Chapter 33
The chanting made pebbles dance across the floor, made sand trickle out of the walls.
Hundreds, maybe thousands of elves yelled in delight, their voices distorted by the thick layers of earth between the stands they gathered in above and the cell I was in.
I rubbed my arms, the muscles still sore from the guards’ firm grips when they dragged me from the Hall of Mystics and tossed me in here—some kind of holding area—a few days ago.
My gut rumbled. The plates of food the servants had brought me were piled on top of a wobbly table in the corner, but I didn’t dare touch them. Could be poison.
Dust fell from the ceiling into my hair. I plucked bits of dirt out of my braid, brushed off the grit collecting on my shoulders.
At least the elves had had the decency to lend me some clothes I could actually move in. The firelight flickered off my leather pants, my shiny boots, my thin black shirt.
The portcullis locking me in this makeshift prison rattled against the frame as the crowd grew larger, rowdier, ready for their sick death match.
My stomach lurched.
I grabbed an empty vase, ducked my head over it, and retched—even if I had nothing in me. Bile burned my throat, stung my nostrils.
The ceramic slipped from my grip, clunking to the floor. I stepped over it, pacing the length of the room—fourteen steps to the portcullis, then to the far wall. Again, and again, and again. I could not stop moving. I was like a lion trapped in a zoo.
Was Ryder still in the dungeon? And where was Olivia, I wondered. My heart twisted.
On what might have been my fiftieth circuit, someone called from the entrance, “Trippy, isn’t it?”
I slowed to a halt, peering over my shoulder into the dim light. Despite the castle being fully equipped with an electrical grid, the elves had decided to go full medieval and use torches in this labyrinth of corridors and cells in…wherever the hell they’d thrown me.
But I’d know Gunnar’s friendly voice anywhere.
“That’s one word,” I said. “Where am I?”
“Beneath the Terrordome.”
The Terrordome. That sparkling silver building behind the ice-laden hills, the very place this same person once told me people fought to the death, while he was teaching me my jabs and crosses. Figured I’d end up here.
“It’s a replica of the same coliseum they had in the realm the elves were originally from.” The fire flickered, casting shadows over his face, the twists of his hair, his uniform—the tailored navy-blue coat and beret and slacks I sometimes saw him wear. “So they say.”
“I thought no one was supposed to visit me.” My eyebrows dipped. “Or…” I trailed off. “Have you been assigned to make sure I don’t escape?”
Gunnar huffed out a laugh, looking down beneath his long lashes. “Eva might have done a little switcheroo with the assignments during her last shift. Fritz is guarding the Hlie lífsins—the main gate you entered through—and he gave us special clearance to come in.”
I didn’t have the heart or the energy to explain that I’d been blindfolded on the chaotic trek in, presumably so I wouldn’t be able to find my way out. Instead, I said, “Us?”
“A couple of people,” he said, raising a brow. “You might know them as your friends?”
I fought hard to choke back the emotion creeping into my throat. But it was damn near impossible when his lips parted on a smile, and Olivia, then Freyja shuffled out from behind the wall.
“What are you guys doing here?” I wrapped my fingers around the metal and brought my face to the door.
Flipping off the hood of her maroon cape, Olivia grabbed on to the small parts of my hands I could fit through the lattice. “We’re here to wish you good luck.”
“Luck.” I scuffed the dirt with my toe.
Olivia smiled, but the expression was thin on her face. “That’s all we got.”
Freyja put her weight on her hip, pewter gaze piercing me like the fine tips of icicles. “Is that not enough?”
“Of course it is,” I said, but the words felt heavy.
“Good.” Relaxing her face, she smoothed out her glittering green gown. “Because my bet’s on you, angel.”
Gunnar leaned against the grille. “Finalllyyy.”
“Oh, shut up.” Freyja gave a playful squinch of her nose.
Chewing the inside of my mouth, I bit back a smile. Her support—all their support….
I dug my face into my long, black sleeve, wiping away tears before they could fall.
“I can’t believe the queen’s doing this,” Gunnar muttered.
“It’s barbaric,” Olivia spat, thrusting a hand through the air. “We’ve moved on from stunts like this. The old gods are nothing but trouble. They should stay sleeping.”
“They should,” I mumbled. “But I invoked them.”
All three of their stares remained fixed on me as I walked them through the past forty-eight hellish hours.
The tips of the elves’ ears flinched when I told them how Gryla had caused the avalanche.
Olivia’s hand pressed against her heart when I explained how Hildur tricked me into entering the Heimer Tofra.
Every mouth hung open by the time I got to the twisted deal the queen had made with the ogress.
