Constantine (Daughter of War #1)

Chapter 8: The Trial of a Champion

My mind can't seem to stay straight, with one side watching the scene in the cathedral unfold from an omniscient angle, and the other being in the scene itself, fighting the pain.

My vision blackens entirely.

For a moment, I'm sure I've collapsed. But I soon realise that I'm trapped in total darkness, without a single sliver of light to guide my way. My eyes roam about, searching for a path to escape. When nothing happens, I start hyperventilating. I've never experienced anything like this before—my enhanced eyesight allows me to see in the darkest of surroundings. Save for this particular situation.

I take in deep, ragged breaths, trying to slow my heart rate and push away the oncoming panic. I close my eyes—perhaps it is all a figment of my over exercised imagination—and open them once more. Nothing. It's still the same.

No, not quite. Something is churning in the darkness, a deep vortex of different shades of black. Interesting. It slowly becomes more noticeable. Images start to form—blurred, unclear ones.

Now it makes sense—this is the 'test' Gilbert and Quinnian Allura were talking about.

A single scene stands out from the rest. It's the abandoned room in the second laundry. My father is leaning against the wall, expression dangerous and predatory. I start to watch the image with keen interest.

The image shifts closer towards me. And then, I am standing in the room. My eyes dart about, bewildered by the abrupt changes in my vision. My father takes a step towards me.

"You are a failure," he hisses.

It's like I'd just received a punch to my gut—a very hard one. I attempt to stagger backwards, only to find that my back is pressed up against the wall.

"You've failed to become the Bane of the king."

I blink confusedly. "What? Father, the trial period has only just begun. Sir Kendrick will choose the champion during Fernicia," I say. My voice seems to come from a distance; it sounds like a whispering ghost in my ears.

He takes another step closer. "Do you take me for a fool?" he snarls. "Don't you dare play dumb with me!"

"Father, I really—"

"Not only are you a failure, but you're a liar as well." I am hallucinating. That's what all this is. My father would never say something like that, even if he does think it. I am hallu—

"A proper waste of my time and energy, that's what you are." The words that pour out of his mouth are knives in my back; I cannot come up with the courage to defend myself.

Breathe, I tell myself. Control, don't let emotions overtake you.

My father smiles at me—a very first one for my eyes. However, holds no expression of joy. Instead, it looks rancorous, crazed. "I should just kill you right here and now."

His arms lunge for my throat.

I try to dodge. Shockingly, Father moves faster than me. He slams me against the wall, crushing my windpipe. I make a feeble attempt to fight back, but he's stronger than me too. His grip around my throat tightens every time I claw weakly at his hands.

My vision spirals; black spots dance before my eyes. Is this how I'm going to die? I wonder.

Everything falls away from me. The choking sensation is gone. My father, along with the room, shatters away into broken fragments, like glass being smashed upon a rock.

I gasp deeply, the icy breath a comfort to my lungs. My fingers skim over my throat, where my father had attempted to choke me. I find myself reliving that near-death experience.