Page 29 of Court of Twisted Angels

She's not fighting it - she's letting it pass through her, redirecting its natural flow just as I taught her. The guardian's power dissipates, leaving her standing in its wake.

My breath catches as she opens her eyes and takes one step forward. Another. The guardian's form begins to destabilize, its elements separating and returning to their natural state.

Kyrie reaches out with her bloodied hand and touches its core. The crystalline being shatters into thousands of glittering shards that rain down around her.

The chamber falls silent. Even the other xaphan observers have stopped their sneering commentary. I release a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding, the tension draining from my wings so suddenly they droop slightly before I can catch myself.

She's done it. Despite the wounds, despite the overwhelming odds, my little bird has survived the third trial. Pride swells in my chest before I can suppress it.

Below, Kyrie sways on her feet, finally allowing exhaustion to show on her face. Blood continues to seep from her injuries, but her eyes find mine through the crystalline dome. A small, fierce smile crosses her lips before a door opens behind her and she limps out. It closes, locking the other contestants in to face the same fate, but I don't care about them.

I'm already turning, striding from the observation deck as I head beneath the arena. My footsteps echo against polished stone as I take the ancient spiraling staircase down, passing elaborate tapestries depicting past trials.

My wings flex unconsciously as I approach her door, carved with the traditional symbols of protection and warding that I taught her. The blood trail ends here. Without hesitation, I push it open.

Kyrie sits on the edge of her bed, attempting to wrap a bandage around her torn shoulder. Her tunic lies discarded on the floor, soaked through with blood and water. Raw woundscrisscross her skin, angry red against pale flesh. The conduit on her palm still pulses weakly, responding to the ambient magic in the room.

"Stubborn little bird," I growl, crossing the space between us in two strides. "Where's the healer?"

"Sent her away." Her voice comes rough, exhausted. "Don't need-"

"Shut up." I grab the bandage from her trembling fingers. My wings curve forward instinctively, creating a barrier between her and the door. "You're going to bleed out at this rate."

She tries to pull away but sways, catching herself on the bed's ornate headboard. The movement reveals the full extent of her injuries - deep gashes along her ribs, burns across her back, bruises blooming like dark flowers on her skin. Each mark makes my jaw clench tighter.

"I did it though." That fierce smile returns, despite the pain etched in her features. "I only have one trial left."

"Hold still." I press my palm against her worst wound, letting healing magic flow from my fingertips into torn flesh. She hisses but doesn't flinch away. "You nearly got yourself killed."

"But I didn't." Her green eyes meet mine, still burning with that indomitable spirit that makes my chest ache. "I survived. Just like you taught me."

And that sends an ache through me that I don't expect.

17

KYRIE

"Stay still." The command rumbles from deep in Azrael's chest as he kneels beside the mattress. The light from his palms intensifies, casting dancing shadows across the stone walls.

The healing magic wraps around me like warm silk, seeping into my burns and bruises. My breath catches at the sensation - so different from the harsh, clinical feel of the arena's healing wards. This magic carries warmth, life, a gentle strength that makes my own conduit band hum in response.

Azrael's wings shift, the white feathers rustling as he leans closer. The light from his hands illuminates the subtle patterns in his wings. My mind is starting to go fuzzy, and I reach forward, running my finger over a feather. Azrael sucks in a breath but doesn't pull away, and I marvel over the softness of it.

"The last chamber nearly killed you." His fingers trace the air above a particularly nasty burn on my arm, the golden light intensifying. "But how you defeated the final guardian…it was impressive."

The healing magic continues its work, knitting together torn muscle and soothing away the bone-deep ache from the crushingpressure of the air chamber. Even the raw feeling in my throat begins to fade.

I want to argue, to remind him why I can't quit, but the gentle pulse of his magic is making it hard to keep my eyes open. The last thing I see before exhaustion claims me is the fierce concentration on his face, haloed by that ethereal golden light.

My eyes flutter open, drawn by the intensity of his magic coursing through me. Azrael's face hovers inches from mine as he works, those piercing blue eyes focused on a burn along my collarbone. His fingers trace the air above my skin, leaving trails of golden light in their wake. Each pulse of magic feels more and more like he cares, more intimate. And it's making me react in ways I shouldn't.

"Your heartbeat's erratic." His voice drops lower, rougher. The healing light dims as his gaze locks with mine.

The air grows thick, heavy with unspoken words. My conduit band thrums against my palm, resonating with the raw power emanating from him. The tiny room seems to shrink, the space between us charged like the moments before lightning strikes.

"Azrael..." His name comes out barely above a whisper. The golden light from his hands flickers, casting dancing shadows across the sharp planes of his face.

His fingers pause above a half-healed burn on my shoulder. The magic pulses brighter for a moment, then fades entirely as his hand drops to cup my jaw. His touch burns hotter than any trial fire, sending sparks of awareness racing through my body.

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