The Trial That Wasn't
“No,” you say. “Thank you, Your Majesty. But Sera and I came together, and we finish together, and if the third trial is dangerous then it's dangerous for both of us, side by side. That's — that's the whole point of us.”
Queen Cirra looks at you for a long, quiet moment. Then she does something you would have bet the farm was impossible: she smiles.
“The third trial,” she says, rising, “tries what matters most. It is not fought in an arena, child. You just passed it.” And while your mouth is still open, the door bursts inward, and the night comes apart.
Horns — not the bright official three-note call, but a ragged alarm from every tower at once. Through the window you see them boiling up over the edge of the cloud-field: wolves, storm-smoke wolves, dozens, swarming up the palace like ants up a wedding cake, and the clouds going grey wherever their paws touch. Vespera has not waited politely for the Trials to finish.
“MY SKY!” The Queen's crown is somehow already on. “Champion — with me!”