Chapter 1
I claw a path through the dirt in the center of the arena. Blood and dust coat my fingers, my torn armor, and even my white hair. Cyrian’s dark magic courses through me, raking at my insides like daggers. The weight of agony forces me closer to the ground until I’m dragging myself through the dust.
I won’t stop until I reach Nathaniel’s side.
He lies a few paces away, his body laid out where Hagan left him. Even in death, Nathaniel’s powerful figure fills my senses, his arms corded with muscles, his broad shoulders and strong thighs demanding my focus. Every part of him—his body and his absent soul—calls to me as if he were still alive.
His eyes are closed, his chest is still, and the pool of blood beneath him continues to grow, a steady increase that grips my heart more painfully than Cyrian’s magic. Strands of Nathaniel’s walnut brown hair are plastered to his jaw, sweat and blood making them cling to his full lips.
A single delicate line of blood cuts through the sand between him and me, the path I now travel.
My only goal is to drag myself close enough to draw his hair away from his face, to straighten the strands.
It’s a hopeless, helpless goal. But it’s all I have.
The onlookers up in the stands shout and scream at me. Now that the fight is over, Cyrian’s hunters are forcing the humans to leave the arena at knifepoint. Many of them cry Nathaniel’s name. Others scream at Hagan, calling him a monster, but many more—so many more—scream for my blood.
“Hurt her!”
“Make her pay!”
Their vengeful shouts strike through me. I am the fae who brought about Nathaniel’s death. For what I suspect might be the first time, the humans scream their support for Cyrian. Nathaniel was their hope. The true heir to the human throne. The rightful Fell King.
It’s my fault he’s dead.
Two days ago, I invoked the Law of Champions. I bound Nathaniel to fight me to the death at the end of the third day. I invoked the Law by mistake—a challenge spoken out of anger and fear. The outcome of the fight will determine the fate of both lands. If I win, my queen will rule over both Bright and Fell. If Cyrian’s champion wins, Cyrian will rule.
Yesterday, Cyrian invoked the Three Chances to replace Nathaniel as his champion. For Cyrian to succeed, Nathaniel had to die by dawn today.
The sky is growing brighter by the second. Within minutes, the sun’s first rays will shine through the haze that covers Fell country. Once that happens, Hagan will replace Nathaniel as Cyrian’s champion, and I will be bound to fight Hagan before dawn tomorrow.
Four paces away, Hagan hasn’t left the spot where he retreated after he killed Nathaniel. He is the only other human with the strength to truly challenge Nathaniel. Hagan’s broad chest is inked with runes that are visible through the rips in his shirt. Two thick scars twist and intersect across his stomach, perceptible beneath the tattered edges of his clothing.
His expression is blank, his shoulders hunched, his lips drawn and pale. The braid of his black hair is matted with blood where it sits close to his scalp. The usually sharp intelligence in his tawny brown eyes is dull, his gaze hollow.
He pushed Nathaniel out of the way of an attacking wolf during the fight, shoving Nathaniel into one of the deadly spikes that jut from the walls of the arena. As much as I want to hate Hagan, I don’t believe he was trying to kill Nathaniel in that moment.
Cyrian paces beside me as I crawl through the dust, his jubilant laughter crushing me as badly as his magic. I draw on a trickle of my starlight power to help ease the pain he’s causing me. Now that the sun is rising, my power is finite. I have to be careful how much I use because once it’s gone, I’ll have nothing left until sunset.
Towering over me, Cyrian’s dark light flickers around his torso and arms. It plays across his black hair, highlighting the colorful runes that run all of the way from his right shoulder to the silver wristband he wears.
His dark brown eyes glitter with triumph.
“Where are you going, Aura?” Cyrian laughs, kicking sand into my face.
I manage to close my eyes before the dirt hits me, coughing and tipping my face away, my eyes streaming as I continue to crawl along my painful path.
“Nathaniel’s dead,” Cyrian snarls. “There’s nothing you can do now.”
I’m not strong enough to stop Cyrian from hurting me. He warned me that I’m no match for his limitless dark magic. I didn’t believe him at first, but I do now.
Drawing on another trickle of my power to give me strength, I drag myself the final agonizing distance to Nathaniel’s side.
Cyrian doesn’t try to stop me as I lower myself to Nathaniel’s chest, curl my fingers around his hand, and press my forehead to his. I’m breathing heavily, nearly passing out. It took everything I had to make it back to him. I’m lucky that the Law of Champions stops Cyrian from killing me. If not, I’d be dead now.
Nathaniel’s palm and face are warm against mine, giving me the illusion that he’s still alive. The space between us glows just like it always did when we touched. I gasp air into my chest, trying to stay lucid, trying to contain my screams.
There was nothing I could do to save him. The Three Chances stopped me from using my power to influence the outcome of the fight between Hagan and Nathaniel. When the Vanem Dragon flew to Fell country to bind Nathaniel and Hagan to their fight, he warned both me and Cyrian that fae magic and dark magic couldn’t be used to interfere with the fight. Until dawn breaks, neither of us can touch Hagan or Nathaniel with our magic.
Despite that, I tried. After he was impaled, I pressed my hands over Nathaniel’s heart and flooded his chest with my power in an attempt to cauterize his wounds and stop the bleeding. Desperate to save his life, I dared the Three Chances to repel or even kill me. It didn’t do any good. My magic glowed, but Nathaniel’s breathing stopped.
Releasing his hand now, my arm shakes as I press my palm against his cheek. My hand comes away coated in gray dust. My power leaks between us despite my every effort to contain it. I’m shivering and in pain but determined to straighten his hair despite the blood and dust on his face.
Now that I’m touching him again, my control is breaking.
Everything inside me is breaking. My mind, my body, even the cavity inside my chest where Nathaniel’s death tore my heart apart.
Where is your heart?
I shake my head violently, trying to displace the question Cyrian whispered to me during the fight. He looked at me as if I’d suddenly been a mystery to him. The intrigue in his eyes filled me with fear. I didn’t have an answer for him because his question didn’t make sense. All I know is that I spent the last day as Nathaniel’s shield, protecting him from wolves, hunters—even Cyrian’s torture—but in the end, I couldn’t shield him from death.
Before I can finish my task, Cyrian bends over me, wraps his fingers into my hair, and yanks my head away from Nathaniel’s. My arms whip out, refusing to let go of Nathaniel’s shoulders even when the pain Cyrian’s dark magic causes me reaches the point where I can no longer function.
My thoughts are simple, reduced to a single, overwhelming instinct: Don’t let go.
Cyrian’s breath is hot against my ear as he kneels and curves over me, still gripping my hair.