Page 57 of From the Mouths of Sirens

Adresin was sharpening a curved sword across his lap, the hiss of metal against stone cutting through the somber campsite. Rook’s skin prickled under his watchful gaze. Something told him that Adresin knew of the uprising in Meysam, and that given the chance, the warrior wouldn’t hesitate to slide that blade into his heart. He knew that the Auran occupation in the Under Kingdom was not a welcome one, even if the Terradrin warriors would never admit it. Rook hurried past the last row of Terradrin tents, finally ridding himself of the burning gazes of his fellow tributes.

He headed for the Stone Circle, anxious to begin the final trial. Even at a distance, he could see Revelorians spilling into the arena, climbing up the endless steps and taking their places in the seats high above. Auran spectators swooped down into the amphitheater from the sky, darting to their seats within. Already, the voices of thousands of onlookers rose through the Stone Circle and echoed through the treetops.

Rook felt only apprehension as he pushed off the ground and flew toward the ancient arena. Only a few days ago, his heart would’ve swelled with pride knowing that he had made it farther than most. He would’ve anxiously anticipated that final moment when the champions were crowned and the winning nation was declared. But now, his heart was cold and hollow. He felt anything but excitement as he sped through the clouds toward the great stone structure that loomed in the shadows of the trees.

He hadn’t spoken with Veila or Eros since he had overheard them in their secret meeting with Raven. The thought of fighting beside them in the arena as if nothing had happened made him sick. But now was not the time to ponder loyalties. He forced himself to focus, pushing his wounded heart to the side.

Rook soaked in the sensation of the sun on his wings, allowing the wind to calm him as he neared the great arena. He gazed at the sweeping woodlands that unfurled in a blanket of lush green, shifting in waves as the wind swept through the treetops. His eyes trailed to the craggy stone roots of the mountain that emerged from the ground and gradually climbed into the sky, its slopes and ridges twisting up through the clouds like the fingers of the earth. Finally his eyes met the distant, beautiful city that sat washed in golden sunlight at the top of Mt.Thalia, the place of his birth and the home of his people. He wasn’t afraid of the final trial, nor was he afraid of another nation winning in the end. No, he was afraid of what would come after. He was afraid of the political unrest that had been brewing just below the surface of Revelore for years, threatening to bubble over in an explosion of chaos. He was more terrified to face the hidden truths of the past than any beast or challenge in that bloody arena. Heart pounding, Rook descended down toward the Stone Circle for the final time, flying toward the entrance in the outer ring of the ampitheatre.

Veila and Eros stood just outside the hallway that wrapped around the arena. The pair of them were dressed in their tribute finery, their deep purple cloaks billowing out behind them in the wind. Rook dropped to the earth in front of them, his boots finally hitting the ground with a muted thump. Behind them, Tournament Ambassador Cresta stood with her arms folded across her chest, her face grim. Rook forced himself to look into his companions’ eyes, as painful as it was. Eros gave him the faintest shadow of a forced smile, while Veila frowned with obvious disappointment. Rook realized that the three of them had never gotten the chance to discuss the events of the second trial, when he had stayed behind to help Saoirse out of the tunnels. As if sensing Rook’s thoughts, Veila’s frown deepened and her eyes glowed bright.

“Don’t you dare abandon us to help some pitiful fallen tribute again,” she warned, her voice sharpened to a lethal point. “We are supposed to make decisions as a team. We can’t afford to make impulsive choices on our own that put the rest of us in harm’s way,” she went on, her eyes glittering with distrust and rage. “You may be playing the part of themerciful, sweet prince now, but you are bound to your kingdom just as much as we are.” Her eyes narrowed. "Whatever game you are playing with the Mer princess, it has no place in the arena.”

“Understood,” Rook replied with a short nod. He had no energy to challenge her. The storm between them would break soon, but it wouldn’t be now.

“Tributes,” Ambassador Cresta interjected, cutting through the tension. “Let us prepare for the final trial.”

The three of them followed her in silence, the dim halls surprisingly quiet and empty. Farther down the corridor, the rest of the tributes would be making their way down the staircases for the final time. The arena rumbled above as thousands of Revelorians moved up the stairs and wandered to their seats. Their enthusiastic cries should’ve sent his heart racing with pride, but Rook only felt cold resolve as Cresta led them down the staircase that tunneled into the earth.

The ambassador lifted a torch from the wall, holding the flame high as they descended into the darkness. Rook trailed behind Eros and Veila, lost in thought as they ventured deeper into the ground. Gradually, the roar of the crowds vanished, replaced by mind-numbing silence that seemed to seal them in a tomb. A lifetime had passed since he had been led down into the ancient chambers before the first trial, back when hope still fluttered in his chest and arrogance beat in his heart. That first day, the rough stone steps had whispered of those who came before him, had spoken of the glorious legacy he must fight to uphold and sustain. But now, the dingy staircase held nothing but cobwebs and empty promises of archaic tradition.

