicks are getting bold.
Grier crosses his arms. “Well, at least now that he’s awakened, we’ll probably never have to see him at the training yards again.”
Finn snorts. “Good thing you’ve got me and Grier keeping you two from getting lazy.” He grins at me, smug as fuck. “Awakened or not, you’re still training with me next year. Someone’s gotta beat you every day to keep that ego in check.”
Fucking Finn. He’s right, though; he’s the best swordsman I’ve ever seen, annoyingly so.
“You know you’re fucking unbearable, right?” I say, but I’m smiling.
“The best,” Finn says, like he’s correcting me. “Say it. The best.”
“Fuck off.” I can’t help but laugh.
“Debatable,” Hayes adds.
Grier’s voice cuts in from behind us. “It’s not.”
Finn barks out a laugh, shoving Grier’s shoulder. “See? Grier knows.”
“Best and most annoying,” Grier adds. “Both things can be true.”
That gets all of us.
Before I can respond, the ceremony master’s voice booms across the arena.
“Percival Thornwick! Heir to House Thornwick! The Woods have deemed you worthy!”
The crowd cheers.
“Now we shall witness the magic the Woods have bestowed!”
Percival steps forward, arms raised like he’s about to move mountains. His brow furrows in concentration. The crowd goes still with a collective breath held.
His face tightens. His jaw sets. His whole body seems to pour itself into it.
The ground responds. A few pebbles rise and hang suspended in the air. Dust starts to stir at his feet. Then, with a tremble in his arm, the pebbles drop to the ground, and the dust settles.
That’s it.
“Very impressive!” the master of ceremonies announces.
Finn snorts. “Was it?”
“Now let us witness what shifter form the Woods have granted!”
Percival closes his eyes again. His body tenses and the air shimmers, then bones crack, his body reshaping, shrinking down until—
A housecat. A fucking housecat.
The crowd goes silent.
“A housecat!” Finn’s doubled over laughing. “Grier, you son of a bitch—”
“How?” I can barely breathe through the laughter. “How did you know?”
Hayes has given up entirely, his face buried in his hands, shoulders shaking.
“I know a housecat when I see one,” Grier says, completely straight-faced.
That sets us off even more.
I barely hear the master of ceremonies droning on about welcoming the rest of this year’s awakened. I’m too busy trying not to choke.
Then Finn goes quiet beside me.
I follow his gaze to the archway. More figures emerging from the fog. One, two, three, four, five.
The crowd leans forward, waiting. Then, nothing.
“That’s it?” someone shouts from the stands.
Our laughter dies.
I scan the survivors stumbling into the colosseum.
All fucking nobles, not a single commoner among them, not even a guard.
Fifty contenders went in this year, at least officially.
But that number doesn’t count the prisoners Father sends in ahead, fodder and killers, all of them sent in with one purpose, take as many with them as they can before they go down.
Only six came out, and next year, Finn goes in as my guard, because of me. I glance at him. His jaw is tight, his eyes fixed on the archway.
I grab his arm. “Hey.” He looks at me. “We’re not dying in those stones forsaken woods.”
Finn exhales through his nose. “Jarek didn’t make it out.”
The name lands heavier than I expect. Jarek, whose laugh carried across the entire training yard, whose footwork Finn corrected so many times it became a joke between them, who was always at Finn’s shoulder like that was where he belonged.
I squeeze his arm, firm and grounding. He’s not dying in there. Finn isn’t just a guard, and neither is Grier. They’re my people, the ones I’d spill blood for without hesitation.
“You’re not dying in there,” I repeat. “You’re annoyingly hard to kill. Trust me, I’ve tried.”
That gets a small laugh out of him. It’s something.
The rest of the ceremony drags on with more speeches and more applause until my legs go stiff, and I’m ready for a drink.