by Eve Stone
A man glides onto the auditorium stage, cloaked in a heavy, floor-length, blood red gown. Chancellor Andrews trails behind him. People all around me gasp as we realize who the cloaked man is. Emperor Lucius is one of the highest-ranking members of the council. They didn’t just send a messenger. They sent the Calvary.
Chancellor Andrews steps up to the microphone.
“I would like to extend a warm welcome to our sister schools, Westoff and St. Laurence. Of course, the events that led to the first ever joint school Trial of Crowns has us all uneasy. However, the council, myself, and Emperor Lucius are determined to make this event memorable in honor of our fallen Knights.” Chancellor Andrews’ voice waivers, as though he personally knew them.
“It is our hope that this competition will strengthen the bond of the schools so that you can all work together to ensure that the atrocities that occurred at Saint Laurence never happen again.”
He takes a deep breath, bowing his head as if in prayer. The room remains silent and others follow, lowering their heads. The entire room catching on in this impromptu moment of silence. Several minutes go by without so much as a cough. Then, Chancellor Andrews finally speaks.
“The man next to me needs no introduction, but it’s my honor to introduce him to you all
the same. Emperor Lucius Dominus will be presiding over the Trial of Crowns.”
Cheers erupt throughout the auditorium at the news. Emperor Lucius has been a well-respected high member of the council for as long as I’ve lived. He’s a celebrity among sorcerers and having him here is no small deal.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the Emperor’s voice booms without the use of the microphone.
Magic swirls through the air, so potent you can feel it pulse. Rumors of his abilities have circulated forever, but to witness it in person is something else entirely.
“As Chancellor Andrews said, I will be leading the charge with this year’s events. The council thought it imperative that one of our members was here to share it with all of you. With my presence, I hope you’ll all feel a sense of ease. We have the best magicians investigating the events at St. Laurence, and there is no doubt that the perpetrator will be brought to justice soon. For the next two weeks, however, we will work to move forward by holding The Trial of Crowns in memory of our fallen Knights, and to bring honor back to our community.”
Students and faculty stand from their seats, clapping and cheering. Emperor Lucius’s words act as a balm for everyone who is struggling with the murders. His hands come up, asking for silence once more.
“Six champions were chosen by our esteemed professors. They were chosen based on many things, including but not limited to their magical aptitude, academic excellence and merit count. These six will represent each of you as they fight for glory. Now, shall we meet our victors?”
Hoots and hollers tell the Emperor that the students are ready for the names to be called.
“Don’t forget me when you’re a badass champion,” I say, grinning at Lance.
He leans in, lips grazing my ear, sending chills down my spine. “Never, Gwen.”
I look into his smoldering eyes, wanting to lean in and capture is lips. The feeling has never been so strong. Maybe it was because of the energy coursing through the auditorium, or perhaps, my mind has been made up.
I want him. All of him.
“Lance, I—”
“Without further ado, the competitors from Westoff, will you please stand?” Lucius cuts in, officially closing the door on my near admission to feeling things for Lance. “Gareth Sanders and Galahad Watts.”
Two beefcake guys stand and walk toward the stage. The blonde one gives a high-five to his red-headed friend turned competitor.
“They do realize they’ll be competing against each other…right?” Lance whispers. “Their bromance is doomed.”
“What a shame,” I chuckle.
“Gareth and Galahad have both shown great potential with their abilities,” Chancellor Andrews boasts through the microphone. “Gareth comes from a long line of fire wielders and has been working very hard over the last few months to hone his pyrokinesis ability. The most exciting part is that he’s shown signs of additional abilities.” People around the group whisper amongst each other. Having multiple gifts is rare. In fact, only members of the high council possess such favor.
“Galahad Watts,” Chancellor Andrews continues. “There are so many things I could say about him. His abilities began at an exceptionally early age, making him a shoo-in for this competition. He’s able to conjure wind and use the elements, bending them to his will. He has already proven to be one of the most talented sorcerers we’ve seen in over one hundred years.” Every professor around the room claps.
