Chapter 35 #2
Source thrummed in my heart. Let me out, it seemed to say with every beat.
Welling in my fingertips, it spilled over the arena, hardly a shadow, a glimmer of movement in the corner of someone’s eye.
It dissipated quickly; the place was bare of elements, absolutely by design.
You got me this far, I told it—told myself. I can do the rest.
Lowering into a crouch, I delivered a sweeping kick to the side of Ryder’s leg. He fell to his knees, palms catching his weight. It wasn’t even that hard, but I had the element of surprise. I knew he would underestimate me. Everyone always did.
Next, a boot to his face—that one probably did hurt, judging by the amount of blood.
I toed the knife that’d slipped out of his grasp until it spun just out of his reach. He was too busy clutching his nose to notice.
Whirling on him, I hooked my arm around his neck, bringing the tip of my whistling blade to his throat.
His hands shot up, scratching, pulling, begging me to release him. I only squeezed harder.
“Now it’s my turn to ask.” Lowering my mouth to his ear, his pulse raging wildly against my muscle, I whispered, “Are you scared?”
I inched the blade deeper, a drop of tarry crimson dribbling onto my sleeve.
“Yes,” he finally croaked.
“Good, because now you’re going to follow my lead.”
“I’d follow you to the ends of the earth.” His pale lips twitched, muttering far below the threshold of a whisper. “I’d follow you in death, in darkness, in light.”
“Yeah, yeah, duty and all,” I said, but still, my fingers slipped on the hilt. I straightened it immediately, but those words, the desperation—they did their job exactly, breaking me bit by bit.
His back flush against my chest, life hanging delicately in my grasp, I watched the horror unfold in front of me: the jelmadag’s flames burning bright and blue, the tips so hot they turned colorless.
Flóki loosely holding a knife at his side, waving it around like a dumbass, laughing and pointing at the poor creature.
In the stands, Olivia holding her own against two merciless attackers, determined but weary.
Eyes, clusters of them, swarming the royal box.
Two assailants in all black hopped over the railing, out of the luxury seating area, disappearing into the shadows of the stadium’s corridors.
A guttural scream ripped through the arena. “MOM!”
My heart stopped.
A hand flopped against the stone, rings sparkling in the faint light shining down from the circular window above. Hems from the colorful gowns of hysterical elves shielded the rest of the queen’s lifeless body from view.
Freyja tore apart the crowd, strawberry hair and violet chiffon flowing behind her, mowing down guards and hunters and courtiers alike—anything that stood in her way. Chest heaving, she stumbled to the edge of the balcony. Her bloodied fingers gripped the railing.
“You.” The word, a threat. Her finger pointed down at the pit—at one of us—a mark for violence.
She hopped over the barrier, skirts sailing behind her, landing in a lethal crouch.
Flóki held out his arms. “Well, if it isn’t the ice princess. Jealous to miss out on our fun?”
“I am not your princess,” she seethed, every footfall a promise of blood.
“Fair point. If my men did their job”—he raised a blade towards the royal box—“which it looks like they did, that makes you ‘queen’.”
All the air rushed out of me. Sweat lined my palms. My knees buckled.
“Breathe, baby,” Ryder said into my arm, the inflection vibrating against my skin.
“You shut up,” I spat through gritted teeth. Tears burned my lids. “This is your fault; this is all your fucking fault.”
“No weapon?” Flóki taunted the princess—the new queen. “You make this too easy.”
Eyes darkening, Freyja raised her palms. “I have something better.”
The arena began to shake. Silt spilled from the cracks in the stone.
Then, in a roll of rock and dirt, the ground pitched down, then up.
I jolted forward, bringing myself closer around Ryder’s shoulders.
Arm still tight around his neck, I rested my cheek on the crown of his head, using his chiseled body as my anchor.
Waiting out the tremors, I locked eyes with the jelmadag. Steam leaked out of every orifice, fur damp and blanched, gaze red and glassy.
We only had a few minutes. I only had one knife. And at least half the people down here wanted to kill me.
“Your useless Galdur can’t do shit.” Flóki’s tone grew impatient, aggressive. “Have you forgotten I am of elven blood?”
“Betrayal will do that,” Freyja snarled.
“What?”
“Make you forgetful. Turn you into a monster.”
A scream leapt past Flóki’s lips.
There was nothing human about it.
I am… sorry… The jelmadag’s last words entered my mind.
No. Tears I’d worked so hard to hold in splashed my cheeks. We’ll stop this. I’ll fix this. What stupid, meaningless things to say. I knew the reality. I had no ounce of hope.
We were going to die here. We all were.
A violent sob racked my chest, my body shaking against Ryder’s back.
Silver beads of light pierced my wet lash line—a reflection hitting me square in the eye. The chain. The one swinging between the jelmadag’s shoulder blades, pinning his wings.
Pinning him here.
An idea took hold.
A foolish, reckless idea.
Nerves clawing at my stomach, I released the tight hold on my ex, my fingers skimming the collar of his shirt. He slumped forward, palm cupping the nape of his neck.
I took off running, heading straight for the jelmadag.
“River!” Ryder’s scream was lost to the endless pounding of my heart, to the wind whistling past my ears.
The demon let out a wet snarl. Intelligence shone in his eyes. Suffering. Defeat.
As I drew closer, a blast of heat and humidity swarmed me—stray hairs stuck to my temples, sweat lined my upper lip, my eyeballs felt like they were on the verge of melting.
Stay away, the demon spat, writhing against the stone. No amount of water can withstand these temperatures.
With a prayer to whoever might be watching, I clamped my hands around the hilt of the sword lodged in his throat. Another call of my name—closer, more frantic.
Heat like I’d never felt, like the flare of a thousand suns, branded my palms.
