Chapter 24 Dull petals drift down like ashes on the wind. Like an omen I should heed. Instead, I let the drizzle of decay nestle into my hair and caress my face. A few stubborn blossoms still cling to the twining branches above despite the wind's incessant tugging. Once, the flowers were vibrant, thrumming with life before the bitter chill set in. Before the death of everything I knew. Perhaps there is an odd parallel there, one I don't care to explore at the moment. I quicken my pace along the path when that familiar panic begins its swell in my chest. This, mercifully, has the throng of smothering Imperials falling behind. I don't need them to witness their king's weakness. My ears ring as I stagger into the Bowl's menacing shadow, muffling the excitement that echoes within. A shuddering cough rattles my chest and aching body. That unnatural thing writhes within me, coiling around the core of my Dual ability until the very essence of me is choking. I'm suddenly gasping for air, bracing a hand against one of the arena's tunneled entrances. It feels as though my soul is being cleaved in half. I look up to find Death staring back. Sympathetic, she reaches for me- "Your Majesty!" The Imperial's shout severs my connection to the Plague searing my veins. I shake my head, trying to free myself of the pained trance. "I'm fine." My weak reassurance is ground out between gritted teeth. I cough again, and this time, it tastes of blood. Straightening, I stride into the stone tunnel with the little composure I've mustered. Imperials nip at my heels, prickling my back with a dozen leery gazes. They think I'm weak. Just as I have been my entire life. The sinister thought slithers across my mind without warning. My very power feels as though it's on edge, every emotion heightened and violently tipping toward agitation. "... should recover before addressing the people, Your Majesty?" My gaze snaps to the masked figure. An Imperial is questioning my well-being like a pestering Healer. As if I were the gentle prince before, and not the great king now. He has no idea of the power that runs through my veins. My head pounds. Weak. Weak. Weak. Something snaps within me. "Insinuate I am anything but a god again, and you will pray fervently for my forgiveness." The Imperial's jaw slackens, his mouth working until a mumbled "Of course, Your Majesty" tumbles out. I blink back the blinding rage, feeling unsteady on my feet. What the hell just happened? The fleeting hysteria is a hazy memory I fight to grasp hold of. My mind reels until it's suddenly pondering what I'm meant to be panicking over. I sway there for a moment, head clear as I mentally shrug aside whatever it was that had my heart racing. "Why are we standing here?" The Imperials blink at my exasperation. "I have a final Trial to commence." And with that, I head into the belly of the Bowl. My body hums with power as all of Ilya welcomes their king. I sweep my gaze over the roaring crowd, feeling stronger than I ever have before. I raise a hand in greeting as I stride over to my glass box, each step amplified a thousandfold by the stomping of feet surrounding me. After slipping into the cozy enclosure, I ease gently into the cushioned seat within. My gaze flicks back to the rowdy arena as my fingers drum a steady beat against the plush arm of my chair. The Pit stretches below me; a sea of sand speckled by four bodies. Their white robes are stark against the stone wall, though only three bear the ability that earns them a Sight's garb. This is the beginning of the end. I shift uncomfortably in my seat. No turning back now. The pounding in my head returns when Paedyn steps into the arena. Incidentally, my heart ceases its necessary pounding when she turns to look at me. Calum has slipped into the box, his gaze heavy on the back of my neck as I stand abruptly, instinctually, at Paedyn's presence. Perhaps because I know this may be the last time I'm in it. Her eyes plead to find something in mine-faith, forgiveness, friendship, something. I open my mouth, futilely fumbling for a suitable farewell. Perhaps a "thank you" for her ignorant part in my legacy. Instead, guilt skewers me in the gut, hard enough to have me bracing a hand against the glass. I don't feel for her, not in the way I used to. Not in the way Kai still does. No, Paedyn Gray is now nothing more than a pawn in a game she doesn't know exists. But I'm not sure it's possible to loathe something so resiliently alive. I straighten before lowering slowly into my seat. Still, I have to try. Calum clears his throat behind me. This reminds me to concentrate on guarding my thoughts from the Mind Reader-a bit too intently. I hardly hear him when he finally asks, "How are you feeling, Kitt?" I keep my gaze fixed on the arena beyond. "Strong." "Of course you are." "Oh, don't pretend you're not surprised," I murmur back. "The Healers expect me to drop dead any moment, and the Scholars can't wait to gloat when I do." I glance over my shoulder at him. "But I'm better than ever. So don't hold your breath waiting for me to take my last." "Of course, Your Majesty." Calum tips his head toward an Imperial beyond the glass. "I only ask because he seems to think you may be losing your mind." "What?" I nearly choke on my incredulous laugh. Calum pulls his arms behind him. "Yes, apparently there was an incident outside of the Bowl?" I shake my head at the blatant lie this Imperial has spun to entertain himself. Our walk to the arena was uneventful at best. After emerging from the tunnel of trees, we... Mentally, I frown, like my mind is frustrated by the mere suspicion of a misplaced memory. I clear my throat. "We made it into the Bowl just fine." With that, I turn away to conclude our clipped conversation. I then watch a swarm of Imperials shove Paedyn toward the Pit before I step out onto the pathway encircling it. Numbly, I stand behind the railing with an Amplifier at my side, her hand pressed gently to my shoulder. "Welcome, Ilyans, to Paedyn Gray's final Trial." My words are hollow as they echo across the arena. "Here, we will test her brutality." I don't remember much of what else I declare, only the draining of color from Paedyn's face. Even that is a blur behind the mask of stoicism I've secured over my features. Kai isn't the only Azer forced to play a part. Kai. He is in the Pit now, striding slowly toward Paedyn. She can't bring herself to turn around and meet the fate I have predestined. But this is not my brother. No, I am doing this for my brother. Makoto Khitan has the chance to rid us of her, despite that admirable resilience. And he very much wanted this opportunity for revenge when I met him in that shadowed alley. So that is what I will use to keep Kai at my side. And yet, my gaze drops when the first scream rips from Paedyn's throat. My shrouded Wielder holds none of that coveted power back, just as he promised in the shadowed alley where we became unlikely allies. The Ordinary is forced to face the ultimate Elite. I'm doing this for Kai. For us. Sand flies up around them, blurring every movement. I squint through the cloud of haze to see Paedyn's bloody form hovering at the end of a blade. My breath catches, and I stand, nearly pressing my face against the glass. Shifting my eyes to the looming screen above, I trace the sad acceptance settling on Paedyn's face. Her whispered words are meant for the man she loves-but he is not who hears them. I am not a monster. I am not a monster. I am not a monster. I hold my breath, waiting for that sword to plunge through my betrothed's chest. Instead, I watch something happen; something shift. I witness the exact moment Kai-Mak-damns himself by caring for Paedyn Gray. He isn't the first man to make such a grave mistake. The Wielder severs his connection to the Tele's ability. And when Paedyn drops to her knees, he bows back. I shake my head, swallowing a hysterical laugh. It seems in every instance, in every body, Kai Azer chooses Paedyn Gray. So when that dagger slides into his chest, the same one that pierced my father's throat, I force myself to watch. This is what loving Paedyn Gray will earn you-ruin. And I vow to save my brother from the fate of her. Death is waiting for me in my study. "I brought his soul to the Mors," she says. I take a seat in my father's worn, leather chair. "He chose her. It wasn't even Kai, and he still chose her." "You look worse" is all she says in response. Her bluntness is admirable, if not slightly annoying. I lift my gaze to where she stands beside the fireplace. "I've never felt better." In a romance-themed observation show, several participants undergo a series of interactions and conflicts filled with love, misunderstandings, and power struggles. In the end, one couple rises to over...