Page 162 of Trials of Dusk and Dreams
Chaos churns in the arena below, a vortex of fear and violence that twists my gut. The ancient stone walls of the faerie fort seem to pulse with anticipation, every crevice leaning in to witness the spectacle. But I can’t look away. Not when Willow’s down there, fighting for her life.
Her silver hair flashes like moonlight against the shadows, a beacon in the madness. She darts between Nightmares, rallying the other exhibitors. Pride swells in my chest, quickly smothered by dread. She’s exposed. Vulnerable. More Terrors drop from their perches, prowling the arena floor. My lip curls. The scent of their rot and decay wafts up, mixing with the crisp pine and ice from the surrounding forest. They’d be dead instantly if our powers were unlocked, us functioning as a hive. Our impotence drives me to the brink.
“She’s holding her own,” Legion mutters, knuckles white on the ornate railing of our box.
I grunt, not trusting my voice. The air thrums with magic, making my skin prickle. Willow’s sword pulses with strengthening glyphs, but they can’t protect her from everything. A Graftspawn lunges, mismatched limbs blurring. She dodges. Not fast enough. Claws rake her side.
My roar of fury drowns in the din below. I surge forward, every instinct screaming to protect her, to rend anything that dares harm her. Legion’s iron grip holds me back. We’re being watched. Every eye in Avorlorna is here, from the luminous aristocrats in their private boxes to the wild faeries with dormant wings and entwined horns. They come out of the woodwork for a taste of their old world. The druids too.
Peablossom is among them, but her identity is a fragile secret we hold close to our hearts. She has worked quietly in the trappings of her role to assist where she can. But her aid comes with a risk.
“We can’t interfere,” Legion growls, dark eyes flashing. “Not yet.”
Willow stumbles and falls. She presses a hand to her bleeding side. The Graftspawn circles, readying another strike. My heart hammers against my ribs, echoing the distant drums still playing in the fort. She’s mortal. Fragile.
“Come on, Calamity,” I whisper. “Be that force you were born to be.”
For a moment, she looks directly at our box. Determination blazes in her golden eyes, visible even through the mist creeping into the arena. I silently urge her to remember the sword’s upgrades, hating that I can’t reach into her mind and show her. She rises, sword arcing with a blue slipstream. The Graftspawn falls, dissolving into a bloody mist.
My relief evaporates as the arena floor cracks. Fissures spider out, the sound of splitting stone echoing off the fort’s walls. Leaves rustle. Water bubbles up, forming a swirling maelstrom. The scent of damp earth and algae fills the air. Exhibitors scramble for footing as the ground gives way to a churning pool.
“A watergate?” Legion balks. “How?”
Puck’s gravelly cackle draws our gaze toward his loge. The imbecile is more stone than flesh now, his laughter grating like rocks in a tumbler. Larkspur waits nearby, ready to capture the Baleful Hunt when it breaks free. But what good is that to us now?
“The wisps,” Styx mutters. “From the temple. That’s what he used them for.”
“No,” Legion breathes as Willow loses her balance. She tumbles into the water, swallowed by the portal to the Subterranean. The crowd’s gasp is a physical force suffocating against us.
“Willow!” My bellow tears out, raw and agonized. I strain against Legion’s grip, ready to leap after her, rules be damned. The branches of the Hawthorn trees above seem to reach down as if they, too, want to pluck her from danger.
“Stop!” His voice cuts through my panic. “We can’t?—”
“I don’t care!” I snarl, rounding on him. “She could be?—”
The word sticks in my throat. Dead. Our mate, our queen, lost before we ever truly had her. The thought chills me more than the icy wind that’s picking up.
Styx paces behind us, muttering. His agitation fuels mine. The beauty of the botanical balconies and the majesty of the Hawthorn tree columns mock us with their serenity.
“This isn’t right,” I growl, running a hand over my braided head. “We should be down there.”
“We can’t always protect her,” Legion says, his tone calmer now. “She must face this on her own.”
I know he’s right. She needs to prove to these people—to herself—that she can be their queen. She might be our whole world, but we’re not hers. Her light is destined for everyone. We know it. But it doesn’t hurt any less. The memory of our training session flashes through my mind. I told her the watergate would be no deeper than a puddle. I was wrong.
She’ll be terrified.
“I’ve failed her,” I grind out. “I should have known something like this could happen.”
Watergates can open anywhere with the right amount of magic. All that is needed is a single drop to amplify. We never expected Puck to have the power.
“Willow has seen our darkest moments,” Legion reminds, eyes scouring the water. “And still, she’s willing to take a chance on us. On you.”
His words hang in the air, and I realize they’re directed not just at me but at Styx, who’s still pacing behind us.
“Where’s Emrys?” Styx interrupts, his voice tight and anxious. “He should be back by now.”
Legion’s eyes narrow. “Go find out what’s taking him so long.”
