Page 11 of To Sway a Demon Heart

“Maybe you should consider it,” Cerridwen added with a sly smile. “He sounds handsome.”

“She can’t do that,” Elara admonished, sounding scandalized. “She’s in love with Tyr.”

“And he’s being a fool,” Cerridwen pointed out, giving Elara an impatient look through the glass. “Jealousy might knock the idiocy out of him.”

“I’m not doing anything with anyone,” I said resolutely, feeling a headache grow between my brows. I loved my friends and valued their opinions, but sometimes their advice was more confusing than my own instincts. “I just need to know what to do about Draven.”

“Maybe telling Tyr would be enough to spur him into action,” Cerridwen suggested, looking thoughtfully at me through the mirrors. “As it is, you don’t really need to do anything.”

“I can’t let him think I’m interested,” I protested, looking to Elara for support. “I have a mate, even if he wants nothing to do with me because of his own…” I trailed off, unsure how to finish the thought. Tyr had been hurt, had lost someone dear to him. I wasn’t sure how to convey that he was too hurt to let his heart trust another again.

Elara pursed her lips, looking to Cerridwen, who raised a brow in an enigmatic but silent conference. “Maybe Cerridwen has a point,” she said, making me drop my jaw in shock while Cerridwen cheered in victory. “Jealousy can be a powerful motivator. It worked for Carnon with me.”

“That would have been my next step with Herne,” Cerridwen agreed, grinning wickedly. “If simple seduction hadn’t worked.”

“You’re both terrible,” I said, frowning at them. “Why did I bother asking you two again?”

“Because you love us,” Cerridwen beamed.

Elara nodded in agreement. “And because you know we’re right.”

I rolled my eyes, waving before closing the spell for the mirror before they could give me any more terrible advice. The first trial of the tournament would be taking place shortly, and I had to get to the edge of the ground to help facilitate, even though Tyr would be the primary party responsible for this trial.

Nobility from both the Court of Blood and Shadows had been invited to attend the tournament to watch its progress, and several stands had been erected outside the gnarled woods on the edge of Tyr’s grounds for spectators.

Carnon and Elara would not be there, both by tradition and choice. Matters of succession were considered internal court affairs, and from the records I’d read, the Demon King was usually only present at the final trial to officially recognize the winner and new Lord of Shadow. Elara and Carnon had been happy to miss it, occupied as they were with rebuilding Oneiros and the business of merging our kingdom with the Witchlands.

“Ah, Lady Brigid,” came a cold, elderly voice as I made my way to the front of the stands to oversee the contest with Tyr. I had pulled a thick wool cloak around myself to fight back the autumn chill, and was forced to lower my hood to see who was speaking to me. “Here to watch my son win?”

“Lord Tenebris,” I said politely, nodding my head. “There are three trials, as you know. Lord Draven will have to beat them all.”

“Oh, he will,” Tenebris said, giving me a smug smile. “Victory is in his blood.”

I made no reply, trying to keep my polite facade in place as I left the lord to go and find Tyr. Lord Tenebris made me uneasy, somehow more now that he was out of Shadow and lurking around the trials in Blood. He had too much to gain from them, and I didn’t like it.

Tyr was standing before the woods, a golden bowl and knife set out on a small altar before him, and the contestants milling about as they awaited instructions.

“Are you ready?” I asked, resting a gentle hand on his upper arm.

He didn’t look down at me, his focus solely on studying the woods ahead. “As I’ll ever be,” he replied, glancing down at the golden knife and bowl. “You don’t need to watch this.”

“I’m not going to make you do it alone,” I said, looking out at the wood before us. The trees were mostly bare, their limbs and trunks twisted and gnarled. It was a bit like the Bloodwood, which I had only seen during our brief stay in Mithloria to shore up the border, although without the red light. “What if you need someone to pull you back?”

Tyr tilted his head, finally looking down at me with a skeptical tilt to his brow. “You don’t think I can stop myself?” he asked, eyes flicking to where my hand still rested on his arm.

I removed it and pursed my lips. “I don’t think you should have to,” I corrected, crossing my arms. “We were tasked with doing this together. I won’t abandon you.”

“It won’t be pleasant,” Tyr warned, his green eyes flashing with something wary as he studied me. “Are you sure?”

I knew what he didn’t want me to see. We had chosen the tasks based on the powers we held and the precedents in Shadow’s records, but this trial would be particularly unpleasant. Tyr would be using blood magic against the competitors, forcing them to move and act against their wills. It was a crime in every court, allowed now only by royal dispensation and because the competitors agreed willingly.

“I know you’re not a monster,” I said quietly, squeezing his hand once. I held his eyes for a moment, and something in them stuttered as if light were flaring to life and immediately being snuffed out.

I broke the gaze first, turning to face the crowd. Draven shot me a smile from the front of the group, where he was testing the sharpness of his blade against an errant branch.

“It is time,” Tyr announced, glancing up at the sky which was now almost wholly dark. “The sun has set, and the Trial of Blood commences. Contestants will have one hour to enter the woods, find and claim a flag with the crest of Shadow, and return.” The contestants nodded as if none of this were unexpected. Tyr cleared his throat and continued, “But you will also have to fight the manipulation of your blood as you compete. I will be attempting to lead you astray. Only those with the strongest will shall succeed.”

I swallowed. The contest sounded so much more barbaric when explained this way. What Tyr didn’t need to say was that competitors who failed to return would likely die, either at the hands of other contestants or the creatures of the wood.