The ascension trialswere never straight forward. They tested more than just the source heir; they tested everyone linked to the heir as well.
Which made Aflora’s statement true.
I needed to trust Night to find me. I needed to trust that he’d survived. And I needed to trust that what Aflora and the others had done was enough to not only bring me back from death, but my familiar, too.
Her dark hair framed her beautiful face and fierce expression as she waited for my agreement. She knew this was the right path and I needed to trust her instincts.
These trials were devised to trick us all. Only the strongest were meant to survive. I’d been more than strong enough, but I was tricked by the Elders—my own grandfather—and betrayed by my council.
I would seek vengeance in my own way, starting by helping my mate ascend.
Constantine Nacht wanted Aflora to fail, to make a mockery of her ascension.
I’d ensure the opposite happened.
I’d help her become queen.
“Ahaminee,” I breathed, invoking the incantation for calling a familiar. “Ahaminee, Night.”
Aflora’s fingers curled into my chest, her blue eyes glistening with approval.
She had said I resembled a shadowy creature to her. How very odd. I had no trouble seeing her. But everything else was dark and covered by the power vines. It made me wonder if I’d even be able to see Night.
Assuming he was still alive.
I swallowed, the echo of his dying caw infiltrating my senses and eliciting a wince from deep within. He’d been a part of me; a being of my own creation. And I’d failed him.
Not by choice.
Not even on purpose.
But because of my grandfather’s greed for power.
I never anticipated him going to the extent of killing me to take back the throne. It all happened so quickly, so unexpectedly, that I never even considered the potential outcome.
And now this—forcing the ascension onto Aflora. It made no sense.
What are you trying to prove?I wondered as a wave of power swirled around us.
An echo of cawing began, the darkness moving in flaps of wings as the vines melted into a series of crows. Aflora gasped, her grip on my hand tightening. I wrapped my arm around her lower back, holding her to me as the feathers beat over our head.
It reminded me of the transportation yard back at the Academy with all the crows forming a vessel for students to travel to and from within.
But no keypad appeared here.
This whirlwind of energy wasn’t meant to help teleport Midnight Fae; it was meant to serve as a test. Another layer of trust. “We have to follow our instincts,” I realized out loud.
More than that—I had to follow mine and Aflora had to trust me to choose. To pick a crow that I thought might be Night and follow him to our freedom or our doom.
I explained the realization out loud to Aflora, felt her stiffen against me, and realized how difficult this task would be for us both.
She had to trust me.
And I had to trust myself.
I wasn’t in a position to rely on my instincts. I nearly died yesterday. All my powers were convoluted and messy, strands of various magic helping to bolster my soul and keep me alive.
I was no longer an Elite Blood, but something significantly other.