Page 67 of The Divine Shallows
“For the last time, my answer is no,” Sylas said with irritation. “For the love of the Goddess, will you quit your attemptsto persuade me otherwise?”
“What’s causing these reservations?” Kerrick scoffed. “What has changed your stance? We’ve been planning this since the moment we were chosen as divine candidates. You’ve been following her all week, yet you’ve provided us with nothing significant.”
“I’m working on it,” Sylas sighed. “But it’s irrelevant now. TheVitusis hours away.”
“There’s still time.” Kerrick grew more agitated. “We’ve discussed this every week since our training in the Spires. Are you truly willing to abandon this opportunity? When we’re on the brink of success?”
“I just need some time to think,” Sylas grumbled. “She’s different than I anticipated. She’s not as easily manipulated as we had assumed. I can’t get any information from her. I have a bad feeling about this.”
“You were the one who proposed this plan to all of us seven years ago. Among the non-royal candidates, you’re the most likely to become theprimisof our cohort. What has changed? You possess the strongest magical abilities among us. You’ve been preparing to claim the title ofprimissince the beginning of our candidacy,” Kerrick pressed.
“It’s useless. She’s a royal candidate,” Sylas responded sharply. “It’s tradition. Theprimiswill always come from royal blood if they’re selected as a divine candidate.”
“To hell with tradition,” Kerrick shot back. “You’re too stubborn to acknowledge that times are changing, Sylas. You want to speak so highly of tradition? Well, consider this: the Moon Goddess left her unmarked as a member of the royal family. That’s unprecedented in fey history. The eldest Fangwright princess serves no purpose, then and now. Even the king of Eriden can’t conceal his embarrassment. If the Goddess truly cared about tradition, she would’ve blessed her with the Mark upon her birth.”
Sylas countered with an edged voice, “The Moon Goddess still declared her candidacy regardless of that. It’s not something we can overlook.”
“Look, we still have a chance to claim the title of the divineprimis, evenwith a royal candidate in our cohort,” Kerrick persisted. “Think about the Clever Queen. Before she became queen consort, she was announced as the Fangwright candidate in her season by the High Priestess, despite everyone expecting the prince of Eriden to be chosen. Prince Edwyn has royal blood and is the brother of King Eamon, yet lowborn Eddra Sunhaven was selected. Nothing is impossible.”
Silence hung in the air as Sylas absorbed Kerrick’s arguments, his fists clenched in frustration.
“Listen, everything I’m saying just reinforces the idea that we shouldn’t see the Fangwright princess as a threat. It’s no secret that there’s something off about that family. Especially with their unfortunate history with the Moon Goddess. They’re cursed, and we both know it. I highly doubt she’ll even make it through the Trial,” Kerrick added.
“Do you ever know when to stop talking?” Sylas’ tone grew tense. “My stance hasn’t changed, Kerrick.”
Kerrick met his irritation head-on. “Is it because you’re interested in her?” He chuckled dryly. “If I knew your standards were that low, I’d suggest you try your luck with some of the creatures lurking in the Swyn Sea.”
Sylas spun to face him. “Watch yourself, Kerrick. I’ve let you express your thoughts, but my patience is wearing thin.”
“She’s pleasing to the eye, I’ll admit,” Kerrick countered. “But remember, you’re a divine candidate for Goddess’ sake. There are plenty of females from all seven kingdoms here. Just find someone else to occupy your time and focus on what really matters.”
“This conversation is over. I don’t have time for this,” Sylas answered.
Kerrick clicked his tongue in disappointment and sighed, approaching Sylas with a sense of camaraderie. “You know I see you as a brother after everything we’ve been through. Lillia, Lynora, Iva, Galen... we all do. We can’t do this without you.” He gave Sylas a meaningful look, briefly patting his shoulder beforeexiting the lounge.
Alone now, Sylas sank onto the chaise, his head dropping into his hands as he sighed in frustration. After a moment, he lifted his head and glanced around the room, noticing the wine decanter on the side table. With a sense of resignation, he pushed himself up, bracing his knees as he approached the table. Pouring himself a goblet of wine, he raised it to his lips and drained it in one gulp. Replacing the goblet, he took a steadying breath and shook his head as if trying to clear his thoughts.
Elyria held her breath as she watched Sylas begin to pace the room. She remained still, not daring to make a sound as he moved about in the confined space.
Sylas muttered quietly to himself, his gaze darting back and forth aimlessly as he paced. Running a hand through his hair, he eventually came to a stop. With a determined air, he adjusted his surcoat and pushed open the doors, leaving the lounge behind.
Elyria waited until the doors had closed completely, and then she waited a few minutes more. Her heart continued to beat wildly as she replayed the conversation between Sylas and Kerrick in her mind.
A flood of emotions swelled within her—anger, betrayal, and disappointment. She chastised herself for ever believing that Sylas was any different from the others. How foolish. Her entire life she had been born into a world where everyone discarded her. The Cursed Princess, the Unblessed Daughter of the Moon, the Unmarked Candidate. Why would anything change now? She was destined for a life of isolation and rejection. She loathed herself for entertaining the idea of finding friendship in him.
Releasing her hold on the invisibility spell, Elyria emerged from behind the bookcase. Her eyes narrowed as her breathing steadied. This revelation changed nothing. She would face this alone.
Everything was still as she planned.
23
Vitus
The onsetof theVituswas swiftly approaching as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting its final light over the waves, signaling the impending start of the ritual. This season, theVituswas hosted on a smaller islet north of the main island where Driftmoor Castle resided. The gathering was a grand affair, with countless highborn fey from the seven realms in attendance; the number of guests and spectators tonight far exceeded those of previous nights.
Now attired in leather pants, a snug tunic, and sturdy boots, Elyria stood within the confines of a gridded arena. Large wooden crates scattered across the arena floor contained various items. Overhead, feylight orbs floated, casting their gentle glow upon Elyria and the six other candidates down below. Positioned atop a raised platform, Elyria stood at the center of her house sigil—a firedrake. The platform for the divine candidates resembled the Divine Shallows, with seven spheres arranged in a circle, each representing a House of Neramyr. In the center stood aflat tile depicting a stone-art crescent moon, symbolizing the Goddess of the feylands.
The High Priestess stood atop the stone crescent, clad in her customary ceremonial gown of alabaster. Elyria harbored a deep-rooted dislike towards the High Priestess, though she couldn’t pinpoint its exact source.
