I threw my shield up and took off sprinting. Tiny explosions of sand burst into the air at my feet. I ducked behind barrier after barrier, but Rhon’s onslaught never relented. One at a time, each of them shattered into pieces.
I dove behind a pile of thick branches, knowing it would only win me a few seconds’ reprieve.
Answer me, I begged the voice. I need you.
No answer came.
A pool of hazy shadows crept beneath the logs and launched them into the air, leaving me fully exposed with no other barricade nearby. I darted to one side, then another, penned in by dark tendrils that whipped around me until I was completely surrounded.
Rhon’s thin lips twisted into a sinister grin. The fog of his magic coated my shield and beat against it with a horde of swinging fists. Though my barrier held strong, I felt every punch pummeling me deeper into the ground.
I was trapped. If I didn’t move, my only hope was that he would run out his magic before I did—and I would pay with my life if I was wrong.
His dark magic grew so thick that it blotted out the sky around me, and soon I was in a dome of pitch black. I sank to my knees, my mind racing for a solution.
I reached inside myself and fumbled for some scrap of power that would answer my call. I could feel it waiting, listening, watching, like it had still not yet seen enough to warrant its presence.
Every other time I had been in true distress, it had come to me like a guardian angel—or perhaps a vengeful demon.
It had risen, on its own, to call me to the fight, demanding that I surrender myself to its power. And now, here I was, ready to wave a white flag and give myself over to it completely—but this time, it would not come.
“You’re supposed to protect me,” I hissed. “Why won’t you answer me?”
The shadows dissipated from the top of my shield until I was once more visible to the crowd, though still ensnared within a ring of inky, walloping fists.
Rhon watched me with narrowed eyes and a creased brow. “Why aren’t you attacking?”
He strode toward me, his head angling to the side as he tried to work me out. With a swipe of his hand, his magic disappeared, and even his own shield vanished to nothing.
He spread his arms wide to expose his chest. “Go ahead. I’ll give you one free shot.”
I stood slowly and curled my hands into fists to hide their trembling, pleading for the voice to respond. It swirled inside me in a glittering vortex of light and dark, the pressure of it building until my chest felt ready to explode with a need for release.
But still, it would not act.
“You can’t, can you?” Rhon laughed incredulously. “The rumors are true—you can’t use your magic.”
The noise from the spectators grew from a hum to a roar as word began to spread.
“A Queen who cannot even use her magic.” He walked in a wide circle, yelling the phrase again and again to the crowd. Their gossip turned to jeers, then boos, a deafening rumble of rejection.
There was bad, and then there was worse. Either of those would have been preferable to this.
Even if I found some way to kill him—my secret was out. The entire realm knew my weakness. Coronated or not, no Descended would accept a Queen without magic.
“Fellow citizens of Lumnos,” Rhon bellowed, “the Houses have judged our new Queen and have spoken unanimously to find her unworthy. And now we know—” He turned and pointed a finger at me. “—Blessed Mother Lumnos has found her unworthy, too.”
Thousands of bitter faces jeered in my direction. My eyes turned upward, glaring at the heavens and the cruel, capricious gods within. “This?” I yelled. “This is why you put me here?”
When I looked back down, Rhon’s back was to me. I took the opportunity to bolt across the arena floor to where another scattering of obstacles still lay intact, but my steps grew sluggish as defeat dampened my spirit.
Rhon caught a glimpse of me just before I reached a row of wine barrels. I dove for cover as he flung an arc of onyx barbs in my direction.
“It’s only a matter of time now,” he taunted. “You can’t win. Die and let us all go home.”
The barrels rattled violently as his magic battered into them. There was another tall boulder nearby—perhaps if I could distract him long enough to sneak behind it, I could buy myself time to think.
I stood up straight and stared him dead in the eye, letting him see my not-entirely-genuine lack of fear. “I don’t need magic to kill you, Rhon. I’ve got something even better.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “And what’s that?”
I gave him my sweetest smile and flicked a finger toward the sky. “A gryvern.”
Terror blanched his face. His eyes shot upward as he spun in circles and searched in vain for Sorae’s arrival. “You can’t,” he sputtered, “the rules—magic only—this isn’t allowed!”
I held back a laugh and darted for the boulder.
Too easy.
I had almost made it to safety when the toe of my boot hit a patch of mud. My foot slipped out from under me, and the momentum of my running carried me stumbling forward. My temple slammed against the boulder with a sickening crack.
The world went hazy. Stars danced in my eyes, ringing sounded in my ears. I tried to sit, but I couldn’t tell which direction was up.
Luther yelled my name. His voice sounded distant and muffled, like he was calling out from under water. I blinked furiously, trying hard to refocus.
A wave of sudden nausea set alarm bells blaring in my mind as my healer training kicked in, cataloguing the signs of a concussion. In a mortal, the symptoms could last for days, even weeks—how long would recovery take for a Descended like me?
I struggled to focus my blurry vision on the person-shaped blob advancing toward me. Slowly, he sharpened and took form, but there was something different about him.
He looked… clearer. Unobstructed.
“Your shield!” Luther roared, terror edging his voice.
I realized a second too late that my shield had dropped. With a cruel slash of a smile, Rhon thrust his palm out and razor-sharp spikes plunged down at my chest.
“Diem!” Luther shouted.
Everything slowed, and the arena fell away.
I’d been here before.
It was nighttime, and I was in the midst of war. I wore the same suit of dark, glittering armor, carrying the same blade of black and gold, still surrounded on all sides by rings of corpses extending as far as the eye could see.
Luther stood across from me, the blood-soaked Sword of Corbois in his hand. His dark hair lashed at his face in the breeze, his blue-grey eyes watching me with reverence. Just like before, his palm lay against the left side of his chest, and again, I echoed the movement.
But this time, something in the vision was different. Across the battlefield, the form of a man glowed as bright as the moon. Everything about him was grey and colorless—his skin, his eyes, his hair.
The man stared at me and extended his hand. “Join me, Daughter of the Forgotten,” he purred in a voice like liquid darkness. “Together we will destroy this world and build it anew. We will end the Descended and their rule forever.”
He was almost too beautiful to look upon, and when I turned my gaze to him, I felt an overwhelming urge to kneel at his feet and surrender.