I close my eyes, letting the warmth of the newly exposed sun settle on my face, taking in long breaths of air.
I pull out one of my swords just to feel the grip, to adjust my hand and squeeze it tightly. Then, I step forward.
***
IAM THE LAST TO LEAVEthe training area. The last to face the cheering crowds roaring down at us. The last to step into the light.
My pain swirls around my soul, wrapping around it like armor. I will use it. I will use my sadness, my hopelessness, to fuel me today. And tomorrow. Until these trials are over. Until this world is saved and I can slip back into those shadows and disappear.
So, I pull it in. Every bad thing that has happened to me. Every terrible thing I’ve done—for good reason or not, it doesn’t matter. Every person whose life I’ve irrevocably changed. I soak in their hatred. I wear my own like armor.
“We’re going to kill you, you know,” the redhead says sweetly, without turning to me, as I join the group standing before a massive arc of winding green and black vines adorned with thorns as large as my torso.
“Today, champions!” the puck hollers, her voice magically magnified and even so it’s hard to hear her over the roar of the crowds. “Your trials begin. First, you will compete in a basic form of competition. A race.”
Whispers erupt from the crowd and gathered champions alike. I don’t for a moment I think it will be anything simple. We’ll have a starting line and a finish line, with who the hell knows what in between. My only question is how many people will pass this challenge? Only the first three to cross will win? The top six? Ten?
I look around at my fellow entrants. Who is the fastest?
The dwarf will be the slowest, I decide quickly. Though, he isn’t even waiting for the puck to finish announcing our trial. He’s already—wisely— pulling his armor off and tossing it to the side, leaving only his bulky hair-covered chest. I give him a nod, but his eyes are full of fearful determination. He gives no sign that he sees me at all.
“The course,” the puck continues, “will take you through ten miles of swamp and forest. There will be brutal obstacles and some of our lands most formidable creatures there to stop you at every turn. You must be fast, but you must be strong. You must be vicious. All fifteen of you may pass today’s test. Or perhaps there will only be three or less who succeed. You will have a time limit of one hour. It doesn’t particularly matter who comes in first or in last—as long as you make it before the timer clicks to zero. Make it through these gates in one hour, and you will remain a champion. One hour and one second—you are no longer a champion in the Trial of Thorns.”
One hour. Ten miles. That’s an average of six minutes per mile—that would be a challenge for even the most athletic humans without any obstacles. Fae can run, on average, twice as fast as a humans. Even out of shape fae could manage an obstacle-less course of this size. Which means the obstacles will be formidable.
I staring through the gates to the forest beyond. Any manner of challenges could be waiting for us. I consider if I’d be better off waiting at the back, letting the boldest get hit with the brunt of fiercest attacks.
“We expect not every faery who begins this trial will survive to the end. So, while we frown upon direct inter-champion fighting, we wish to make the trials as realistic as possible. During each trial, you may do anything short of death to stop other champions from crossing the finish line. If a contestant is unfairly killed during the challenge, the queen will pass down judgement. The moment the challenge is over, our strict rules—immediate death to any who kills an active contestant—will be back in place.”
Rev
Istand at the frontof the pack, head high and shoulders back, and stare out past the giant thorn arches. But my lips curl into a smile as Miss. Krovan tells us the punishment for killing another contestant during a trial. All I have to do is make it look like an accident and boom, no consequences to my revenge. In fact, I’m fairly certain I’d be considered a hero just for that act alone. Any who end her life will be greatly rewarded. Unofficially, of course.
The shade witch stands in the back, eyes dull and bored as usual. Why is she even here? She doesn’t try, she doesn’t care. She isn’t strong. She’s hated.
The only purpose her presence serves is to anger my family and to fuel the stupid Shadow Court’s rebellion. She cannot win.
