Page 20 of Court of Twisted Angels

For a moment, all I want to do is go to him. The thought hits me so quickly that I'm shocked and the anxiety follows right after. I've been feeling more and more conflicted about Azrael because my body seems to be at war on whether or not I can let my guard down around him.

His wings spread slightly, the pure white feathers catching another flash of lightning. Such a stark contrast to his dark clothing and harder expression. Power radiates from him even at this distance, reminding me that for all his help, he's still one of them. Still xaphan. Still dangerous.

And I shove down the rest of the confusing feelings surging through me as the first trial comes to an end. At least I made it through this one.

12

AZRAEL

The arena's stone walls cast long shadows in the dim light of the magical orbs floating overhead. My wings snap against my back as I pace the secluded alcove, each step echoing off the ancient stonework. The sound of the crowds exiting filters through the archways, celebrating another day of trials while remaining blissfully ignorant of the Praexa's true intentions.

"Fucking bastards." My fist connects with the wall, sending a ripple of pain through my knuckles. The conversation I overheard in the on my way out of the arena replays through my mind.

"Some of the humans show too much promise," one Praexa had said. "We can't have them thinking success is possible. Increase the gravity fields in the next trial. Double the poison concentration."

"But sir, that would mean certain death-"

"Exactly."

A servant scurries past the alcove, their wings spread slightly behind their back in deference. They catch sight of me and quickly avert their gaze, hurrying faster. My reputation precedes me, as always.

The magical wards etched into the arena's foundation pulse with a steady rhythm, their blue light casting eerie patterns across the floor. Each symbol represents another layer of control, another way to manipulate the trials and ensure no human ever succeeds.

My wings twitch again, the feathers rustling with my growing agitation. The little bird has no idea what awaits her in the next trial. She's already survived longer than most, showcasing just how smart she is. It's precisely that skill that's made her one of the targets.

I trace one of the ward symbols with my finger, feeling the magic spark against my skin. The Praexa's tampering will turn an already deadly trial into an impossible challenge. The enhanced gravity alone would crush most contestants. Combined with the toxic atmosphere...

My boots scrape against the stone as I consider my options. Kyrie needs to survive - not because I give a damn about her life, but because she's proven herself capable of navigating the trials and I need to use her. The stone from the first trial still sits unclaimed, pulsing with ancient magic amid the storm-wracked arena.

I slam my palm against the wall. Teaching her to collect the stones would solve two problems at once. She'd stay alive, and I'd get closer to breaking my family's curse. The magic within those artifacts calls to my blood, a constant reminder of what's at stake.

A memory flashes - her determined face as she dodged lightning bolts in the first trial, that innate grace as she wove between debris. Raw talent, untrained but potent. With proper guidance, she could learn to sense the stones' energy, to harness their power to give her more of an edge. There are no rules in the trials - not really.

The wards pulse faster now, their rhythm matching my racing thoughts. Revealing what I'm after is a risk. But my family's curse grows stronger each day, eating away at our essence. I've already lost two siblings to its corruption.

My wings unfurl involuntarily, spanning the width of the alcove as frustration courses through me. The little bird's death would mean starting over, finding another candidate capable of surviving long enough to retrieve the stones. Time I don't have.

The choice crystallizes. I'll train her in secret, show her how to detect the artifacts' unique magical signature. And somehow, I'll convince her to tell no one. She's not after the stones anyway - and I can promise her whatever else she does want.

The sharp click of boots against stone makes me turn. Theron emerges from the shadows, his pure white wings catching the blue glow of the wards. That perpetual smirk twists his features as he leans against the archway.

"Brooding in dark corners again, Azrael? How predictably dramatic."

My wings bristle, feathers spreading in an instinctive display of aggression. "Shouldn't you be preening for your adoring fans?"

"I hear you are training one of the humans." He pushes off the wall, magic crackling between his fingers. "The great Lord Azrael, concerning himself with a mere mortal. Unless..." His eyes narrow. "You're after something else entirely."

The temperature drops as my power rises to meet his challenge. Frost creeps across the stone beneath my feet. "Watch yourself, Theron."

"Still bitter about your family's fall from grace?" His wings flare wide, blocking the archway. "Maybe I'll seek the human out myself. See what's so special about he-"

My magic explodes outward, slamming him against the wall. Ice crystals form around his throat as I pin him there. "Finish that sentence. I dare you."

A small crowd of servants and guards gathers at the edges of our confrontation, their whispers echoing off the stone. Theron's magic pushes back against mine, golden light cutting through the frost.

"You're slipping, Azrael." He breaks free of my hold, straightening his formal robes. "The curse must be taking its toll. Soon you'll be nothing but a cautionary tale - the noble house that dared reach beyond their station."

My vision bleeds red. The magical wards pulse erratically, responding to our clashing energies. A guard steps forward to intervene but freezes when both Theron and I turn our glares upon him.

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