Chapter 40 #2
“Stay together, in formation,” Rykr commanded with authority. My friends and Tara wouldn’t question him here. He was our best shot at survival.
The roar of the crowd slithered down the stone walls of the amphitheater, seeping into my skin until the sound filled my head like a war drum. They wanted blood. Our blood.
Pain was a fire licking through my ribs, spreading with every heartbeat.
I pressed a hand to the wound Seth had given me, but the effort was in vain.
I’d already lost too much blood and the poison spreading through me couldn’t be stopped.
But I couldn’t afford to be weak now. Not here.
Not when every moment of my life had led to this.
“Stay close, Seren.” Rykr’s voice, rough and urgent, echoed through the bond, grounding me.
I felt his worry like a pulse, steady and insistent.
I wanted to answer, to tell him I was fine, but the lie stuck in my throat.
So I nodded, forcing myself into a fighting stance, feeling his presence like a shield at my back.
The Skorn encircled us, their blades gleaming in the light.
How in the hell were we going to defeat them when we didn’t even have swords?
“Ice,” I managed to Rykr. “Use my powers.”
“I can’t do that. It weakens you more.” Rykr’s back was flat to mine. “And you’re fading. I can feel it.”
“Do it, Rykr. At least until we get a sword or two to balance the scales.”
A sudden flurry of activity interrupted the Skorn warriors’ steady progress toward us—one of the other sentenced jumped out from behind a rock, seeking to use the element of surprise.
One Skorn warrior turned in an instant, his blade slicing through the air with precision … and cutting straight through the attacker’s neck. The man’s head fell back, a bright stain of crimson jetting from his body as it fell forward, onto the mud of the basin.
“Do it now, Rykr!” I cried out, then lunged away, hurtling toward the Skorn. We’d never survive if we didn’t get weapons.
“Fuck!” Rykr yelled. Ice then shot out from his hands, shooting like daggers and impaling three of the Skorn closest to me. My knees collapsed as my power left me. I hit the rock and dirt, my consciousness teetering.
The stunned crowd cheered at the display of ice, the bodies of the dead Skorn thudded against the ground, and my friends bolted forward.
Scraping myself up, I blinked numbly as a Skorn lunged for me.
Tara met him with a roar, her blade flashing as it collided with his in a shower of sparks.
The metallic scream of steel against steel rattled through my skull.
Rykr was a shadow beside her, fast and lethal, his fist connecting with a warrior’s jaw with a sickening crack that echoed through the arena.
Amahle dove for a fallen sword, her movements swift and precise, and drove it into an enemy’s side with a grunt.
I tried to move, to fight, but my legs wouldn’t budge. The pain in my chest spread through me fully, gnawing at my strength. Through the blur of battle another Skorn warrior approached, his spear aimed straight for my heart, his eyes cold and unfeeling.
Before I could even raise my arms in defense, Rykr was there.
He moved like a storm, his growl tearing through the chaos as he tackled the man to the ground.
They struggled, bodies twisting in the dirt, until Rykr wrenched the spear from the warrior’s grip and drove it through his chest with a brutal, final thrust. He pulled the spear out, then pressed it into my hands.
“You’re not dying on me, Seren.” His voice was a raw, desperate whisper. “Get up. Get moving.” He lifted a fallen sword and stood at my side, his handsome face splattered with blood, his eyes fierce and unrelenting.
I barely had the strength to stand. My vision swayed, dark spots creeping in at the edges, my limbs felt sluggish and unresponsive. But I couldn’t fall again. If I fell, I would never get back up.
A Skorn warrior lunged toward me—fast, brutal. I barely managed to lift my spear before he slammed into me with the force of a charging beast.
Pain exploded through my ribs, my breath strangled from my lungs. I hit the ground hard, my fingers going numb around the spear. The impact sent a fresh wave of agony through my already failing body.
The Skorn grinned down at me, his black-painted eyes filled with bloodlust. He lifted his sword, ready to bring it down—
Rykr was a blur of motion, raw power unleashed.
He was on the warrior before he could react, catching the blade mid-swing with his bare hand.
His bare fucking hand.
Ice crackled over Rykr’s palm, rapidly spreading up the blade. The Skorn’s face twisted in shock just as Rykr wrenched the sword from his grip—then slammed his fist into his throat with bone-breaking force.
The warrior collapsed instantly, choking.
Rykr didn’t hesitate. Didn’t stop. He turned, a predator among prey, his movements blurring with unnatural speed as he tore through the Skorn like a god of war.
Another warrior leaped at him from behind—
But Ciaran was already there.
I saw his movement first—fast, brutal—as he slammed a dagger straight into the warrior’s kidney. No hesitation. No wasted movement.
Blood spurted from the Skorn’s lips as Ciaran ripped the dagger free, then slammed his boot into the man’s chest, sending him sprawling.
Amahle was a blur of golden light and flashing steel, her stolen sword singing as it clashed against a Skorn’s blade. The Skorn warrior snarled, swinging hard.
Amahle didn’t block. She sidestepped the attack, ducking low, sliding past him with eerie grace. Her sword whipped through the air and the next moment, the Skorn staggered, blinking, before his throat split open, blood pouring down his chest.
She was already moving on before his body hit the ground.
Tara fought with sharp, controlled precision, her blade a viper’s fang, striking fast and true. She parried an attack with deadly ease, twisting the blade in a flourish before carving a brutal arc across the enemy’s chest.