“Who would’ve thought Galahad would be such a badass,” Lance jokes.
I couldn’t help but grin at my friend. I certainly wouldn’t have thought he was anything special by simply looking at him. I would’ve labeled him all brawn and no brain. To truly be a gifted sorcerous, you need to have both. It goes to show that you can’t underestimate anyone here.
“Yes, our first two champions are more than worthy, but we still have two more schools to announce,” Lucius called. “Moving on to St. Laurence, I am pleased to declare Mallory Dishop and Tristan Locke our champions.”
I gasp, drawing a few scowls from people sitting close to me.
Tristan. Locke.
“Gwen, are you up here?”
“Come up before anyone else sees you,” I yelled from my tree house.
I came here to hide and only Tristan was allowed. Not even Lance would come to this spot. It was sacred. If Lance knew I allowed Tristan in, he’d be crushed, but I couldn’t help it. I loved Lance like a brother, just like I loved Tristan, but it was different. Tristan and I were different.
“Nobody saw me.” His dimples popped as he smiled at me.
I was just really starting to see Tristan. Up until recently he had just been my dearest friend, but now it was hard to pretend he wasn’t cute. We were fifteen.
“I brought you a snack,” he said, pulling out a PB&J and a bag full of corn nuts from his sack.
My stomach growled and we both laughed. He knew me too well. I rarely stopped to eat, which was why I was so gangly, according to my mom. While other girls were starting to have shape, I was still in the body of a grade schooler.
“Are you hiding from your dad?” I asked.
“Not today. I just wanted to see you.”
I turned my head, cheeks heating for no good reason.
“I’m glad you came.”
We sat in comfortable silence, sharing our snack and just being together.
“Avalon still the plan?” I finally asked.
“If it’s still yours.”
I smiled. We had been planning our future together for years. Tristan, Lance and I would
all go to Avalon together.
“That’s where I’m heading,” I said, taking a bite of my sandwich.
“I’ll go wherever you go, Gwen. Always.”
The memory comes over me like a tsunami. It’s been five years since I’ve seen him. What he said that day was nothing but lies. The first chance he got, he left me and never looked back.
In no way had I ever imagined I’d see him here. Now that I think about it, it makes sense, but the thought never occurred to me. I’ve been so preoccupied with my decision regarding Lance that the possibility escaped me. I wasn’t prepared to see him, and this was something that I’d need to prepare for.
My former friend and childhood crush had all but vanished one day, never even saying goodbye. I had been devastated as we’d always sworn, we’d go to Avalon together. All three of us—Lance included.
“Holy. Fuck.” Lance says at the mention of Tristan.
The three of us had been a package deal, but it was me that each clung to. I wonder at times if Lance and Tristan would’ve even been friends if it hadn’t been for my friendship with each of them. Sparks cl
early flew between Tristan and I, which even at a young age had been a source of contention for Lance.
Lance’s body is rigid. Does it bother him that Tristan was back? Does he think that my childhood crush is going to redevelop years later? Surely, he couldn’t be worried. Things change. People change. And as far as Tristan Locke is concerned, he’s simply a stranger now.
“I barely remember him,” I whisper to Lance.
Lies.
Lance harrumphs in response.
Great. Even more awkwardness to throw into the mix.
I focus my eyes up front. The girl, Mallory, has a slight frame with long auburn locks cascading down her back. Her fingers rake back through her hair in what can only be a nervous gesture, as she’s done it no less than three times in the mere minutes since she’s been called.
Tristan’s hand comes up to rest on her lower back and a stab of jealousy envelopes me.
It’s ridiculous, as he is not my Tristan. He’s not the boy who would help me into our tree fort because he was afraid I would fall. And he surely wasn’t the boy who threatened every other boy to stay away from me when we were ten years old.
