18
Keltania
“Where do you suppose they took Valen?” Gensted asks. He arches his back, straining against his restraints.
Like me, he’s bound and chained to a thick post in the back of the square. There’s a small crowd of Spring Fae gathered around the outer edges, and every once in a while, someone lobs something at us.
“Wherever it is, I hope he’s receiving the same welcome we are.” Daroose jerks his head to the right as a small rock hurtles toward us from the depths of the throng. “You could at least throw something edible,” he hollers at them.
“I’m sure he’s fine,” I say. Just a few minutes ago, he reached out through the link to tell me to sit tight and that he had everything under control.
Knowing Valen, that means we’re fucked.
“I’m not sure I trust your definition of ‘fine.’” Daroose snarls as another projectile—this one brown and sloppy and stinking—sails past his head. “Have you Fae no respect?” he shouts.
“And while we’re killing time here—how the hell could you be a king and not tell us?”
Daroose gapes. “Unlike a certain little Frosty Fae, I don’t need to flaunt my power.”
“Why would a kelpie royal give a druid their bridle?”
“I liked your hair?”
“Might I suggest picking this conversation up at another time?” Gensted nods to a group of approaching Fae. With them is the woman from the gate—and Valen.
Did you straighten it all out?
“Sort of?”
What does that mean?
“Unbind the girl,” the leader barks. She and Valen exchange an odd look. She holds his gaze a moment, giving the most subtle nod, before turning her attention to the crowd. “Our tradition states that only the strongest deserve to survive!”
The small crowd roars.
“If you truly deserve to live, prove it in the Pit!”
More cheering.
She turns to me. “Should you survive, then we’ll talk about your deal.”
Two guards grab Valen, but he doesn’t seem surprised—or alarmed.
What the fuck is going on?
The leader lifts her hands and stomps a foot. “Take them to the Pit!”
My bindings are cut, and the guards whisk me through the crowd to a small, sunken section. A literal pit? Wonderful. It’s roughly carved from the old cobblestone streets of the original estate, with crude wooden benches spanning the outside of the entire ring.
“Good luck,” the guard says before shoving me hard. I stumble forward, landing on my knees in the hole. Valen follows a moment later.
“Listen to me. Things here are not how they appear. The leader is mostly posturing. The bloodthirsty-ruler thing is an act. But this pit? This is real. This is a brawl to the death. Whatever comes into that ring is going to try killing us.”
This is what you consider under control?
“Yes. Originally, she was going to toss you in with Daroose, but I convinced her to put me in instead.”
I stare at him. Maybe it looks strange, considering our situation, but I can’t bring myself to care. You did what?
“I asked her to put us in together.”
Why the hell would you do something so stupid?
“I thought you’d be proud of me. This shows some measure of forethought.”
You want me to be proud that you’ve likely gotten us both killed?
“How would it look if you get a bit banged up in the ring and poor little old me, standing helpless on the sidelines, gets banged up as well?”
He has a point. But he’s missing something.
How is it going to look when we walk out of the ring with matching wounds?
“Better than me standing on the sidelines with inexplicable injuries?”
Valen—
“This is the lesser of two evils. At least with both of us in the ring, it’s easier to explain why we’re both bleeding and broken.”
How do you know we’re going to be bleeding and broken? Maybe—
The cheers from the crowd grow hysterical as it parts and two hulking forms emerge. Both Fae are twice the size of Gensted, shirtless, and carrying several weapons.
Never mind, you’re right. We’re both going to be bleeding and broken…
When they reach the center of the ring, they throw the weapons down and take a step back. “Choose,” the one on the right demands.
A massive sword, a worn-looking polearm, and a small dagger. The sword would have normally been my first choice, but this one is too large and the hilt is ornate. Wielding it would be clumsy and leave too much room for mistakes. The polearm would be the next logical choice, but this one doesn’t appear solid. There’s a large crack in the body, and the small blade on the end is secured with fraying rope. The dagger could work, but without knowing more about my opponent, I’m not convinced it’s the way to go.
“Which one would you choose?” I ask the warrior directly in front of me.
