Chapter Ten
“Today, we mourn for those who have failed in their endeavors, those for whom the Trials have proved too much to bear. We ache at their loss but they died in service to the Geist and, in that, we shall find comfort.”
The burning had faded, the brand long gone cold, but Dante still stood with his arm hovering within the ring, eyes fixed on the darkness behind me. His jaw was clenched so tight, I thought it might shatter his teeth.
“Dante,” I said quietly. I pulled my arm from the ring and took a step toward him. “Whatever you heard in there, it wasn’t real.”
He blinked.
“I know.” He tugged his arm free and dropped it to his side. His bright green eyes had darkened somehow, become haunted with the weight of whatever trauma he’d been forced to relive in the darkness. “But—”
“I know.”
He met my gaze and, for just a moment, I saw a vulnerability behind his eyes so raw and uncharacteristic, it sent a shiver up my spine.
For a heartbeat, Dante was no brutal warrior trained from the age he could walk to take part in these gods-given atrocities.
He was just a twenty-one-year-old man with the same insecurities and fears as any other young adult.
Then he blinked and recovered his composure.
He cleared his throat and shook his head as if doing so could rid him of the ordeal we’d just gone through.
“We should go.” He nodded toward the door that had opened behind us.
We walked toward it together, a silent shuffle back to our traversing tubes. Then we stepped inside and sped away back to where we’d started.
The sunlight filtering in was dim, coming from so far down the tunnel, but it was like a supernova after the chamber of utter darkness we’d just departed.
I was certain now, after having completed the Trial, that we’d been placed in a simple room.
All that fear, all that doubt and horror, from a single empty room.
I shuddered and eagerly followed Dante away from the tubes, heading back out to Sanctuary—to my family.
They waited in the same place I’d left them. My mother had her back to the tunnel, speaking with my brother. Warren stood in front of her, arms crossed and nodding at something she was saying. Maurice was nearby, seated on a stone bench, an ever-present frown etched firmly into his face.
“I’ll wait by the eastern stairs,” Dante muttered and strode away before I could respond.
I wanted more time with them than I would have with him waiting for me nearby, but I also knew I couldn’t return to the First Ring without him. So, as much as it pained me, I would have to make our celebrations short.
“Here she comes,” Warren called out with a smile as I approached. He dropped his arms to his side as my mother whirled around to face me. “So, are you done with all this?”
I came to a stop in front of them, unable to help the way the corner of my lip twitched up in a smile. I shook my head and lifted the hem of my sleeve to show the second bar branded onto my arm.
My mother gasped and threw her arms around me, shaking me so violently in her disbelief that I almost toppled over. Warren clapped me on the back after a moment of jaw-dropped blinking. Maurice gave a morose nod of approval from where he’d risen from his seat.
“That’s incredible, Adrian,” my mother cried. “I can’t believe it. The second Trial! You’ve passed the second Trial!”
“Let me guess. Dante did all the work,” Warren teased.
I threw a playful punch his way, which he dodged before holding his hands up in mock surrender.
“We have to celebrate,” my mother said. “I know you have to train for the next one. That frightful old man won’t let you stay away for long. But maybe we can convince him to give you an afternoon off. I can invite Roger and Jenny, and I’m sure Sarah would bake a pie or—”
“Help!”
Everyone on our side of the deck turned toward the violent cry.
The scent of salt water wafted toward us.
I scanned the crowd, almost dizzy from the overwhelming sting invading my nose.
I shouldn’t have been able to see clear across the Deck, all the way past the fourth tunnel, but I could.
My vision was somehow sharpened, stronger than ever before.
I whirled to find Dante.
Do you smell that? I asked.
Heightened senses, he said as if that were all the explanation that was needed. That must be the Blessing we were given for succeeding in the second Trial.
Blessing?
“Please, by the Geist, someone help me!”
Our mental communication was interrupted by another shrill scream. Chaos broke out around us. People were moving toward the desperate shout and, once I realized where it was coming from, I was moving too; running.
Dahlia.
Dante—
I’m coming.
I sprinted across the deck, Warren hot on my heels.
Several others had beaten us to the fourth tunnel, but they had come to an abrupt stop on the outer edge.