No, Tristan has changed. Of course, he has. He’s no longer the scrawny boy of my past. He wasn’t a boy at all. Standing at an impressive six two or six three, he’s imposing, even from the back. His corded muscles peek out from under the short sleeves of his tightly fitted T-shirt. Even from this angle you can tell he’s something to behold these days.
He’s all man.
“Come,” Lucius motions to the two.
They both move toward the center of the stage, but my eyes are fixed on Tristan. His confident gait further proves he’s nothing like the shy boy I knew before. When he turns, everything around me vanishes. I only see him. He’s so much more than I could’ve dreamed he’d ever be. The mere sight of him has my entire body lit up from the inside. I’ve never had such a visceral reaction to anyone in my life.
I peek out of the corner of my eye to see Lance staring at me. His eyes are mere slits. My reaction to Tristan clearly didn’t go unnoticed and my cheeks heat in embarrassment at being caught admiring our old friend.
Oh god, what must Lance be thinking?
My eyes flip back to the pair on the stage. As if he can sense my eyes on him, Tristan turns and our eyes lock. His mouth thins out into a hard line and his eyes widen just a bit. The fact that I can see it from where I am sitting just shows how focused in on him I am. My head turns away quickly. There’s no way he could’ve actually been looking at me in this auditorium filled to the brim with so many people. Every part of me is on fire, as though wherever his eyes touched singed me.
“Is something wrong, Gwen?” Lance’s voice is hard and cold.
I stuff down my lust and look to my friend, cringing at the hurt lying just barely visible under the ice he’s doing his best to throw at me.
“Everything’s fine,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant but doing a horrible job.
I’m not ready to talk about Tristan. Our background is so sordid and so much has changed. It truly feels like a lifetime ago even if the resentment against Tristan for leaving has never ebbed.
I had written him once, trying to continue our friendship across the distance, but he never replied, making it clear that with a new school he chose to leave me behind. I never told Lance because it would’ve hurt him. He always makes comments about not being enough, trying to play them off as jokes. But I see the insecurity he wears like a badge. It saddens me. Still does. Because despite what Lance thinks, he has always been enough.
“What do you think their abilities are?” Lance says, leaning in.
I shrug. We both know that if Tristan’s carried on the genes of his father, he’s likely to be a very strong sorcerer. He comes from two very strong bloodlines and it’s unlikely that those genes skipped him. Even as a child, he showed great potential. All of our mentors thought so.
Sorcerer’s powers are not limited to one area. The stronger the sorcerer, the more abilities that one can harness, but each family has stronger ties to one element. In Tristan’s case both his mother and father come from two very strong telepathy bloodlines. For him to show stronger ties to another gift would be rare, but not unheard of.
“Our champion, Tristan, has shown great promise with telepathy, and he’s already proven to have mastered invisibility.”
My brow shoots up at that news. It’s impressive. To have had already harnessed that is truly amazing. Especially given that some of us have yet to harness any abilities. Hell, all of these champions are far more impressive than I am, and I was supposed to be the greatest of our time. I laugh out loud at the thought. Lance frowns in my direction.
“Mallory has yet to harness the skill but due to her bloodline she shows promise with necromancy.”
I cringe.
“That’s a very strong ability, but definitely not one that I ever hope to have,” Lance says, wrinkling his nose in disgust.
“You and me both,” I agree.
Chancellor Andrews clears his throat. “Now, I am proud to say that the champions for Avalon Institute are students who show great promise in a number of areas.”
I look to Lance, whose chest is puffed out. Smiling at him, my heart swells. My best friend. My Lance. He’ll make everyone at Avalon proud. I couldn’t be prouder. I grab his hand and squeeze in support.
Chancellor Andrew’s voice rises above, “please join us on stage, Thomas Carter...”
Before Andrews can get out the next champion’s name, Lance begins to stand.
“And Gwen D’Morte,” Chancellor calls out.
