Page 17 of Empire of Flame and Thorns

Because I made it.

I’m inside the palace walls. My registration is finished and I will be able to compete in the trials.

I smile up at the orange and pink streaks in the sky above. This is the beginning of the rest of my life.

Footsteps sound from somewhere on my left.

It’s probably Imar, the administrator for the trials, who has come to register my presence. I know that I should probably try to sit up or do something to show a smidgen of respect, but I still can’t make my muscles obey me. So I just lie there, my chest heaving and victory sparkling in my soul.

A shadow falls over me.

I shift my gaze to the person now standing right next to me.

The breath freezes in my lungs.

Draven Ryat stands there, looming over me like the Shadow of Death that he truly is.

Shadows from the wall fall across his face, painting it with harsh lines. He is no longer holding a sword, but the furious look in his eyes is just as damning.

“You really should have given up and stayed out of this when you had the chance,” he declares, his voice dark and low.

I want to shoot to my feet. Or sit up. Or do literally anything other than simply lie on the ground before his feet. But I can’t. I can barely even summon the energy required to speak.

“I made…” I begin, gasping out the words. But then I have to wait for air to return to my lungs again as my chest continues to heave. Sucking in another breath, I try again. “I made it inside the walls.” I drag more air into my lungs before I manage to finish with, “So you can’t exclude me from the tournament now.”

A sly smirk tilts the corner of Draven’s lips as he holds my gaze. “I could always just toss you back over the wall before anyone sees you.”

Dread snakes around my spine.

I stare up at him. He stares back down at me. My chest continues heaving. And I know, without a doubt, that he could pick me up and throw me back over the wall if he wants to, and there is absolutely nothing that I can do to stop him.

The very air around us crackles with tension.

Draven opens his mouth.

But before any words can make it out, Imar comes jogging across the grass.

“Another lunatic desperate enough to climb the wall,” he says, and snickers when he reaches us. His blue eyes scan my face. “Selena Hale, right?”

“Yes,” I gasp out.

Draven draws his dark brows down in a scowl. Then, without another word, he turns and stalks away.

Imar looks up from his paper in surprise, but then just shrugs. Shifting his gaze back to his paper, he continuesscribbling something for another few seconds. I focus on trying to get air into my lungs.

Then he looks up and meets my gaze again. Clicking his tongue, he slides his pen into the slot at the top of his writing board and gives me a curt nod.

“Welcome to the Atonement Trials.”

CHAPTER SIX

Torchlight illuminates the large gathering hall inside the Golden Palace’s south wing. I sweep my gaze over the burning torches that have been mounted on the pale stone walls. The swirling gold and glass lantern holders that used to contain faelights are still there on the walls too, but the faelight gems have been ripped out. So instead of the soft white light of our people illuminating our sacred palace, it’s lit by fire, which is the dragon shifters’ element. It’s a petty yet effective reminder that this is no longer our castle.

I cast a glance out the window. The sun has set now, which means that only the people who are in here with me now will compete in the trials. I shift my gaze back to the crowd around me. Some of them are standing in groups, speaking in soft tones, but most are standing alone on the gleaming white floor. It looks as if roughly three quarters of our original group made it inside.

“Alright, listen up, because I’m only going to say this once,” Imar declares as he suddenly strides in through one of the open doorways. “And if you’re too stupid to remember these instructions after only hearing them once, you don’t deserve to be here anyway.”

A ripple goes through the crowd as we all turn slightly so that we’re facing him. Most people simply ignore the insult in his words, but a little to my left, Alistair squeezes his hand into a tight fist before flexing his fingers again.

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