Another Skorn came for her, swinging a massive axe.
Tara dodged just in time, spinning out of the way. A knife in her hand flashed, burying itself deep into the warrior’s thigh.
The Skorn roared in pain, staggering, and Tara took off his head.
One clean, effortless stroke.
Blood sprayed across her face, but her expression was as cold as ice.
Gods, they were all incredible. Fierce. Unstoppable. Fighting for their lives and for each other. For me.
And I … I was on the ground. Fucking useless.
No.
I shoved against the pain, forcing myself upright, using the spear to steady myself.
My legs were weak. Too weak.
The world tilted around me, but I forced myself to move.
Around us, the battle spiraled into madness.
Ciaran took a brutal blow to the shoulder, his cry of pain sharp before he gritted his teeth and pushed forward, blood streaming down his arm.
Tara was a whirlwind but even she couldn’t be everywhere at once.
Amahle’s quick reflexes saved her from a fatal strike, but not before a sword sliced across her thigh, bright blood staining the dirt beneath her feet.
Seth—and Haldron—had underestimated the lengths we would go to for each other. One of us alone may not have survived this. But together? Together we had everything to live for. Everything to fight for.
Pushing myself forward, I summoned my strength, every movement a scream of agony.
My vision swam, but I locked eyes with a Skorn within reach of my spear.
Gritting my teeth, I dove toward him, my fingers closing around the shaft of the spear as I stabbed him through the neck, the head of the spear connecting with a nauseating crunch of bone and sinew.
The shock of impact rattled up my arm, but it was enough.
I yanked the spear out then struck again.
Again.
Again.
Each twirl of my spear, each stab through a living body made my friends—my love—safer. The harder I fought, the more I felt the stickiness of blood flow against my skin, but my exhaustion had faded, my will to protect them dominating all else as I dodged, struck, slashed.
One large Skorn man loomed over the others, fighting his way toward Rykr, who was already surrounded. I raced toward the warrior, blood pumping through my veins like fire.
“Seren, don’t!” Rykr’s mind called out toward me.
I pressed forward, then pushed the blunt end of the spear into the ground, catapulting myself onto one of the boulders nearest to the Skorn man. I landed lightly on my feet, dancing across the stone as I gathered speed, then hurtled toward the Skorn warrior.
The warrior was fast—too fast. My foot barely grazed his shoulder before he twisted, his blade slicing toward my side. I spun in mid-air, narrowly avoiding the tip, then used the momentum to drive my spear forward—
Straight through his eye.
The impact jarred my bones as I landed, rolling through the mud. Blood spattered my hands.
My breath came in ragged gasps.
Then I lifted my head slowly.
The Skorn were dead. So were the rest of the sentenced.
All of them.
Only Tara, my friends, me, and Rykr remained standing, each of us wounded and covered in dirt and grime. There was no relief in the victory. Our blood mingled with theirs in the dirt, the scent of iron thick in the air.
Haldron stood above us, untouched. Unbothered.
The crowd laughed and cheered as if we weren’t standing in pools of blood, as if we hadn’t just fought for our lives.
But it wasn’t the crowd I cared about.
It was him.
Haldron.
The man who had destroyed everything. The man who had sentenced me to death. Who had stolen my father, my sister, my people’s hope. Who had made us nothing but pawns in his war.
The taste of blood coated my tongue, and my fingers itched to rip his heart straight from his chest.
I couldn’t reach him. But I could do something.
The spear was solid and strong in my grip, every fiber of my being burning with fury.
End this. Here. Now.
My muscles coiled as I reared back … and hurled it with everything I had.
The spear cut through the air like lightning, a streak of silver in the moonlight.
For a heartbeat, I thought it would hit.
For a heartbeat, I thought I had him.
But metal clanged against stone. Sharply. Emptily. The spear missed by mere inches, splintering against the rock beneath the parapet, like a child’s toy thrown in a tantrum, now broken and meaningless.
Silence.
A breathless silence formed from the stunned crowd.
Haldron’s silhouette loomed over the arena, his expression cold and distant, as if he were a god gazing down upon his broken creations.
Then he laughed.
It slithered through the air, smooth and mocking, sinking into my skin like poison. He tilted his head, watching me with amusement.
“You think this is over? All you’ve done is proven that you are not worthy of a pardon.” Haldron purred. “It will never be over for you, Seren Ragnall.”
With a snap of his fingers, a cage appeared, creaking and swaying over the water of the lake. My heart stopped.
Esme.
Her terrified face pressed against the bars, her wide eyes searching the arena until they found me.
Her hands curled around the iron, her eyes locking onto mine.
“Seren!” she sobbed, her voice barely carrying over the roaring crowd.
A raw, broken sound tore from my throat. I stumbled forward, my limbs moving before I could think, before I could process anything but the sight of my sister. Alive. Alive.
I could save her.
Haldron’s smile was cruel. “Let’s see how well you swim, little one.”
With a flick of his wrist, he released the cage.
“No,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “No, no, no—”
The cage plummeted into the dark water, the splash swallowed by the roar that tore from my throat. I screamed until my voice gave out, until my knees hit the ground, until the world narrowed to the sight of that cage sinking beneath the moonlit surface.
Rykr’s arms wrapped around me, his grip ironclad as I thrashed against him, my screams muffled against his chest.
“We’ll get her,” he promised through the bond, his voice like steel, but all I could hear was Esme’s fading cries as the lake swallowed her whole.