Gritting my teeth, my tears vaporizing before they could even fall, I yanked as hard as I could.
Trapped steam rushed out of the beast’s open maw as I slowly drew the blade out of his neck. An agonizing whistle roiled in his throat, like a teakettle left on too long. It dragged over my senses. The whole blade finally spilled out, thumping to the ground.
My arms were boneless, as if they’d melted off, but I swung the sword, bringing it down into the small space between his wings. The feathered limbs unfolded, quivering in the air.
Chest heaving, I dropped the scalding metal handle. I turned my hands over. Blisters bubbled along the joints. They stung, but they weren’t in nearly as bad a shape as they should have been.
Arms wrapped around my waist, swinging me back.
“What are you doing?!” I twisted, kicking my legs, bucking my hips.
“Saving your ass!” Ryder said. “We need to get out of here. Now.”
Around us, glass shattered, stone cracked, and the screaming—it was feral, panicked.
Death coated the air.
I glanced over my shoulder. Through the mess of my hair, I saw a purple lump on the floor, strawberry strands of hair splayed around it. No.
Palm curled, arm rising as if he were uprooting invisible plants from the ground, Flóki stomped towards Freyja. A knife glistened in his other hand.
And yet she still cursed him, despite being sprawled on the floor, with a weapon headed straight for her neck.
“Let go of me!” My voice was desperate, ragged.
It was unclear if Ryder was ignoring me or just couldn’t hear me, but I didn’t have time to ask politely—my friend was about to be murdered in cold blood. My heel struck his shin.
He yelped in pain, loosening his grip just enough for me to wiggle out of it and run to the blood-streaked sword still lying in the open.
Skin sizzling, elbows screaming in pain, I lifted the weapon, buckling at its weight.
I’m not sure what propelled me forward—determination, supernatural ability, a blessing from the gods—but a heartbeat later, I was halfway across the pit.
Cyclones of dirt and sand and rock rained down upon Freyja’s body with the steady flicks of Flóki’s fingers.
A dusty forearm blocked the crown of her head, but it wasn’t enough.
Her face was absolutely ruined. One eye black and blue, the other squinted open, blood pooling from her nose.
A streak of silver flashed above Flóki’s head. The knife.
I was close enough to see the horror in Freyja’s eyes, but I wasn’t close enough to stop it.
“NO!” I screamed.
Mustering every scrap of strength and magic I had, I threw the sword—I was too many feet away, too white-hot with rage. But still I hoped, and it was stupid, but once the hilt left my hands, hope was all I had.
Sunlight glistened off the metal, and as Flóki brought his blade down, mine slammed into his back. Immediately, he fell to his knees. I did the same.
Freyja pushed up onto her palms. Her lips moved, shaping words I couldn’t hear.
A lump formed in my throat, my chest. My hands shook in my lap.
Wind rustled my clothes, batting the hair out of my face, but I couldn’t see through the tears. Just a warmth, a shadow, a flicker of night.
Get on. A rasp of the jelmadag’s voice thundered in my mind.
I didn’t move. I couldn’t. All I could do was stare. Red. Bubbling. Blood. Weapon. Red.
Growls rent the air. If they hadn’t been deep enough to quake the earth, to rattle bones, I probably wouldn’t have noticed. Don’t make me ask again.
Body trembling, teeth chattering, I rose to my feet. Heat rippled off the demon.
“River, wait!” a voice called, a voice I’d recognize anywhere, a voice I wasn’t sure how to feel about anymore.
The jelmadag hissed, the ridge of fur along its spine standing on end. Permission to extinguish your boyfriend? I don’t appreciate the way he’s looking at me—or you, for that matter.
Lifting my head, I caught the outline of him. Tall, disheveled, black shirt, black boots, dark hair. Ryder. He’s always like that.
Fine. Get on.
Are you snarling at me? I coughed. My lungs were burning. You’re bleeding.
I’ve bled worse.
You’re hungry.
I can find a horse.
When’s the last time you flew? Do you even remember how?
Angel of Water, do not push me. I will take you where you need to go.
An arm’s length away, Ryder halted. “Baby, we can get out of here right now, away from all this. Please.”
Flashes of crisp blue uniforms descended into the pit. Eyes. Help. It was over.
“No pulse,” I heard one of them say.
Gunnar sprinted to Freyja, dropping to his knees, and held her sobbing in his arms. Olivia leaned over a railing, head bowed, shirt torn, but alive and breathing.
The shadows had fled.
A tingle of relief and pure exhaustion washed over me.
“Ryder.” I swallowed, and it was like gulping down sandpaper. “I need you to make me a promise now.”
His throat bobbed.
“Show me you’re that guy, the one you say is still there deep down inside.
The one who gave me my necklace, the one who kissed me in the spirit realm, the one whose heart still beats.
” Make this worth it, I wanted to say. Don’t give me this title for nothing.
Murderer. “Surrender to the Eyes. Clean up this mess. Remember why you said you came here. For me.”
Gnashing his teeth together, he nodded.
I wanted him to hold me so badly. But I just turned and gripped the flowing tendrils of the jelmadag and hoisted myself onto his rippling back.
Are you ready?
A furnace of heat blazed around me, warping the air, warping him—emotion welled in Ryder’s eyes, streaks of green cutting through the black.
Would mine suck up the darkness like that, too? After all, I’d done worse than kidnap.
I’d killed.
Yes.
On a steaming exhale, we launched into the air, a flash of matted fur and leathered wings.
I stole a long glance at the pit, and when the Eyes flocked around Ryder, their spears aimed at his heart, he slowly put his hands behind his head.
Hold on, the demon warned, and we shot through the dome’s single skylight, glass falling like stars as we disappeared into the open sky.