Page 164 of Godbound
I don’t waste it. Zyrel’s weight drags but I dig in, muscles trembling, breath ragged. I pull harder and with a final cry, I drop to my knees and hurl the handle forward, forcing it past the edge of the stone and out over the sand.
The moment the handle crosses it, the wires on the other side snap to life—thin, silver serpents shooting upward to seize the polished wood. They yank hard, their combined force jerking the whip taut and dragging Zyrel back into its embrace.
He chokes, his blood-slick fingers scraping down my arm as he’s wrenched past me, pulled over the line and out of reach.
I don’t look back. I don’t gloat.
I rush forward, straight to the crimson effigy of Calista, and grasp her horns with both trembling, bloodied hands.
The statue’s unblinking eyes meet mine, then the body liquefies, melting over my arms, crawling into my skin. The power rushes through me, filling the hollows that have ached since the challenge began.
Warmth floods every wound. Flesh knits, pain fades, but I barely notice.
I turn at once, finding Kaelzar through the chaos, and fling my hands toward him. The Blood magic leaps from me in a scarlet surge,racing toward both him and the dragon. They’re too close for me to separate them, both lying still and bleeding.
Then I see it. The dragon’s tail, severed halfway down, the wound already knitting together under my magic’s glow. Kaelzar had cut it clean through.
My stomach twists, and I run. Kaelzar is on his feet, the mangled skin of his body stitching itself together as I slam into him.
His arms close around me, crushing tight enough to steal my breath. But I don’t care. I press my face to his chest, tears streaking my cheeks, inhaling the scent of storm, sweat, and leather.
“You gave me your last memory of her,” I whisper, looking up.
He nods.
“Wasn’t it your most precious possession?”
“It was,” he murmurs in a low voice. “Until I watched you slip away. In that second, I chose you over every yesterday. I realized I would burn every memory for one more heartbeat with you.”
“But—” My voice cracks.
He shakes his head, flashing me a small fierce smile. “I’ve spent decades with my mother’s voice in my head. I know every word by heart. But there could be no greater purpose for that shadow than giving you a fighting chance, Trouble. Some kind of barrier kept my stronger shadows from getting close and losing you was never an option.”
A quiet laugh breaks from me, muffled against his chest. I cling tighter.
“The new era has dawned with our Archpriestess,” the Sibyl’s voices thunder in unison, rattling the air, “and with our Sovereign Goddess, Calista!”
The arena fractures. Half the crowd erupts into applause, the other half recoils in stunned silence. Only weeks ago, Calista’s name was a curse, spoken only in hatred when it tangled with the Crimson Tether.
Now the kingdom is commanded to bow, to surrender their prayers to her.
The thought cuts through me, stripping away every flicker of triumph. Calista may once have been gentle, healing, and full of love. But betrayal hollowed her out, twisted her mind.
At the start of this Trial, I dared to hope for her redemption. Now, knowing what I know, I can’t afford such illusions. Her heart has curdled into something dark. And I will have to find a way to control it, to control her.
“Tonight, at the Threadbinding Ceremony,” the Sibyls continue, “our new Archpriestess will be consecrated, and an age of prosperity will begin. She will be empowered to strengthen our armies by imbuing their Borrowglass with the magic of Blood and Decay, so that they may stand unbroken against any threat to our realm.”
A harsh, inhuman sound tears through the air from where Zyrel stands by his throne... by the silver figure of his god, still solid atop it. No wires hold him back now, and an angry red bruise coils around his neck where my whip caught him. The sight draws a vicious smile to my lips.
He drags a hand across its gleaming surface, but it doesn’t dissolve into him as my magic did.
Instead, the metal hardens, taking on the dull sheen of stone.
“I only accepted that bitch’s magic out of necessity, to get to you!” he screams, fingers clawing at the statue as it petrifies beneath his touch. “You can’t leave me!”
The last word resounds as cracks spiderweb through the stone. The figure shatters, collapsing in his hands, his god’s magic breaking apart, severed from him forever.
I barely hear the rest. He betrayed his magic, and now he’s lost it, just as he lost the Trial of the Bound. Champions who survive are meant to keep both halves of their power until their dying breaths, ascending to serve as High Priests and Priestesses of their respective Churches. I’ve never heard of one losing half. But somehow, I know this man will find a way to twist even this misfortune into an advantage.
