Chapter 78 The Trial that Decides pt2

Chapter 78 The Trial that Decides pt2
I hold him for longer than I should, less than I’d like. This is the final hurdle before we avenge Elsie’s death. This could be the moment where the last barrier between us falls away.

I pull back, not letting myself think that far ahead. We not only have to survive, but we have to win. “Your alicorn is stunning,” I murmur as I gaze past him, staring in awe at the immense pure white stallion.

“Soulace is more than I could have ever hoped for,” Zaries says, pride clear in his voice. He turns away and mounts the magnificent beast.

I watch both their eyes flash with power, connecting the way Warden and I did. The same thing happens when Sylvain mounts Luna. I turn to Oberon, expecting to see the same thing, but he’s mere inches away from me. My nose brushes his armor as I turn to him.

With his gauntleted hand, Oberon tilts my chin up and I stare into his stark blue eyes swimming with unshed tears. He leans forward and my breath hitches as his lips brush mine. A short, sweet kiss, quickly taken and quickly ended. I exhale in a rush when his lips leave mine, a tear slipping down his cheek.

“Oberon,” Zaries snarls.

Oberon’s eyes flick to him with a trace of hatred, but then they’re back on me. “No matter who you choose, Anara, I’ll always love you,” he declares. He releases me, turning and swinging a leg over his massive red roan.

I watch their eyes blaze with power as I swallow the emotions fighting to burst from within me. I turn wordlessly and mount Warden. We face the podium where Thorne will be shortly as we line up.

Zaries and Soulace brush close as Zaries leans in. He locks eyes with Oberon on my other side and takes my mouth passionately. His tongue demands mine, forcing entrance to my mouth. I can deny that as much as anything Zaries wants of me. The kiss is so thorough, so delicious, that for a moment I forget where we are and what we’re about to do.

“Well, fuck! Who’s going to kiss me?” Sylvain asks, barking with laughter.

The kiss breaks and Zaries presses his head to mine before kissing my nose lightly. He makes no declaration of love, but his eyes as he watches Oberon seem to dare him to do or say anything against the action.

“Focus, you three, it’s life or death today.” Sylvain rolls her eyes, but her cheeks are as flush with emotion as mine are.

I clear my throat and straighten my shoulders as I scan the courtyard. Soon, it will be full of slayers and captains, servants and soldiers.

Nervously I reach out and take Zaries and Oberon’s hands. Oberon in turn takes Sylvain’s hand, and we draw our shoulders back so we can face our future as it comes like a meteor in the sky to crush us beneath its power.

“Fred,” Oberon says suddenly, drawing everyone's attention.

“Fred?” I ask, brows drawing together quizzically.

“My alicorn. His name’s Fred. Well, Frederick, but he prefers Fred.”

“Fred?” Sylvain chuckles, her eyes dancing with mirth. “An alicorn named Fred?”

“What?” Oberon asks defensively. “Is there something wrong with the name Fred?”

“It suits you both,” Zaries says with a mischievous half-grin. The playful insult isn’t lost on any of us.

“I can’t help what he prefers!” Oberon snaps, his hand tightening in mine.

“It’s a fine name,” I tell him, trying not to smile and failing.

“Fodder!” Thorne’s voice booms, flooding the courtyard.

As if on cue, everyone begins filing out of surrounding buildings and forming a circle around us. Most have tears in their eyes, the surviving captains looking both excited and resigned for their fodder.

With a burst of darkness and a crackle of lightning, Thorne appears on the podium. Today, he’s in armor like we are, a horned helmet on his head covering his sightless eyes. Beneath, his mouth is set in a hard, chiseled line. He looks strong, and indomitable, his armor as silver as the king of the dragons himself.

A hush falls over the crowd as he unsheathes a massive sword, the metal gleaming ominously. The blade, nearly as tall as he is, seems to hum with power, its edges razor-sharp and etched with ancient runes that glow faintly. He lifts the sword high, pointing it toward the sky, his stoic face seeing nothing yet everything.

For a heartbeat, the world holds its breath.

Then, with a deafening roar, lightning crackles through the heavens, splitting the clouds in a dazzling display of raw energy. The bolt strikes the blade with a blinding flash, illuminating the entire arena in an otherworldly blue-white light. Sparks fly, cascading like fireworks, as the sword absorbs the lightning, its runes flaring brilliantly. The air thrums with the charged power, and a collective gasp ripples through the onlookers, the sheer force of the moment searing itself into their memories.

“Today,” Thorne announces, his voice carrying to every ear as if he’s standing right next to us. “Today, you will shed the title of fodder. You will shed it in death or glory. When the sun sets tonight, you will be a slayer or burning on a pyre, a sacrifice for Amaranthine.” His voice hushes, his sword lowering to point at each of us in turn.

“Are you ready to face your destiny?”

“Yes,” we all shout.

Yes…

Yes and…

Maybe no. Maybe we’re not ready at all.

But ready or not…

The Gauntlet awaits.

And so does glory. Or death.