Page 208 of Fallen Nocturne

I don’t understand why the circle needs to be so large. Only Finnbheara and Rhianelle are fighting, not a pair of giants that need half the ravine to move.

Perhaps Landon is giving her room. Space to retreat, summon, or find some advantage against an opponent who outmatches her in strength and reach. If that is his intention, I could almost forgive him for making me stand here and watch this.

By the time he closes the circle, it encompasses nearly the entire ravine floor. The ash is pure white against the dark earth. As he walks, he speaks words I don’t understand.

When he’s done, Landon stands in the center and raises his voice.

“By the old laws and the ancient pacts, by the blood of the Firstborn who walked these lands, this circle is drawn,” Landon declares, his voice booming across the ravine. “This challenge is witnessed.”

He turns toward Rhianelle and extends one hand.

“Rhianelle Wiolant, Queen of Aelfheim.”

Then he faces the other side.

“Finnbheara, eternal ruler of the Seven Realms and Fae King of Avalon.”

Landon pauses, letting the names settle.

“The Circle of Oryth will bind you,” Landon continues. “Once you step inside, you cannot leave. Your bodies will refuse to cross the boundary and the magic will prevent your escape. The circle can only be broken by death. One of you must bleed. One of you must die.”

Silence descends over the ravine, heavy and oppressive. Even the thousands gathered along its edges seem afraid to breathe.

“The victor will decide the fate of both kingdoms.” Landon looks between the two combatants. “Do you understand the terms?”

“I understand,” Rhianelle says. Her voice is steady. Stronger than I expected.

“I understand,” Finnbheara echoes.

“Then step into the circle, and may the gods have mercy on your souls.” Landon lowers his hand and retreats beyond the ash boundary.

They both step into the circle. I expect something to happen the moment their feet cross the white ash line. A flash of light, a surge of magic or some visible sign that the ancient spell has awakened. Nothing happens. The ashes remain dull and white against the earth.

But I understand that some ancient magic binds them to the ground inside that circle and traps them within its borders.

No escape now. Not for either of them.

Finnbheara stands in the center, relaxed. His hand rests casually on his sword hilt. A warrior through and through. He was born to this.

Across from him stands my wife.

My Rhianelle.

She wanted to be a baker, spending her days making bread and pastries until our cottage smelled of cinnamon and honey. My little fawn is soft, kind, and gentle.

She’s not supposed to be in a fae trial circle with someone like Finnbheara.

“That fucker should be facing me instead,” I mutter.

“Yes.” Garrett’s gaze remains fixed on the circle. “So why the fuck aren’t you down there?”

“Rhianelle made me promise,” I continue, my voice tight. “She made me swear I wouldn’t interfere. That this was her fight. Her choice.”

I watch Rhianelle adjust her grip on Hrolf’s sword and take a deep breath. Her hands are still shaking.

She’s terrified.

Yet she’s about to fight for all our lives.