My eyes widen in shock. Lance’s head snaps to me. Confusion, hurt, and even something akin to betrayal flickers across his face. I jerk backwards at the last one. I can’t form words. I’m not even positive what I heard was what was actually said. I haven’t shown any signs of a magical ability despite my bloodline. Lance is so much more gifted than me. It just doesn’t even make sense. There’s no way in hell Chancellor Andrews called my name.
Lance sits down slowly, letting go of my hand. Without looking at me, he says, “Well, you better go down.”
Before I have a chance to say a word, people all around me begin to call out “Gwen, he called your name.”
My name is called out so many times, I have to cover my ears. If I hear “Gwen!” one more time, I’ll scream. I can hardly process what was happening. The room is in chaos, but beside me the storm rages. Lance won’t even look at me.
“Ms. D’Morte, will you please come to the stage?”
I look up, still dazed and unable to understand how my name was called. My tear-filled gaze drifts to Lance.
“Go. Stand beside Tristan again.” he bites.
“Come on, Gwen,” more people around me start to say, excitedly.
I stand, and without looking back to Lance, walk towards the stage. Head in a fog, heart thumping roughly, and tears threatening to fall, my mind is on one thing. My best friend. The man who supports me in everything. The one I just crushed in so many ways.
Chapter Four
My mind races as Chancellor Andrews shares our abilities—or lack thereof, where I’m concerned. Tristan is back and Lance is mad at me for a multitude of reasons—none of which I had any control over.
I’m so preoccupied that I miss the entire assembly after being called onto stage. That’s until the Emperor Lucius steps up and says, “The stakes are high as three victors will be eliminated.” He let that news hang in the air. “But three will have ultimate glory by joining the Knights of the Round Table.”
I inhale sharply. What?
Cheering erupts as the room reacts to this news. Everyone on stage beams, slapping each other’s backs and celebrating, but my feet remain rooted to the same spot they had been in.
Join the Knights?
It’s unheard of. Never before has a juvenile sorcerer been permitted to even try out for Knighthood. Why now?
Something isn’t adding
up. I watch the Emperor for any signs that something’s wrong, but I find nothing. His cool arrogance that he’s known to display is intact. Chancellor Andrews, on the other hand, looks like this is the first he was hearing of this.
His mouth is fixed in a large O, eyes wide. He’s shocked. How did they not discuss this prior to the assembly? Wouldn’t all of the professors have been in on this if they were to choose the champions? Not just anyone can be a Knight. They have to put more emphasis on ability, which begs the question: why am I on this stage? What type of events would we be expected to complete in order to prove that we belong? The questions just keep piling up and the more I think about it, the more uneasy I feel.
“Alright, champions, shake hands and enjoy the evening, because the Trial of Crowns is starting soon,” Emperor Lucius finishes before turning and walking briskly off the stage, Chancellor Andrews hot on his heels.
The beefcake boys stand in front of me, extending their hands. “Good luck,” the tallest boy, Gareth, says with a smirk.
Once I’ve shaken both of their hands, they turn away. The shorter, stockier one – Galahad, if I remember correctly – chuckles at his friend. “She’s gonna need it.” They both start laughing as they walk off the stage.
“Fuck them,” I say under my breath.
“They aren’t worth your anger.”
My head snaps up to the husky, masculine voice that offered support.
Tristan.
“You look great, Gwen.”
I remain silent, unsure that I could even form coherent words at this moment. For years I’ve wondered about him. My head constantly replays the last time I saw him. Why had he ghosted me? What I thought I meant to him couldn’t have all been in my head. I know he felt for me what I did him. Even if it was a silly childhood thing. We were best friends first.
“How have you been?” he asks, almost indifferent.
His nonchalance makes me bristle. I had been heartbroken for years over how things ended with us, yet he can sit here and act as though nothing happened? So much has changed over the years and it’s been Lance who’s been there the whole time.
