Chapter 45 #2
“It is my honor to present to the Skyborn our patriot of the Tournament of Hearts and our first new Skyborn,” the Benevolent declares.
The arena erupts in applause. The sound is deafening and unreal.
Rhythe’s jaw ticks, watching now, eyes open. His fists tremble at his sides. Kade lingers with a practiced calm.
He’s known he’d get this. He’s always known. He played Rhythe.
Dorian breaks from the line, lunging toward the platform with a raised fist. We’ve always known there would be only two winners. The love of his life died. Of course he’s pissed. But anger right now is reckless.
“Dorian, wai—” I almost step forward, but Caelus holds me back.
Mercyenforcers converge on Dorian. The crowd’s cheers turn to boos.
“You said,” Dorian shouts, “if I told you about the people she cares about—the little girl—you’d help me!”
My blood turns to ice.
She?
Me.
Serafina.
He sold me out. He told them I cared about Serafina.
Dorian looks at me—with apology or regret, I can’t tell—but when I glare back, he drops his gaze like a coward. I lunge for him, fury igniting in my veins—but again Caelus grabs me tight.
“Not our fight,” Caelus hisses in my ear.
Dorian knew about the patriot winner. He expected to get it. They manipulated him…
Mercyenforcers try to restrain Dorian, but he thrashes wildly, ripping a stinger from a guard’s belt and jamming it into her ribs.
The woman convulses, limbs twitching violently before crumpling to the ground—unable to move as the pulses of the stinger’s energy render her muscles unreachable for several moments.
Dorian doesn’t stop. He launches again, this time at the Benevolent—pure rage in his eyes.
But Kade moves first.
He snarls, grabs a sharp spear from a nearby Mercyenforcer, and leaps off the stage. His feet slam into dirt. He marches straight to a feral Dorian. No hesitation. No mercy. And drives the spear clean into his gut.
“A name?” Kade spits. “You gave him a few names and you expected favor?”
Dorian gasps, collapsing.
Blood spills between his fingers as he clutches his wound, eyes wide with pain and confusion. And despite everything—despite my fury at what he’s done—a shudder vibrates through me. Because Kade didn’t even blink. When Dorian hits the ground, he doesn’t move. Dead.
The Benevolent welcomes Kade back onto the stage, calm as ever.
He redrapes the robe on Kade’s shoulders himself.
Then he clears his throat. “Well, now that that’s done, we can move on with the rest of the ceremony.
” His gestures at Rhythe. “Let’s hope you and Ivy are much less of a disappointment. ”
A cold pit settles in my stomach.
The Benevolent’s attention lingers on his son beside me.
There’s something venomous there now, boiling just beneath the surface.
He doesn’t want Caelus to win. He doesn’t want his son to touch the power of a true-love match.
I scan the exits, wondering how Rhythe will execute the Benevolent, if that’s indeed his plan.
Or if he’s lost the courage after Kade’s betrayal.
I watch his hands for a place he might have hidden a blade.
Rhythe steps forward to climb the steps alone with smooth grace and a painted smile.
Ivy hasn’t moved from the line of contestants.
Rhythe turns back, reaching for her hand.
She hesitates.
Her fingers twitch at her sides. Her eyes flick to the others—then to the chalices—and my heart is not beating. They share a glance. Rhythe holds his hand steady, as if he’s already certain of her answer. The silence sits for a heartbeat. Then, two, long enough to hope. Long enough to doubt.
Then slowly, she takes it.
Together they make their way to the chalices, each taking a cup. The crowd holds its breath. He whispers something only she can hear, and her spine stiffens. Rhythe drains his cup. And waits.
But—she stops.
And sets the elixir aside.
“I won’t,” she says, loud enough to echo.
Gasps ripple across the arena.
Rhythe’s smile cracks. “Ivy,” he hisses.
“You don’t love me,” she says, louder now. “You love the idea of me. You always did.”
“You don’t know what you’re doing,” he says through clenched teeth.
Tears glisten in her eyes, but her voice is clear. “I know exactly what I’m doing. I’ve seen what they have.” She points at Caelus and me. “And you destroyed it! Just like you destroyed the hope in me that I could ever have something like it. I’m done pretending.”
Rhythe turns to the sky as if a downpour could rain on us and change her mind. I don’t like this.
His gaze cuts across the arena.
At me.
But as soon as our eyes lock, the moment is gone.
The Benevolent’s patience runs dry. “Bring them forward! Show me the truth.”
The guards seize Ivy and Rhythe, dragging them to the chalices. Ivy protests louder than I’ve ever heard her speak. Rhythe fights back, but he’s outnumbered. The guards pin them against the stone basin of the chalices—one gripping Ivy’s shoulders, the other wrenching Rhythe’s arm behind his back.
They will drink at the same time.
Ivy twists her head, trying to avoid it, but a hand clamps over her jaw and forces her mouth open. The liquid glimmers as it’s poured between her lips. She gags immediately, coughing and sputtering, her body convulsing as the elixir is forced down their throats.
My hands are slick with sweat, wrapped tightly in Caelus’s. I can’t stop imagining what it will feel like—those hands on us, dragging us forward, prying our mouths open. I taste metal just thinking about it.
The air thickens around me, too hot, too sharp.
Caelus doesn’t speak. He just holds my hand tighter, jaw locked, eyes forward. I don’t know if he’s afraid or if he knows something I don’t. Either way, I can feel it now—something in the plan is unraveling.
Ivy chokes on the elixir. Rhythe swears through his teeth.
And then—
Nothing.
No shiver of light, no hint of connection.
Only the brutal sound of Ivy coughing, bent over at the waist, and the guttural rasp of Rhythe’s breath as he glares at the floor like it betrayed him.
The Benevolent scowls. “False. Add them to the other to be interrogated.”
The guards toss them beside Talia, letting them crumple to the base of the platform like discarded dolls. Ivy curls in on herself, shaking. Rhythe doesn’t move, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles have gone bloodless. Again, he glares at the sky.
The Benevolent doesn’t even look at them. His gaze sweeps over the crowd, slow and heavy with judgment.
And then his gaze finds us.
Me.
Caelus.