Whispers and murmurs rang out along the deck, horrified gasps as mothers turned their children away.
My heart hammered against my chest as I pushed my way through the gathered crowd.
Then I froze too.
Soaking wet, her brown hair plastered to her pale cheeks as she limped out of the tunnel, Dahlia dragged a hulking mass behind her. She was sobbing, tears flowing freely down her face as she fell to her knees and bent over the thing she’d been dragging.
No, not a thing, I realized, with a terrible shiver. It was Cyrus.
He was unconscious, his skin a pallid blue, bloated and unmoving.
Dahlia let out a horrific, guttural cry and fell onto him, her arms draping over his chest as she stared into his sightless eyes. “I’m here, Cyrus. I’m here. We’re out now, okay? We’re out. Wake up, Cyrus. Please wake up. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so—”
A priest rushed forward. And another. They knelt beside Cyrus’s unmoving form. One of them lowered his ear to Cyrus’s heart. Then he started pressing forcefully down on his chest, again and again.
“What are you— No. Stop. Stop it!” Dahlia shrieked. “You’re hurting him. What are you doing to him?”
She swung at the priest, knocking him over.
He gaped up at her but then Dante was there.
He curled over Dahlia's limp partner and pressed his lips to Cyrus’s, blowing air into him.
The other priest pushed Dahlia back and tried to explain that Dante was helping.
But she must not have understood him through her grief.
She swiped at the priest and sent him sprawling across the pavement. Then she ran for Dante.
Warren looked my way and nodded. We sprang forward as Dahlia pulled back her fist, taking aim again.
Warren grabbed her from behind. He pinned her arms up above her head and whispered into her ear to calm her down.
But she was too strong. Somehow, two years younger and at least fifty pounds lighter, she hauled herself free.
I darted in front of her, pushing her back so Warren could grapple her again. I held firm as I tried to reassure her.
Dahlia gasped. “Why is he here? What are they doing?”
I turned. Dante was still kneeling over Cyrus, blowing air into his lungs. Beyond him, more priests had arrived, all in flowing green robes. They began to push the gathering crowd back, giving Dante and Cyrus space. Two of them rushed forward to help as Warren, Dahlia, and I looked on, dumbfounded.
“They won’t hurt him, Dahlia,” Warren promised. “They just want to help. Let them help.”
She finally stopped fighting and deflated. Dahlia dropped to her knees, chest heaving, sobbing as she watched, helpless.
***
It was a coma.
Warren and I were with Dahlia when one of the green-robed priests came out of a windowless bedroom nestled in the midst of the House of Valin’s manor to tell her of Cyrus’s condition.
Something about a lack of air flowing to his brain.
He now lived in a state of oblivion. His body was there, but his mind wasn’t.
It could be anywhere. And wherever it was, it was no longer sending signals to the rest of him.
He couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t even open his eyes.
I thought I’d seen the worst of it when Dahlia found out about Darius. This…it wasn’t worse, but it was still a crushing blow. She fell back onto the seat outside of Cyrus’s room, placed her head in her hands, and rocked back and forth.
Warren and I exchanged a glance, then my brother stood.
“I’m going to get you something to eat,” he said gently. She started to argue, but he cut her off. “It’s been hours, Dahlia.”
She fell silent and returned to rocking.
“Do you want to see him?” I asked carefully.
“His parents are in there now.”
I looked at the door behind me, the one that hadn’t opened for hours except for the priest who’d just informed us of Cyrus’s status. Had his parents been in there with him all this time?
“How do you…” I trailed off.
Dahlia looked up, into my eyes, and the endless chasm of sadness in her gaze choked my soul.
I closed my eyes and took a breath.
“He told you,” I said simply.
She didn’t respond but merely put her head back down and continued rocking. Did the movement bring her comfort, like a baby cradled in their mother’s arms? Or was she just barely restraining the urge to clasp her hands over her ears and scream?
“He’s scared,” she whispered, and I heard it in her voice: he wasn’t the only one.
“He doesn’t blame me. But he should. It was my fault.
It—” She couldn’t say more, and we both knew it.
Dahlia frowned and stared at the floor. “Adrian, I—” her voice broke as fresh tears welled in the corners of her red eyes. “I loved him.”