Page 37 of Court of Twisted Angels

No. I square my shoulders, facing my reflection in the window glass. The determined woman staring back has survived worse. Has climbed The Ridge in winter. Has survived a xaphan attack and living in the slums.

My anger crystallizes into something harder, colder. Something I can use.

The tower won't kill me. And neither will Azrael's betrayal.

21

KYRIE

Istep into the arena, my boots crunching on crystalline sand that sparkles with residual magic from previous trials. The morning air tastes metallic, charged with power that makes my conduit band hum against my palm. Above me, the tower pierces the sky - all gleaming obsidian and jagged edges that catch the light of the sun.

This is it. My last trial.

There's only two dozen or so left of us from the original nearly three hundred. And the xaphan anticipate none of us making it out of here alive.

Xaphan nobles fill the floating observation platforms, their pristine wings creating a canvas of white against the purple-tinged clouds. Their excited chatter drifts down, mixing with the low thrum of protective wards that encase the arena.

"Final contestant, approach the marker." A voice booms across the grounds, magically enhanced to reach every corner.

I keep my chin lifted high as I walk forward. Other contestants line the arena's edge—the ones who survived the previous trials. Some nurse injuries, others whisper prayers.None meet my eyes as we all wait in our places spread out in the arena around the tower.

The base of the tower stretches wider than twenty village houses. Ancient runes pulse along its surface, creating patterns that shift and change like living things. This close, I can feel the weight of its magic pressing down, testing, probing for weakness.

A gust of wind whips my braid, carrying the scent of ozone and something else—something deadly. My conduit band grows warm as it detects the poison in the air. Without the gemstone, I'll have to rely on short bursts of magical shielding, timing them perfectly between the gravity surges.

The marker glows at my feet—a circle of white light etched into black stone. Around its edge, words appear.Rise or Fall, the Tower decides.

I take my position, chin high, shoulders back. Let them watch. Let them think they know how this ends. The sun casts my shadow long across the arena floor, stretching toward the tower that will either grant me wings or claim my life.

A sound erupts through the arena and we all take off. I press my foot against the tower's surface, testing its grip. The stone feels alive beneath my boots, thrumming with ancient power. One wrong step and I'll become one of the broken bodies that are already starting to litter the ground below.

Magic pulses through the obsidian in waves. Each surge drags at my limbs like chains, trying to pull me down. I activate my conduit band, channeling a thin shield of energy around my body. Warmth spreads across my palm, fighting against the crushing force.

Ten steps up. My thighs burn. Twenty steps. Sweat trickles down my spine, soaking through my shirt. The higher I climb, the heavier my own body becomes. It's like carrying a sack of grain that doubles in weight with every movement.

A flash of gold catches my eye—a Praexa watching from his floating platform, his triple wings spread wide in casual display. His lips curl into a smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

I grit my teeth and push on. The tower's magic seeps into my bones, making them ache. Each breath requires more effort than the last. My lungs strain against the increasing pressure, fighting for air that grows thinner by the second.

"Keep moving," I whisper to myself, the words coming out in short gasps. "For Mother."

The conduit band flares hot against my skin, warning me of another gravity surge. I brace myself, fingers digging into tiny cracks in the stone. The force hits like a physical blow, threatening to tear me from the tower's face. My shoulders scream as I hold on, waiting for the wave to pass.

Blood pounds in my ears. The ground below - now forty feet down - seems to ripple and twist. The tower's magic plays tricks with perception, making distance stretch and warp. I dare not look up. Better to focus on each individual step, each small victory against the crushing weight that wants to drag me to my death.

My muscles tremble with exhaustion, but I force myself higher. The pendant bounces against my chest with each movement, a constant reminder of why I'm here. Of who needs me to succeed.

A flash of crimson light erupts from the runes beside me. I twist away as flames burst from the tower's surface, so close the heat singes my eyebrows. My conduit band pulses in warning - more traps triggering around me.

"Not today," I mutter, pressing myself flat against the obsidian as crystalline spears of ice materialize above my head. They crash where I stood moments before, shattering into deadly shards that glitter like diamonds in the sunlight.

The tower's surface shifts beneath my fingers, ancient stone restructuring itself into new patterns. I leap right as a section dissolves into liquid fire, my hands finding purchase on a jutting piece of rock. The muscles in my arms scream from the enhanced gravity.

Magic crackles through the air - raw power that makes my teeth ache and sets my hair on end. A bolt of pure energy slices through the space where my head was a heartbeat ago. The smell of scorched stone fills my nose.

My conduit band grows hot against my palm as I channel its power into quick bursts of shields, deflecting smaller projectiles that spray from the tower's face. Each use drains more of its stored energy. I'll have nothing left for the summit if I'm not careful.

Ice crystals form in spiraling patterns around me, their razor edges catching the light. I recognize the pattern from Azrael's teachings - a cascading trap designed to box in its target. The first crystal shoots forward like an arrow. I drop three feet, catching myself on a narrow ledge as more ice spears crisscross above me.

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