Page 2 of Court of Twisted Angels

I pour water from the clay pitcher into a cup, helping her drink. "The market was busy today." I don't mention the trial announcement. Not yet.

My twin blades catch the light where they rest against the wall - gifts from an old weapons master who saw potential in the angry girl who came to him after the attack. The steel is worn but well-maintained, the leather wrappings on the hilts smooth from years of practice.

Mother's breath hitches, another coughing fit wracking her frame. I steady her until it passes, pretending not to notice the flecks of blood on her handkerchief. The rare blood-wasting disease eating away at her grows worse by the day. The local healers can only ease her pain - the true cure lies in New Solas'ssealed apothecaries, in delicate crystal vials that cost more than we'll see in a lifetime.

Unless...

My gaze drifts to the blades again. Thousands of hours spent training in hidden clearings, learning to move like shadow, to strike like lightning. All because I swore never to be helpless before a xaphan again.

Now those skills might be the only thing standing between my mother and death.

I dampen a cloth in the ceramic basin, wringing out the excess water before gently placing it across Mother's burning forehead. The water carries hints of healing herbs - meadowmint and moonflower - but their magic is weak, barely enough to ease her discomfort.

Real healing requires the crystalline elixirs of New Solas, their bottles glowing with concentrated magical essence. Here in the outer settlements, we make do with simple remedies and desperate prayers.

"The fever's rising again." Father's voice comes from the doorway, rough with exhaustion. He hasn't slept properly in days, spending his nights in the rickety chair beside Mother's bed. The worry has carved deep lines around his eyes, aging him beyond his years.

Mother's breath rattles in her chest, each inhale a struggle. Her skin burns beneath my touch despite the cool cloth. "I'm fine," she whispers, but the words catch on another cough. "Just need... rest."

I adjust the threadbare blanket around her shoulders, pretending not to notice how it hangs loose where it once fit snugly. The disease consumes her from within, stealing her strength day by day. Even the spark of magic that once danced in her fingertips when she worked her small healing charms has dimmed to almost nothing.

"Of course you are." I force brightness into my voice, though my chest aches. "You'll be up and tending your herb garden again before we know it."

Her smile is weak but genuine. "My brave girl. Always trying to protect everyone."

The words pierce like daggers. I haven't protected her from this. Haven't found a way to access the medicines locked away behind New Solas's golden walls. Haven't done anything except watch helplessly as she wastes away.

And even now, I haven't told her of the solution that has been offered. All because I'm a coward.

Father's hand squeezes my shoulder, but I feel the tremor in his grip. We both know the truth - without real treatment, Mother's time grows shorter with each passing day. The thought settles like ice in my stomach, crystallizing into resolve.

I wait until evening, when the sun's harsh glare softens to amber light filtering through our home's worn shutters. My siblings are asleep in the next room, their quiet breathing a steady rhythm against the cricket song outside. When it's just me and my parents in their room, I know it's time.

"I'm entering the trials." The words spill out before I can lose my nerve.

Father's weathered hands still on the blade he's sharpening. The rhythmic scrape of stone against steel falls silent. Mother's eyes flutter open, fever-bright in the lantern light.

"Absolutely not." Father's voice cracks like thunder. "We've seen what happens in those arenas. The xaphan's idea of entertainment-"

"They're offering a thousand novas," I cut in. "Plus wings. With that kind of status, I could walk into any apothecary in New Solas. Buy whatever medicines we need."

"At what cost?" His fingers clench around the whetstone. "Your life?"

"I've trained for this." I gesture to my blades, their runes gleaming dully in the lamplight. "Three years learning to fight. I can even channel a little. The old weapon master said I have a gift."

"Kyrie..." Mother's voice is barely a whisper, but it draws us both like moths to flame. "My love, no amount of medicine is worth risking you."

"You're dying." The truth tears from my throat, raw and jagged. "The healers say months, at most. And I refuse to just watch it happen when there's a chance-"

"A fool's chance," Father interjects. "Those trials are designed to kill. The xaphan change the rules on a whim, throw contestants against impossible odds for their own amusement."

"Then I'll beat them at their own game." I force myself to sound sure when the thought of being at the mercy of the xaphan has me shaking. "I'm not the same girl who got caught off guard in that marketplace. I'm stronger now. Smarter."

Father bows his head, shoulders slumping. The silence stretches, broken only by Mother's labored breathing and the soft crackle of my flames.

Finally, he looks up. Moonlight catches the tears in his eyes, but his voice is steady. "You're just like your mother. When you set your mind to something..." He swallows hard. "Promise me you'll be careful. Promise me you'll come back."

"I promise." I cross to kneel beside his chair. "I'll win. For all of us."

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