They reached the end of the staircase, and Cresta’s torchlight seeped into the empty chambers that opened up under the arena. Much to Rook’s surprise, Raven stood in the dim shadows at the end of the hall, her chin lifted high as they approached. His mouth went dry at the sight of his sister, fresh betrayal churning in his blood. She seemed so out of place here, with her immaculate finery pooling at her feet and her jewels glittering in the torchlight. Surrounded by the ancient cells of monsters and crumbling stone walls, Raven looked like something out of the mythologies of old, an ethereal goddess trapped in the underworld. It was clear she remembered this place, if the haunted look in her eyes was any indication. Rook tried to imagine her as a naive fifteen year old, waiting to be lifted into the arena with her fellow tributes, not knowing if she would live or die.

Cresta folded into a graceful bow, Eros and Velia following suit as they reached their Queen at the end of the hall. But Rook couldn’t bring himself to bow to her, his back stiff with tension and distrust. Raven narrowed her eyes at him but said nothing.

“I am here to wish you success,” his sister said, her voice echoing through the chamber. “You’ve made it this far, and you will finish it to the end.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Veila replied with a grateful nod.

The knife in Rook’s stomach twisted further as they exchanged a knowing glance. Raven pulled out a crystal-encrusted bottle from her sleeve, handing it to Eros. “It is customary for Auran tributes to drink the wine of the gods before the final trial,” Raven told them, her eyes glittering in the darkness. “Vinum is pressed from the golden grapes of Coarinth, said to have been planted there by the Titans themselves at the dawn of time. I myself drank it before my final trial ten years ago.”

It was traditional for vinum to be served at Auran funerals, in order to protect the dead as they passed onto the next life. Rook could remember the buttery, burning taste of it in his throat on the day they buried their parents. It seemed fitting that they drink it now, here at the edge of death.

Eros uncorked the crystal vial, the golden liquid within shimmering in the torchlight. He put the glass to his lips, taking a sip. He handed it to Veila, and she took a careful sip of the vinum in return. Finally, Veila turned to Rook and offered the crystal vial to him. Rook hesitated for a moment, before taking it from her and holding it to his lipsHe braced himself against the sweet burn, taking a sip and forcing the wine of the gods down his throat. At the taste, memories of his parents’ funeral procession invaded his mind as if it had been only yesterday. He handed the vial back to Raven, grimacing as the taste lingered in his mouth.

“The Elders have blessed Aurandel with victory, just as they have for the past century. May glory be given,” she said quietly, taking a step back into the shadows.

Cresta gestured for them to step into the cell that would raise them through the tunnel and deposit them into the arena. Following Eros and Veila, Rook stepped into the familiar cell last, feeling Raven’s piercing gaze upon him. Cresta swung the iron door closed, locking it with the deft click of the key. Rook looked up at the stone ceiling, preparing for their final ascent into the arena. Below, the floor began to rumble and shift as the platform loosened from the stone and began to rise.

“Fulfill your oaths,” Raven offered as they began to push upward. The ceiling opened with a growl, sunlight streaming down into the chamber. “Just as your predecessors, do not leave a single one alive.” Rook gave Eros and Veila a swift look, gooseflesh rising on his neck.

“What does she mean?” he demanded, his hands curling into fists. Something was not right. He turned back to Raven, crouching to the ground as they continued to rise. “What do you mean?” he screamed. She vanished below the platform as they entered the tunnel.

“Tell me what the Hel is going on,” Rook snarled at them. “This has something to do with your secret meeting last night, doesn’t it?”

“We must kill the other tributes,” Eros replied calmly, refusing to look at him. “We must ensure that Aurandel is victorious and that no others are left to challenge our reign.”

Rook gripped the pommel of his sword, his wings flaring like the hackles of a wolf. But before he could react, Veila pressed a blade against his throat with lightning speed.

“You will not get in our way, Rook,” she hissed. “This is how it has been done for a hundred years. After the War of the Age, it became clear that no other nation must possess the Crown. We must maintain the right to rule Revelore. It is necessary.”

“This is madness,” Rook spat. “In what world is this fair or just?” He tried to shove her away, but her blade only pressed closer to his skin. Something like regret flashed in her green eyes, but it vanished just as quickly as it appeared.

“This is why Raven never told you about it,” Eros told him, his expression dark. “You would’ve never gone through with it. You’re too soft. You always have been.”

“Just let us do our job,” Veila urged. “You don’t have to lift a blade to the other tributes. We will handle everything.”

“How long have you known about this?” Rook rasped, his shoulders drooping in defeat.

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