Page 73 of To Dwell in Shadows
The longer the trial dragged on, the more Selene’s distress grew. The absurdity of it all—the pointless deaths, the howling laughter at each failure—made her hands curl into fists. What was supposed to be a contest of wits and competence had become cruelty parading as destiny.
A few scaffolding rows down, she saw Borias spring from his seat in a burst of anger. He was shaking his head with what looked like disgust. Selene watched him leave, grateful that she might not be the only one struggling with this spectacle.
“I hate this,” Selene muttered under her breath.
A nearby demon with double rows of teeth like a shark turned to hiss at her, but when Selene quickly slammed down the pyramid of her mind, he backed off.
Then a thought came to her suddenly:
We should go back to Aurelia early.
She was surprised by the idea, but she didn’t immediately dismiss it. If she wanted to, she could walk up to Sam right now, take his hand, and transport them back to Snowmelt. No more trials. No more worrying. Whoever became the Dark Sovereign wouldn’t be their problem anymore.
But Sam would never forgive her. That was one of the things she loved about him, his relentless sense of honor. Running away from something hard wasn’t in his nature. She might find relief in the moment, but for him, it would be a deep betrayal.
Then if I can’t take him home, I have to get him out of the trials.
Determination burned in her chest. Tomorrow, she was going to find something—anything—to give them a clue about who the next Dark Sovereign should be. She would study and read until her eyes crossed. Turn the entire library inside out and upside down if she had to. And if the answer wasn’t there? She’d ransack the Hall of Demonic Canon, interrogate every elder demon she could find, and search every ancient building in the Underworld until she did.
Because this was going to be the last trial Sam ever faced.
Chapter 36
Sam’s plans were going all wrong.
He paced the riverbank, boots crunching against the loose rocks, thinking through everything that had led him to this moment and wondering how he could salvage it.
Was that even possible?
Since the Infernal Combat Trial had been blood-soaked chaos, Sam assumed the next trial would be more nuanced. A challenge that tested cunning, leadership, or arcane aptitude. Instead, the council had decided on a trial where the consequence for failing was essentially death. With every fallen contender, the weight on Sam’s shoulders grew heavier. Because the fewer who remained, the more his parents would insist he was meant to rule.
It no longer felt like a trial, but a culling.
Sam could feel Drath’s eyes on him as he paced, but he refused to acknowledge the demon’s presence. Drath’s method for crossing the river had been clever, but not the kind of clever that would impress his parents. While Drath apparently knew how the trials were tied to the crown, he likely didn’t know the outcome was ultimately irrelevant. The king and queen would make the final decisionthemselves.
Thus far, Sam’s attempt to recommend a worthy candidate had failed entirely.
He was so deep in thought that he barely noticed a young demon of Mishap approach. “Excuse me, Your Highness.”
“Yes?” Sam said absently.
“M-my name is Chort. I was wondering if I could shake your hand.” His high-pitched voice ended with an upward inflection.
Sam looked down at the small, bright-eyed demon. “For what reason?”
“For luck.” Chort said sheepishly. “You see, it’s my turn next. And maybe some of your great power will rub off on me.”
Sam stuck out his hand, and Chort shook it vigorously. The demon’s skin was covered in small holes, but his palm was dry.
“Dark blessings to you, Chort.”
He beamed up at Sam. “Oh, thank you, sir. Thank you!”
A second later, Ghar called Chort’s name. The demon skipped away toward the river enthusiastically, leaving Sam to resume his pacing.
Sam would be the last competitor after Chort and he hadn’t yet devised a plan to retrieve the coin himself. In truth, he was considering forfeiting his place in the trials altogether so they would no longer continue. His parents would be furious, possibly even humiliated, but maybe stepping aside would create space for the right ruler to emerge.
“And how do you plan to cross the river?” Ghar asked.
