I turn my head to see Kortyz still lying sprawled on the blood-slick floor. His eyelids are shut, but his lips twist in a silent plea. A crimson tide spills from the wound where my brutal strike found its mark. The shard of wood remains embedded in his neck, like a grim dam that barely stems the flow.
He is dying…
Each of my ragged breaths rasps with this knowledge. My fingers tighten into a fist, and a wave of nausea washes over me, not from the pain, not from the fear, but from… guilt.
It was self-defense. He only has himself to blame for this.
I repeat this in my head as a hopeless plea for justification. He wouldn’t have hesitated to see me bleed out on this same cold dirt.
You should leave. Now.
But my legs refuse to obey. So I stand and witness his demise, like a coward counting the stolen breaths of another.
What madness is this? Pity for a would-be murderer? Flee!
There’s nothing I can do to save him. But the thought of abandoning him, to be drained of his own blood, holds me fast. I curse under my breath as I reluctantly return to Kortyz and kneel by his side. The metallic scent of blood makes me nauseous. I press my trembling fingers against his wound, desperately trying to stop the bleeding, but it only makes it worse. Blood gushes out, staining my hands crimson. So I sit still, like a tangled mess of confusion and despair.
He’s dying; there is nothing you can do.
But the harsh reality is undeniable: thereissomething I can do… I can use my sorcery to save his life.
You are not allowed to use sorcery during the trials!
But the truth is, I’m not entirely sure. Any use of sorcery during the trial with the intention to influence the outcome for myself or others is forbidden. But healing Kortyz won’t help me win and could even jeopardize my position. And with his coin in my pocket and him unconscious, I’m not helping him advance to the next trial if I heal him.
However, can I truly be sure? What if he regains consciousness after my healing and finds another contender to kill and claim their coin? I would be influencing the outcome.
The risk of disqualification and a possible return to Firelands is too great for me to make a reckless gamble. I’ve come too far to lose everything now. Kortyz’s fate is sealed. It’s a grim consequence of his own actions. My path, however, lies open ahead.
But I remain seated, feeling rooted, as my opportunity for triumph hangs by a thread. Inside me, there’s a raging storm of resentment. He’s the symbol of everything I hate. He’s a cruel bigot who tried to end my life without a care. A despicable person who hates people like me. But… guilt sticks to me like a leech despite my better judgment.
They were right, back in Firelands. My Sage, the girls in my class, andeven my father—they all saw the truth in me. That I was weak. The one who falters when eye to eye to a moment like this. A moment that requires resolve and a strong will.
Kortyz’s final whimper, sounding like a chilling death rattle, jolts me back to reality. It’s his last act.
A final curtain call before oblivion claims him.
As soon as that realization takes shape in my head, my hands as if possessed by a will of their own, defy the protests echoing in my head. I fumble with my battered left hand, hovering it over his wound. With a yank, I tear the wooden shard free, and a choked binding spell escapes my lips in the same breath to mend the wound.
I whisper another spell to pulse the blood through his veins and slowly drive his organs to regain their function. Or I hope, slowly enough, that he won’t wake up before sunrise. That he loses the trial but not his life.
Kortyz’s breathing is labored, but he’s no longer slipping away.
Disobeying the rules in the trials brings swift oblivion and a loss of consciousness within moments. I remain on my knees and close my eyes, waiting for the darkness to take me. But moments stretch into an eternity, and oblivion refuses to claim me.
A flicker of hope, timid at first, begins to take root in my heart. I cautiously peek open my eyes to find the grimy cellar unchanged. Does this mean I have remained in the trials? Does this mean I didn’t break the rules of the game?
I rise unsteadily, filled with disbelief and a racing heartbeat. But there is no time for questions, for wondering what happened, or for celebration. There is only time for action. I turn to leave, and my heart plunges into my stomach.
Another figure is blocking the doorway now.
Chapter Seventeen
My eyes lock with Zanyar’s, and the silence stretches like an endless void.
I’ve never seen him look at me with such piercing intensity. His green eyes, usually glacial and remote, sweep over me now, taking in every bruise, every wound, and every hint of blood on my face and body.
I am trapped in his gaze, as always, captivated by his sheer presence. Even the lingering anxiety from the trial can’t quell the ridiculous, insistent sink in my stomach whenever he is near. My mind goes utterly blank, basic functions like breathing momentarily forgotten. We stand still, locked in a silent, tense stalemate.