“I’m telling you right now,” Olivia said after I had gone quiet, “hell would have frozen over by the time I ended up in that old witch’s stew.”
I smiled somberly.
A horn bellowed above us. It was an instrument of war, loud enough to penetrate stone. A call to battle. Everyone’s chins jerked up, grit falling upon us like snow.
“Look, as coldhearted as our queen can be, she did what any ruler would do: fought for her people.” Freyja’s stare lingered on the ceiling as if she could see through it.
“Doesn’t mean I agree with it. Honestly, I do think she’d prefer you out of the pit, but even she can’t change this.
Once law is enacted, it’s in the hands of the gods. ”
The war horn blew again. Dirt wafted in the air. My shoulders sank even lower.
“Sounds like they’re awake now,” Gunnar said, swatting at the dust.
My heart fluttered in my chest. I willed it to stop. “What—what do they want?”
They spoke at once.
“Sacrifice.”
“Blood.”
“A show.”
A roar echoed through the hall—deep, tortured. Inhuman. My attention flicked between my friends: Olivia, Gunnar, Freyja. They were here, so at least I wouldn’t be fighting them.
“Who’s my opponent?” I rasped.
“We…” Concern etched itself above Olivia’s brows. “We don’t know. We won’t know until they step into the ring.”
Another raucous roar of applause—fanatic, obsessive.
“The queen’s arrived.” Freyja glanced at Gunnar. “We need to go.”
Unease twisted my stomach, burning my throat. “Is it really a fight to the death?”
“There’s only one winner.” Even though Gunnar kept a straight face, I could see the panic in his eyes. “Olivia’s right. This is an old way of justice for an old way of life. Nobody does this anymore.”
“What are the rules?”
“There are none,” he said sadly.
“Every fight in this dome is a fight in those wretched gods’ honor.” Olivia shook her head, cursing under her breath. “Honor they don’t deserve. There’s a reason they were banished, why their shrines were torn down, why no one speaks their names anymore.”
Before I could find out more, the metal slipped between my fingers as the portcullis rose with a groan. Screams and shafts of light funneled in from one far end of the corridor, where the ground sloped up from one prison to the next: the arena.
“That’s our cue.” Flipping her strawberry blonde tresses, Freyja gathered up her poofy skirts. “Mother will send someone for me if she hasn’t already.”
“Frey’s right. If we get caught down here… One sec, though.” Reaching into his jacket, Gunnar pulled out a curved piece of leather, etched runes glossy in the faint light.
A sheath, for a knife.
My knife.
“Where—” I gulped, swallowing a shaky breath. “Where did you get that?”
“Word gets out quickly in this castle. I snuck into your rooms before the Eyes raided it.”
“Thank you.” I took it into my hands, clutching it to my chest before hiding it in my boot. “Thank you.”
“I’m rooting for you, Riv.” He cupped my cheek softy before backing away. I didn’t want him to go, didn’t want to feel the cold, empty air where he once stood.
Olivia stepped forward, pulling me into a hug beneath the gate’s pointed edges hanging above. “I’d tell you to run,” she whispered, “but guards are stationed around every corner. The best I can promise is that when you’re done with all this, we’re heading straight to California.”
“We?” I couldn’t have heard that right. My pulse was pounding in my ears; the fear was warping her words. Olivia couldn’t go back, not after what Chthonia had done to her—would do to her, given the chance.
She nodded. “You heard me. Running is what our enemy wants. We will not live in fear or hide in the shadows. Whatever happens next, we’re in it together. Plus”—she squeezed tighter—“I think someone needs to talk some sense into your dad.”
Another set of arms wrapped around us. “I love you guys,” Gunnar sighed theatrically. “Frey, you want to join?”
Glancing past Gunnar’s shoulder, I raised my brows. “Could be your last opportunity.”
His chuckle reverberated to my core. “Morbid, Riv.”
“What else is there to be right now?”
The ghost of a smile tugging at her lips, Freyja rolled her eyes. “Unless you want to include the dozen or so guards likely heading our way, I say we get the hell out of here.”
We broke apart, all of us dabbing our eyes, stuck somewhere between a laugh and a cry.
Then my friends sprinted into one of a dozen narrow passageways, their swift footfalls echoing off the stone until they disappeared.
Again, I was alone.
I stepped into the corridor, the shadows moving and breathing as if they were watching, as if they were curious.
Flashes of movement and color wavered in the archway that led to the arena. The crowd was ready. Pulse thundering in my ears, I trudged towards them.
Something cracked beneath my boot. I lifted it to see the snapped ivory stick beneath—a bone.