Page 122 of The Blood Rites

Movement draws my eye to the far left of the middle ring. Alaris, wrapped in wind, is careening across the curve as if chased by demons. He is heading for the edge, running in Atheron’s direction.

Atheron, below, has noticed him. He grins up, eyes locked on the grey streak, then looks across at Kael. In that moment, I know: whatever happens next, Atheron will make sure it is the worst outcome possible. I only hope the rain weakens his fire.

As we near the middle ring, I find Kael’s eyes. His are already locked on me. He is soaked through, the black of his uniform clinging to every hard line of him. He reaches down as we arrive at the edge of the large step, and dizzy relief breaks through me as he pulls Marissa over the lip. He pulls me up next, holding me for a moment longer than we can spare.

“Atheron is out for blood,” I say.

“I know,” Kael says. “Your Airborn friend is going to get himself killed.”

“I can’t worry about him right now,” I say. “Marissa is my priority.”

“And you are mine.”

My cheeks warm, but the flutter in my stomach doesn’t last. Panic crushes it flat. This is not the time.

On the outer ring, Callen has joined Morwen. He crouches beside her, keeping vigil as she kneels in prayer.

The first real chaos comes with the motion. The rings, still until now, begin to rise and fall in slow, nauseating waves. The central ring climbs even higher, while the one beneath us dips, sinking below the rising outer ring. Marissa clutches a nearby pillar with a terrified cry, her knees sliding out from beneath her as we find ourselves in a sort of ravine between the other two rings.

A new sound erupts—cracking and grinding—as the rings begin to rotate in opposite directions. Rain pools around our feet as if we are trapped in a giant trough, water cascading from the elevated rings above. But it drains as quickly as it gathers. I hear a scream from above and catch sight of Alaris, launching himself off the edge of the outer ring, his arms flailing wildly.

He lands a few paces from us, wind slowing his descent, but the slippery surface sends him skidding straight into Marissa. She yelps, both of them tumbling into a heap, and I scramble after them. Alaris clings to Marissa’s uniform, face wild, his hands shaking.

“Well,” he says, his voice trembling with poorly concealed panic, “this changes everything. The Fireborn are coming.”

Shadows flare around Kael’s fingers, licking up his arms.

Atheron is no longer alone. He stands on the edge of the outer ring, flanked by Maleiros and Serraith, all three of them looking down at us with murder in their eyes. The fire on their skin sizzles with every drop of rain, but they only look amused.

They drop from the edge, jets of flame bursting from each of their hands to slow their descent.

I try to draw up my Mana, desperate to summon the shield that has saved me so many times before, but the rain is so cold and dense that the power inside me feels smothered.

A barrage of fireballs hurtles our way, but Kael, Nyxen and Vaelis move as one, hands snapping together. A plume of shadow erupts from the ground, swallowing the flames before dissolving into the rain in tendrils of dark mist.

Atheron looks annoyed and thrilled at once, as if he’s resisting the urge to lick his lips. He strikes at Alaris—the closest available target—with a searing whip of fire. Alaris is quick, though, moving with the shift in the air. He deflects the sizzling flame with a blast of air, but the force knocks him off balance.

Atheron launches forward, a jet of fire propelling him towards Alaris in a heartbeat. He grabs Alaris by the neck, hauling him up as if he weighs nothing. Alaris swings, wind roaring from his fist as it connects with Atheron’s jaw. Atheron merely licks the blood from his lip, laughing. “You think your little puff of air can best me, boy?” he taunts.

“Pathetic,” he sneers before slamming Alaris face-first into the mirrored floor.

The floor cracks beneath Alaris’ head, splintering into lines like a map. I go for Marissa, pulling her up and behind me. Kael flashes across the space between us, using Atheron’s distraction to flank him, while Nyxen and Vaelis collide with Maleiros and Serraith.

Atheron and Kael’s eyes meet. Atheron still has a grip on Alaris’ throat. He laughs, wicked, unhinged.

“Prince,” he says, “I’m so glad you’re here.”

Kael says nothing. But he lets the shadows pool at his feet, the blackness creeping up his legs, making him a silhouette in the rain. It reminds me of the black dust from my dream. His Mana surges, fuelled by anger, black smoke dancing across the whites of his eyes.

Atheron throws Alaris aside. He lands awkwardly, moaning and half-conscious, bleeding from a gash on his forehead.

“Let’s make this quick,” Atheron says.

Kael’s smile is sharp as a blade.

They clash, fast and brutal, shadow meeting fire in an explosion of light and steam. The mirrored surface fractures under their feet as Kael anchors himself with vines of shadow that pierce the ground. Atheron is stronger, but the slick ground betrays his balance. Kael takes the opening.

Marissa is shivering, but she’s not crying. Her jaw is set, her eyes hard. “Don’t let go,” I say, and she grabs my hand so tight my knuckles pop.