Page 38 of Court of Twisted Angels

A deep rumble vibrates through the stone. The tower's next attack comes from below—a wave of crackling energy racing up its surface. There's nowhere to dodge. I press my conduit band against the obsidian and pull hard on its remaining power, creating a thin barrier between me and the surge.

The magic slams into my shield like a physical blow. My arms shake with the effort of holding on as the wave passes, leaving spots dancing in my vision. The band cools against my skin, its power dangerously low.

The air thins with each foot I climb, becoming sharp and brittle in my lungs. My chest heaves as I struggle to pull in enough oxygen. Black spots dance at the edges of my vision, transforming the ancient runes into blurred streaks of light.

I press my forehead against the cool obsidian, trying to steady myself. The tower's magic pulses through the stone, a steady rhythm that matches the thunder of my heartbeat. My conduit band flickers weakly, its stored power nearly depleted.

"I. Can. Do. This," I rasp, the word barely a whisper in the thin atmosphere.

Poisonous vapors curl around me like hungry serpents, their sickly green tendrils seeking any gap in my magical defenses. I channel the last dregs of power from my conduit into a barrier, watching as the deadly mist dissipates against it. The band grows cold against my palm—empty now, useless until it can recharge.

My fingers tremble as I reach for the next handhold. The runes pulse faster, their light casting strange shadows across my skin. Each breath burns like I'm swallowing glass. The thin air makes my head swim, turning simple movements into monumental tasks.

I remember Azrael's lessons about managing energy flow, about finding the spaces between magic rather than fighting against it. My hands move across the tower's surface, seeking the natural channels where power flows less intensely. There - a slight difference in the stone's texture, a path where the crushing weight feels marginally lighter.

Blood roars in my ears. The observation platforms have become tiny specks below, the xaphan nobles' wings mere flashes of white against the purple sky. I force my eyes to stay fixed on the stone before me, fighting the vertigo that threatens to tear me from the tower's face.

Another wave of dizziness hits, stronger this time. The world tilts sideways. I dig my fingers into a crack in the obsidian, pressing my body against the tower as I wait for my vision to clear. The air feels like soup in my lungs, thick and insufficient.

A shadow falls across my face. Before I can react, boots slam into my shoulders. The impact drives me against the tower's surface, knocking precious air from my lungs.

Through blurred vision, I make out Dax - the mercenary from the second trial. His face twists with desperation as his hands close around my throat.

"Only room for one at the top." His fingers dig into my windpipe.

I drive my knee up, catching him in the ribs. He grunts but doesn't let go. We grapple on the narrow ledge, the enhanced gravity making each movement feel like fighting through mud. His conduit band glows bright blue—still charged with power while mine sits cold and useless against my palm.

Magic crackles between us as he channels a burst of energy. Pain explodes across my chest. The force sends me sliding toward the edge. My fingers catch a groove in the stone, halting my descent as my legs dangle over empty air.

Dax looms above me, drawing more power from his conduit. "Nothing personal, sweetheart. But I've got people counting on me too."

I swing my body sideways as he releases another blast. The magic sears past my ear, leaving the taste of burnt copper on my tongue. Using the momentum, I hook my foot around his ankle. He stumbles, his concentration breaking.

We roll across the ledge, trading desperate blows. His elbow catches my jaw. I slam my forehead into his nose. Blood sprays between us, instantly crystallizing in the thin air. The tower's magic pulses stronger, responding to our violence.

His hands find my throat again. Spots dance in my vision as he squeezes. The gravity pulls at us both, threatening to drag us to our deaths. I grab his conduit band, yanking hard.

Raw magic explodes outward. The blast throws us apart. And it sends me in the wrong direction. I took a gamble, and I fucking lost.

The force tears me from my precarious hold, sending me spinning into empty air. My stomach lurches as gravity takes hold.

The world slows to a crawl. Purple clouds drift by like ink in water. Sunlight catches on my mother's pendant as it floats up from my chest, the silver chain stretched taut. Crystal shards from the tower's traps glitter around me like fallen stars.

Wind whips my braid into a copper banner above my head. The cold bites through my sweat-soaked clothes. My conduit band sits useless and cold against my palm - no power left to save me. Below, the arena floor spreads out in a massive mosaic of black stone and glittering sand.

My thoughts turn to Azrael. His ice-blue eyes, usually so cold, softening when he called me "little bird." The way his wings would curl forward unconsciously when he stepped close during our training sessions. His rare half-smile when I mastered a particularly difficult technique.

Images of Mother lying sick in our tiny home flash through my mind. Of promises I made and now can't keep. The ground rushes up to meet me, my reflection growing clearer in the polished black stone.

I close my eyes, not wanting to see the end. The wind howls in my ears, carrying the scent of magic and ozone. My heart pounds out its final beats as I plummet toward certain death.

22

AZRAEL

Ifucked up.

I know I did. When I saw the map, I didn't think. I just knew my father was on death's doorstep, and I couldn't wait any longer. I needed to see if one gemstone could at least slow down his decay, if the map would allow me to get the others now.

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