Page 18 of Court of Twisted Angels

The moons cast shadows through towering windows, their light catching on the crystalline formations that grow from the ceiling. My wings ache from holding them rigid all day - a reminder of my weakening bloodline.

Voices drift from the council chamber ahead. Not the usual political discourse, but something more furtive. I press against a column, its cool surface grounding me as I listen.

"Theron has found a map," one of the trainers says. "But the trials don't match up. I wonder if the Praexa have planted it."

Another scoffs. "Why would they?"

"Why would they put them in the trials at all?" A third chimes in. "Because they are bored and want to watch the houses fight."

I pull back as they argue, thinking over what they said. Does Theron really have the wrong map? The thought fills me with hope, and I turn, rushing home now that I have this information.

Ancient wards shimmer as I pass through the estate's gates, recognizing my bloodline despite its tainted state. Golden fountains line the path to the main house, their waters tinged with magical essence that once glowed bright as starlight. Now they flow dim, another sign of our family's decay.

The moment I push open my study door, the scent of medicinal herbs hits me - sharp and bitter. Gavreel stands by the hearth, his light gray wings drooping. Shadows dance across his face from the magical flames that never need tending. His presence here, uninvited and at this hour, can only mean one thing.

"How bad?" The words scrape past my throat.

Gavreel flips a blade in his hand - a habit he's had since we were children. "The healers tried a new enchantment today.Your father's wings..." He swallows hard. "The primary feathers began falling out during the attempt."

Ice spreads through my veins. Wing decay is the final stage before death claims its victim. I've seen it before, in the portraits of ancestors who succumbed to our curse. Their once-magnificent wings reduced to skeletal remnants, magic leaching from every quill until nothing remained but dust.

"The council believes we have weeks, at most." Vale's voice cracks. "The void crystals in his chambers - they're supposed to slow the progression, but they're failing. Even the ancient healing runes aren't responding anymore."

"I'll find the stones." My voice carries the weight of centuries of noble blood, even as that same blood runs corrupted through my veins. "I…think I have found a way to have the trials searched for them."

Vale's wings rustle with uncertainty. "The Praexa will want to make a spectacle of you. They won't want you to be able to plan to extract them easily."

I wave away his concern, moving to the arched window that spans floor to ceiling. New Solas spreads before me like a tapestry woven from starlight and dreams.

"The stones will be mine," I say, but the words taste hollow. In the distance, the arena rises at the center, almost like it's beckoning back. And yet… I can only think of one reason I want to return. And she has auburn hair and green eyes.

My reflection stares back at me from the window - proud wings already showing hints of gray at the edges despite me trying to ignore it, ice-blue eyes haunted by generations of failure. The curse thrums in time with my heartbeat, a mocking reminder of everything at stake.

A flock of messenger birds sweeps past, their wings trailing streams of spelled light as they carry communications betweenthe noble houses. Their effortless flight makes my own wings ache with envy. How long before they too begin to decay?

How much longer do we have?

11

KYRIE

Lightning splinters across bruised clouds, casting an eerie glow over the floating arena for the first trial. My fingers trace the rough stone archway marking the entrance, ancient runes pulsing beneath my touch. The gathered crowd's whispers fade to silence as thunder rolls overhead.

Magic saturates the air, making my skin tingle and the fine hairs on my arms stand on end. The storm above isn't natural - I can taste the metallic tang of spelled weather on my tongue. Debris whips past the entrance - chunks of stone, splintered wood, even what looks like part of a tree, all caught in the magical maelstrom.

"Last chance to back out." A xaphan guard's wings gleam silver in another flash of lightning. His perfect features twist into a smirk that doesn't reach his cold eyes.

I straighten my worn leather vest, checking the straps of my twin blades one final time. "Not happening."

The arena stretches impossibly wide before me, floating platforms scattered throughout at different heights. Some spin slowly, others jerk back and forth in irregular patterns. Betweenthem, magical currents surge visible as ribbons of crackling energy.

My stomach lurches as I spot the first checkpoint - a glowing crystal pedestal balanced on a tiny platform, probably half a mile away. Getting there means navigating through what looks like a wall of swirling debris and storm magic.

"Begin on the horn." The guard steps back, unfurling his wings. The jealousy that stabs through me at the sight only strengthens my resolve.

I roll my shoulders and crouch into a ready stance, focusing on the nearest platform. The wind howls through the entrance, carrying the sharp scent of ozone. Another lightning bolt illuminates the arena, followed instantly by deafening thunder that vibrates in my chest.

This is what I've trained for. What I need to do for my family. For Mother. The thought of her growing weaker each day hardens my determination into steel.

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