Page 27 of Shadows of the Crown

Not the worst, I suppose, though I’ve never claimed to lack dramatics.

My pyro strand would prove effective—but I am not convinced there isn’t someone watching me. Did the king send a spy toensure my death, or is he convinced I will certainly not live through this encounter?

I have no choice but to risk the exposure. The use of this strand could be explained easy enough if I manage to radiate heat from my lower half without sparking flame.

I tug on the strand and silently enter the griffin territory.

Chapter Fourteen

Ariella

How long have I been crouching here? If the state of my limbs is any indication, a fucking month. There’s a griffin nest thirty feet ahead, and the beast herself sleeps curled in a way that makes her appear smaller. But by the Angel, the single foot I can see looks to be the size of my head.

She’s beautiful. Her white, feathery exterior would completely blend with the snow if she were not in her nest. The mixture of sticks and foliage are a pleasing contrast to her color, which made finding her suspiciously easy. I can just make out the sharp point of her beak, most of it hidden within the tufts of her mane. I see no evidence of the artifact, though I pray to the fucking Angel the person who brought it here threw it at the first griffin they found and that it was her.

My tongue attempts to wet my lips, but my mouth is too dry. It’s a futile effort. I glance at the snow and focus on the small river my feet have created. The flowing water taunts me, whispering enticingly and hoping I’ll break my concentration to swallow it.

I fear that would be too loud—Griffins have impeccable senses. My nose scrunches as an uneasy feeling settles in my gut. I amuneducated in the minute details of the creatures, leaving me no choice but to assume she cannot detect me at this distance.

I’m stalling.

Fuck the king and his son; I need to succeed in this trial if I’m to ensure Isaiah’s victory. The reminder dissipates a small amount of the tightness in my throat. It’s easier to do everything when it’s for him, as I’ve no regard for my own survival. The only objectives that flit around my thoughts at all times are to murder the prince and ensure Isaiah lives through this competition.

I inhale a deep breath and relish the burn in my lungs before silently releasing it.

Rising until my knees are just slightly bent, I tug on my pyro strand once more and begin melting the ground beneath me until it is soft enough to dampen my movement. Weaving myself into the shadows would be the best method of obtaining the artifact, though the itch in the back of my mind keeps returning, signaling that I am indeed being watched. This effort will be for nothing if I’m caught using essence I claim to not possess.

My feet inch forward, slow enough to remain soundless, though fast enough that I’ll be able to grab the artifact and make it to the castle before dawn.

If the artifact is even here.

If nothing were to go wrong…like her using those frighteningly large talons toslice my face apart.

I barely blink as I stalk the distance between us. She remains still, aside from the shallow breathing that disrupts her top feathers with each inhale. My legs pause just a few feet in front of her. If it were not for the heavy wind, I’ve no doubt she could hear the rapid beating of my heart. I open my lips, nearly groaning when I finally get enough air.

I need to calm my body down or it will give me away.

My fingers dig into my thigh hard enough to bruise when she shifts. Is it her sleepy movements or the faint glow under her belly that is making my hands tremble?

I’m going to vomit.

Biting my cheek, I dip further into my stance and inch the remaining space with every skill I have. Walking back to the castle would take less time than this. I become paralyzed when something falls through my vision, and it takes me several agonizing moments to notice the amount of sweat running down my face.

Too soon am I standing directly beside her. My only reprieve is that her face is hidden beneath a leg while her breathing remains steady. I meticulously melt the snow that prevents me from kneeling, careful to avoid heating her body. Would she wake from that?

I lower to the ground and lean on my hands. There is a slight gap from the curve of her abdomen that will allow me to reach into the nest. The artifact isn’t large—the one fucking thing thathas been kind to me today—though it’s in the shape of an egg. A griffin-sized egg.

I’m concerned with my ability to pull the gilded object out with only one hand, but there is no other option at this point.

If I am honest with my scrambling thoughts, getting the egg out will be the easiest task in this trial. I cannot gauge the weight of it, but the artifacts in the first trial were gold, so it’s not difficult to imagine the egg is not just merely painted that repulsive color. It will be heavy and loud. If I allow even the lightest clink to its side, I’m dead.

I never thought there would be a day that I’d miss Jaxon and the fanatical workings of his mind—he would have an answer right now.

Clamping my lips together, I reach under the griffin and feel for the egg. A feather brushes against my forehead, and I strain my arm, stretching it past its natural allowance to avoid touching any other feathers. One of my nails taps on the metal, the sound barely audible to me, but I freeze all the same.

One. Two. Three.

I count to thirty before I realize I’m no longer breathing, and my vision darkens at the edges. She has not moved, nor has the rhythm of her breathing changed.

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