Page 49 of On Broken Bonds

He rocks backward casually. Any mortal would've plummeted to their death. Valtor doesn't even glance down.

I find myself wondering whether a major god can fall at all.

Eryndor looks up from his tablet, as though having forgotten where he was. Like with the other times I’ve seen him, he wears a white cotton shirt and has his pen at the ready. Clearing his throat, he says, “As I’m sure you all know, your objective is to reach that—” he turns, pointing out the black structure I saw in the distance yesterday “—the Obsidian Spire. The Ever-Changing Woods surrounding it are the battleground for the Trials this year. They look innocuous, but they are magical, shifting at their own whims. Trees change position. Seasons turn without warning. Even time and space can, on occasion, stutter in and out along some sections.”

“So do not count on any bootleg information from years past,” Valtor adds, glancing at Thorian with a smirk, as though driving home the point that Thorian’s previous experiences won’t be enough for an advantage.

That much seems obvious. If experience was an advantage, surely my partner would have already been successful at winning the Trials.

“As a reminder of why it’s worth striving for victory,” Aqualis says, touching the tips of her fingers together and looking out at us. “Think of the riches, titles, and lands the winners are awarded, near the city.”

“And the minor godhood,” Terranis adds, flipping his hand casually, causing the grass around his feet to strive upward around his ankles.

“And, of course,” Valtor adds, turning to me, my continued partnership with Thorian seeming to have earned his complete disdain, “the Courted Prize, one Lady Lyra of the Nocturne family, as your shared bride.”

As he sneers down at me, I wonder if he even remembers my mother, or if she’s just another faceless woman in the fodder of his past. The tradition of snatching women from their homes and forcing them into situations they loathe runs deep with him.

“Not only will the layout of the forest change,” Soryn says, spreading her hands, palms up, “but there are also several magical species in the woods. You’ll be facing not only one another in the fight to the Obsidian Spire, but whatever monsters and beasts lie in your way.”

“Anything goes,” Valtor drawls, tilting his head and looking out at the groups, dragging his gaze from one to the next. “We are far from the city and any laws of society. And, as your divines, we grant you the right to levy any manner of violence against your opponents. Only the most worthy are deserving of our gifts, and, beyond entertaining us, the purpose of the Trials is to determine which of you are actually worthy.”

Without meaning to, I let my gaze wander, skipping first to Fenric, the berserker, then to the vampire from the garden, Talon. For some reason, the idea of fighting them, of levying any manner of violence toward them feels inherently wrong. Impossible.

But I may have to. Taking a deep breath, I reach down and wrap my fingers around the hilt of my dagger. I have to save my sister no matter what. Even if that means hurting the vampire who helped me... and the berserker with the warm smile and gentle eyes, who seems entirely out of place in a competition like this.

“Do any of you have questions about the rules?” Eryndor asks, lifting his brows and staring out at us with an eager look. “If you do, now is the time to ask. Later, ignorance of the regulations will not save you from being penalized by them.”

There’s some shuffling as various members of the teams look around, glancing at one another, clearly trying to determine if there are questions, and who should be asking them.

I glance at Thorian. The bags from yesterday are gone. Maybe he actually managed to sleep well last night. Or, maybe, as a demi-god, he recovers faster from a poor night of rest.

Surely, if he had any questions, he would ask. It’s just as likely that he doesn’t have any questions. Having done this several times before, I’m sure he knows the rules.

“Are we allowed to switch teams?” a gruff voice from the end of the line asks, and we all look together to see the brute standing beside Fenric with his hand partially raised.

I blink in surprise. If anything, I would have thought it Fenric who might be itching to join another team. If Fenric is surprised or bothered by the question, he doesn’t show it, just stands still and looks straight ahead, as though eager to hear the answer.

The others around us murmur amongst themselves, clearly surprised by the question. I wonder if this is the first time something like that has been asked.

And surely the answer is no… right? What would be the point of forming teams in the first place if we can change them at will.

“Of course!” Valtor booms, his deep voice reverberating joyfully through the air and drowning our Eryndor’s cautious, “Well…”

“Of course?” Aqualis asks, raising her eyebrow at the other major god.

“We want things to be interesting,” he says, and this time, his gaze doesn’t linger on us. “So, yes, switch teams, but they have to be established before you reach the spire. Whomever gets to the Obsidian Spire wins, but only if everyone is present.”

“That’s correct,” Eryndor says, quickly taking back the reins on the rules. “If only one person from a team reaches the spire, there is no reward. Every member of a team must reach the top of the spire together, and alive, to receive the title of winner. It’s part of the strategy behind forming your team. Every additional member increases your fighting strength, but it also means dividing the spoils among more people.”

“What a light-hearted beginning for our competitors,” Soryn says, her voice crystalline in the early morning air.

If it’s possible for a major divine to blush, Eryndor does, and Valtor takes the moment of silence to interject, “That’s right. If only one team member makes it, nobody wins. But don’t worry—” he throws a look at Thorian, who flinches for the first time since lining up out here beside me, “—you can always come back next year, provided you survive.”

There’s a titter of laughter through the gods and the other competitors, some of whom jeer in our direction. I keep my chin up and my head forward.

My heart is already pounding, blood rushing in my ears. It feels like adrenaline has been flooding my body since I woke up this morning, and now I'm starting to feel as though I've been running in place, vibrating with energy but unable to use it.

“Well, if there are no other questions,” Eryndor says, clearing his throat and tucking his tablet under his arm, “one final matter.”