Chapter 33 #2
Raising my chin, I kept my eyes forward, focused, ignoring the skeletal remains in the row of empty cells on my left, the stone pillars piercing the empty void of blackness on my right.
My heart was an erratic thud in my chest. It was the only thing I could feel, hear—that, and the drumbeat of fear, a steady roar that grew louder with every step.
Source riled like a caged beast, a persistent, desperate pulse in my fingers, but there was no anchor in here. No life, no elements, just dust and darkness.
“River.”
“Jesus!” I shouted, nearly jumping out of my own skin.
Flóki crept out from behind a wide, pointed arch. “Oh, were you expecting him?”
“Um, I—” Resisting the urge to place my hand over my pounding heart, I spat, “What are you doing here?”
“I came to wish you good luck.” I hated that grin—it was so sleazy, so slimy, his icy blue eyes almost translucent in this light.
“Not needed.” I crossed my arms, a shield. “Especially when all you do is speak lies.”
He chuckled, eating up my fury as if it were something sweet. “I may have done a lot of things, but I never told a lie.”
“You gave me half-truths. Same thing.”
“Would you rather be in Gryla’s cauldron?”
I bared my teeth.
“Fine.” His tongue darted over his canine. “I may have left some parts out.”
With a sharp inhale, I tightened my fists at my sides. “You pushed me to do this—you knew it’d be my last resort.”
“Let me make it up to you.” He took a vial out of his pocket, delicately rolling it between his fingers. “I come bearing gifts.”
Gaze narrowing in on the jar of bright green liquid, I took a giant step back.
“Reindeer lichen.” He closed the space between us, shoes crackling on the grit, the bones.
“Grows on the sides of these mountains. In a highly concentrated form, it’s extremely toxic.
It can kill even the strongest man in ten seconds.
” Holding it up, he caught a shaft of light, presenting it as if it were ibuprofen and not something that could kill me in a few agonizing heartbeats.
My eyes narrowed. “What are you getting at, Flóki? You want me to kill myself?”
“That’s a bit extreme, River, even for you.” Grabbing my wrist, he placed the vial in my palm. “This is diluted. It won’t kill you, but it can paralyze you long enough to fake it.”
“I don’t want your gifts,” I gritted out, reluctant to show the tiniest hint of emotion, of the fear that threatened to undo me. “I want to know why.”
“Someone had to wake those tired bastards up.”
“Why not you? You seem like a great candidate.”
He shot me a sheepish grin. “I’ll take that as a compliment—”
“Don’t.”
Ignoring me, he curled my fingers around the glass. “Elves are forbidden from calling upon the old gods.”
“Okay, so?” In my hand, the vial grew warmer, lighter. “It’s not like you’re in the camp of following the rules anyway.”
“True.” He chuckled, and it drove a chill up my spine. “But I’d be dead faster than you can say Terrordome.”
I narrowed my eyes. “How so?”
“For you, elven law is a courtesy. For me, it’s a curse. Did you know,” he said, his palm squeezing my knuckles tightly, “that in our home realm, these fights used to be routine?”
“No,” I said, unable to hold back the shiver from his lingering touch. “And, honestly”—the war horn blared again, rattling my ear drums, pricking at my skin—“is now the best time?”
“We’d fight to honor the old gods and the mortals who ruled us, but mostly to break free of our chains.” His eyes locked on the ground, as if he were tracing the footprints of his ancestors.
“For a pardon, a mercy, or a wish,” I whispered, reciting what he’d told me at the healing pools.
He nodded, gaze snapping back to mine. “There was an uprising. When the elves escaped to this realm, they cursed the incantation. None of the Huldufólk can speak it; really speak it,” he added with a wink, as if he knew what I was thinking, “without being struck down.”
“How?” I rasped, the word drowned out by the cheers, by the haunting bellow of the instrument.
He shrugged. “Maybe they worked something out with the gods.”
I tugged my hand back, out of his grasp. “And is that what you’re aiming to do—make a deal with a bunch of ancient deities now that they’re finally up?”
That wicked grin gave me all I needed.
“Why would they care about making a bargain with you?” I scoffed. “No offense, but they’re gods. And you’re… you.”
“They were cast out of their realm—multiple times.” His pupils flared, darkness taking over. “They have nowhere to rule. We can change that.”
“Who’s we?” As soon as it left my mouth, déjà vu rocked me, and I wasn’t standing in an ancient tunnel beneath the Terrordome with Flóki, but on the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk with Ryder and Leif, cold and confused and demanding answers, before a demon whooshed out of the shadows.
Tilting his head, Flóki put his neck on display. A serpent coiled in grayscale behind his ear. The mark of the syndicate, of the hunter. “Look familiar?”
Seeing that tattoo… It ripped open the wound, the betrayal, heartache, pain flowing out of me like blood. But the design was missing a key component. “Where’s the N and the S?”
Flóki’s face twisted in disgust. “I’m not a Night Stalker.”
Right. He was worse. He was poison, just like the one in my hand—just like that fringe group that attacked the werewolves and tried to siphon my powers and vowed to unleash hell on earth. Was that really why Ryder was here? Not out of love, but out of duty?
And had I fallen for it, again?
Flóki stepped forward, so close his breath tickled my face. “You take the lichen now, and we can guarantee safe passage to Chthonia. Otherwise… things may get a little messy.”
Of course.
Of course he would be working with the enemy.
Air ballooned in my chest.
“Go to hell.” I threw the vial to the ground, the glass shattering. “Without me!” I added as I stalked into the arena without a second glance over my shoulder.