Chapter 41

The sky shifts into a rose mauve and cotton fluffs stream in, tinged with a delicate pink. The brilliant sphere rising from the horizon on a bed of flames. I watch the world being reborn from the northern watchtower, right before the stone ledge. I can see the farmlands that we passed in the countryside on our way to Sorcia. They mar the border like the edges of a scorched parchment. And it seems it has rolled through the land like a devastating wave.

I draw a breath—my chest complains, strained with tense pain. A surge of power. Heavy footsteps marching towards me. Primus Kelan sidles my flank. He's uniformed in his full, gleaming burgundy armour.

"How did you know where to find me?" I ask.

"I sensed, felt, and followed. No matter how close or how far I will always find you. For I always return for what is mine," he says like he's making a promise.

But why this promise now?

I look back at him. The horizon at his rear. His dark eyes are as bright as the rising sun. I miss his smile, that luminous, life-altering smile. Something rare like a falling comet, a shooting star. If missed, it would be lost with no guarantee as to when it might appear again.

Despite his ever-stern features, there are crinkles, cracks in his resolve.

There is something he is not telling me.

"Kelan, what is it?"

He inhales deeply. Regret casts a blatant pall. "I might need to depart again."

I release a groan, a hybrid of pain and annoyance. The strain in my chest tightens.

"You are going to report what you saw?" I deduce, ripping my gaze off him.

"I met with Sorcian military leaders after we returned to the palace. I had guards practically drag them from their beds, but they found it worth the disturbance."

A wince pinches the edges of my face.

"They assured me that they will deal with the matter, but I must focus on the matter at large. The terror factions' numbers are growing exponentially. They also enlightened me on a few updates on how they have rallied hundreds, nearly thousands to their cause."

"Their cause for sovereignty," I expand.

"Their cause for strife," he corrects firmly. "My adherence and every soldier of the Crown lives to serve the one who sits on the High King's throne. It is our duty to safeguard him and his reign. And this rebellion puts not just his rule at threat but the stability of the realm."

Each breath is a sudden effort.

"If this fantasy of a sovereign realm prevails, and people rally behind such idealism. What do you think will happen? Do you think they will be an institution that will speak for all that will allow independence? No, others will grasp for power as it is in the nature of many. And things will digress, becoming worse than it already is."

I know, oh how I know.

My father warned me of this for cycles. He saw the simmering tensions; he saw the internal conflict, and he knew of the divisions. He has predicted this all from what had happened. Father always said that one learns backwards but must live onwards. To learn from history but ensure it does not repeat itself.

"What does this mean for now?"

He exhales a long breath. "I need to convene with our own military officials. We need to send scouts to gauge their numbers, spies to garner actual intelligence about any powerful alliances they have made thus far. I still await appraisals from my former appeal."

I tap the ledge with my hand a few times before I end off with one last loud slap.

"I understand," I say evenly. Trying to. "But why must you be the one—" I cut myself off.

Kelan visibly stiffens. Someone behind me draws his gaze. But I'm attentive to the Avangard soldier marching towards us from beyond his broad shoulder. His hand resting on the pommel of his sword. He has a noticeable, old scar that brackets his one brow.

I glance behind me and I see a palace guard advancing with a tall spear rigid in his hand.

"Primus Kelan," he says with a note of deference, bowing to him. Then he pivots to face me and nods deeply. "Hera. I was sent to retrieve you and have your person prepared for the Blood Games."

A few coughs flee from me. "I thought it only commences at the noontide. Is it not too early to be in attendance now?"

The palace guard has a dark blue patterned tattoo marked on the crown of his bald head. Perplexed creases distort them slightly. "You must have misunderstood, you and the other candidates have been given a Sororder," he says carefully.

Oh no. It cannot be!

"You will not be attending the Blood Games," he says even slower, like I lack the comprehension to follow. "You will be participating as a fighter."

My insides turn into stones, anchoring me to the ground.

My face snaps back to look at Kelan. The pall on his face magnifies.

He knew.

The ominous pain tightens like a fist clenched around my heart. I place my hand on my neck, clearing my throat a few times. "If...you will lead the way, soldier," I say strenuously.

He snaps a curt nod at me and bows to Kelan before he revolves.

"Adalia," Kelan murmurs, his tone perforated with worry. He reaches for me, but my hand dodges his—denying myself his touch pained me more than the ominous pangs in my chest.

"I will see you when you return," I mutter.

I turn from him, and I follow after the guard.

Participating in the Blood Games. Because it seems taking part in the Vasilias Imperii is not enough. A rolling guffaw sounds behind me before it gets chopped halfway. I sneak a glimpse over my shoulder. The golden royal crest embroidered into his billowing, blood-red cape. Kelan marches on, shoving his soldier from him harmlessly, sending him stumbling, several steps.

I look forward. And the enormity that has just befallen me begins to sink in.

The Blood Games...