He blinks several times, looking from me to the weapons. After a moment, he bends to retrieve the polearm.
The crowd roars, then chants, “Only the strong survive!” over and over.
I take in our opponents. They’re burly and outweigh us. But we have a unique advantage. The link between us gives us insight others can’t have.
“Shall we?” I say, giving Valen my sweetest smile.
The one in front of me grins, kicking aside the remaining weapons. “There aren’t many humans left in Derriga—thank the Gods. You’re all so disgusting to look at. It will be a joy to gut you.”
He strikes immediately, jabbing the polearm forward. It catches me off guard. Valen and I dive apart, and I manage to dance out of the way—but barely, the tip of the unstable blade skimming my hip.
Tell me why we’re not using your magic?
“Wren has this place held together with a series of lies. She might not be the monster she pretends to be, but she’ll do whatever it takes to keep what she’s built here intact. She agreed to hear me out if we survive this—but cautioned against using magic.”
Valen dodges a blow from his opponent by dropping to the ground and rolling hard to the left. The Fae warrior growls and dives for him.
“It has to look like a fair fight or she won’t acknowledge it. If her people get suspicious, she’ll throw us on the sword.”
He’s unable to get clear of the next attack, and when the warrior collides with Valen, all the air leaves my lungs. I stumble, giving my opponent a golden opportunity. He grabs my arm and, spinning hard, propels me into the air.
I land with a grunt, stars dancing behind my eyes. We’re screwed.
I fumble upright and stagger away as the two Fae warriors switch places. Valen’s opponent, now staring me down, licks his lips. “Hmm. Much better.”
“Tania! I’ve got it. I know exactly how we get through this without giving away our secret.”
How?
“Don’t get hurt—”
The Fae with the polearm swings the weapon like a club, catching Valen across the cheek. Luckily, the warrior who’d chosen not to use a weapon charges me at the same moment, giving me an excuse to feign a fall as my cheek splits open due to Valen’s wound. I scrub my hand across my face, smearing the blood all over as best I can. I can’t hide it, but maybe I can disguise it. Make it look different—and worse—than it actually is. At least, I hope.
I get up again as the two switch places once more. My original opponent growls and swings the polearm again, but this time I’ve got more than enough of an opportunity to move. I pivot and grab the shaft as it passes. Twisting, I use the Fae’s own momentum to snap the weapon in half.
“Arrg!” A piece in each hand, my attacker charges, the two remnants poised and ready.
I drop to the ground as he nears and duck between his legs, punching up hard as he passes. The Fae howls and crumbles to the ground.
“Fuck! I felt that one, and he and I aren’t even linked.”
Focus!
The weaponless Fae is enraged upon seeing his brother fall. He charges me, and I’m not fast enough. His shoulder catches my midsection, and my feet leave the ground. For several seconds I’m weightless, hurtling through the air as everything rushes by in a dizzying blur. I brace for a jarring crash, but when I collide with something, it’s not nearly as bad as I expect.
“Ouch.”
I struggle to catch my breath as Valen wriggles beneath me.
Is—is that your hand on my ass?
“Technically, no. My hand is on my own ass. You pinned my arm when you fell on me.”
I stumble to my feet, and when I extend a hand to help him up, he cringes as he untwists himself. I feel each pull as his muscles strain, and I bite back a gasp as a sharp pain shoots up my leg.
We have to—
The Fae still standing barrels forward, knocking us apart. I go down hard, my teeth coming down on the tip of my tongue. A coppery taste fills my mouth. Valen manages to stay upright, but several drops of blood ooze from his lips.
He looks from me to the warrior, spits out a mouthful of blood, then says, “Okay. I think we’ve put on enough of a show, don’t you?”
The warrior yells something incoherent and charges yet again. Valen, unfazed, simply holds up his hand as if to say stop . And stop he does. A thick wall of ice emerges from the ground. The Fae, unable to slow in time, crashes into it and, like his brother, crumbles to the ground.
“I have no desire to kill your people,” Valen shouts. “Perhaps we’ve earned the right to speak now?”
The crowd goes wild, and Wren lifts her hand. “That’s it. I’ve seen enough.”