Page 143 of The Fake Divination Offense
Security clatters onto the platform. Some get to work putting magic binds on Tem and the cultists, who are, thankfully, still unconscious.
Ilbryen, however, is waking up. She blinks dazedly while Roesia seems to be… sniffing her? Roesia’s orange eyes pulse brighter, interest like a craving flashing over her.
Ilbryen’s lips flicker in the smallest, barest grin.
“Wow,” Bel huffs next to me. “Did you manifest that?”
A surprised snort bursts out of me and I tighten my hold on him. I’m not sure how I’ll let him go—we still have a game to play.
Bel twists into me, smiling softly, like he can see all my concern play over my face. He can, probably.
He brushes his fingertips across my lips. “I’m proud of you, too, you know. I never could have done this, would never have eventhoughtto do this, without you. If this works, it’s because of you.” His eyes glisten, golden and black. “Do you believe me yet?”
“Believe you?” I frown, thumb rubbing against his lower back.
“That you’re strong.” He smiles. “The strongest person I’ve ever met.”
I wait for the rebuttal. To argue with him or change the subject.
But nothing comes. I stare down into his smiling face while security works to fix this mess, while cameras fly all around us.
My hand moves up to my shoulder. To the corner of my jersey,to the patch I’ve stared at before every game. Urzoth’s axe in a stone.
Eyes on Bel, fingers shaking, I grab the edge of it and pull.
With a jagged rip, the patch comes off in my hand.
We win the rawball championship game.
After our display on the platform, the Dragons were so freaked they fumbled most of their plays. Turns out taking down a crazed demon cult is a good intimidation tactic; no one on the Dragons wanted to mess with us.
Which is the opposite reaction I expected once I removed my Urzoth badge. I thought it’d open me up to claims of weakness, but actions are louder. Screamingly loud. No one questions my strength or worthiness or bravery, not now.
Well.
Almost no one.
In the player chute, my parents are standing with Reverend Drach. We’re hardly alone; cameras and reporters clog the space, everyone celebrating and joyous after the win. But the three of them are solemn, Drach glowering with his arms folded.
Bel’s waiting for me in the press area. Seb and Thio stayed near him through the game. Ilbryen, too, who was pissed Tem got the jump on her. But I’m anxious to get back to him.
He did the whole game, every cheer routine, in his demon form.
Andthat’swhy I don’t think I’ll ever truly believe him when he says I’m the strongest person he’s ever met. Becausehe’sthe strongest. The bravest.
He’s everything.
Head high, I cross to my parents and Drach, and don’t give them a chance to speak.
“Urzoth is no longer my patron god. I’m not going to make it a bigger PR moment than it already is. I don’t owe explanations or reasons, and going forward, I’ll represent the team on my own, with my own strength.”
My mother doesn’t seem as angry as Drach; if anything, she’s cautious.
But Drach puffs up his chest. “Is that right, Mr. Monroe?”
I don’t rise to his challenge. Don’t make myself look bigger or try to match his peacocking. “That’s right, Reverend.”
“One of Urzoth’s chosen players defeated the cult of his enemy,” Drach tries. “And Mr. Warden, this whole time, has beendemonic? The church cannot let this pass without—”
