Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“Hang on!” he shouts down at me, voice hoarse. “I’ve got you!”
As if I could do anything else but hang onto him, swinging over the sea, the sharks circling underneath. The only thing that’s keeping me from becoming fodder is his death grip on my arm. If said arm doesn’t pop out of its socket, we’re good.
As long as he doesn’t lose his grip on the rock. Or metal. Whatever this polished material is. And as long as he can somehow get us both up to the top. It should be child’s play for him… right?
Oh no. For a long moment, I fear he hasn’t thought this through, that we’re both going to crash into the sea and die. His hand is wet, as is mine, making the grip slippery and temporary. My fingers are already sliding free of his…
… then a cold ribbon wraps around my waist, stopping my fall. I jerk in mid-air, but it holds fast, and when I glance down, I see it’s not a tentacle or snake.
Shadows.
Shadows are curling around me, around us , a rope of them affixed to the shiny surface, all the way up to the top. It slowly starts pulling us up, the shadows whispering, pulsing. A shadow serpent, hauling its prey up to devour it.
After what feels like an eternity, it yanks us over the edge of the platform, and we roll on top, sliding. The surface is as smooth as the mirrored sides of it. I slap my hands on it to slow myself down, and he does the same.
As we spin to a stop, lying on our stomachs on the metal surface—because it is metal after all—I hear more screams from below, where the waves are crashing.
Holy Amphitrite, we made it to the top. I can hardly believe it, can hardly breathe. In fact, I find myself wheezing, my chest feeling crushed, smothered by the realization of how close I came to dying.
Holy Sleeping Gods. That call was too close.
I can do better. I have to do better.
“Are you all right?” he asks.
I regard the man who just saved my life yet again as he pushes himself back to his feet, black boots planted securely on the slippery surface. He may be human, but he’s like a powerful young god radiating power.
My gaze darts from the dark swirls on his cheekbones to those fathomless eyes, his mouth, his neck… the drenched black shirt clinging to that muscular chest, and what looks like more black lines and scars on his neck…
Stop staring , I tell myself. Get yourself together.
He reaches for me with a strong, long-fingered hand covered in black whorls. “Come.”
“If any one of them can make it out alive, it’s you.”
He’s expected to win. To survive. He’s the King’s Sword. The king would be really upset if he lost his right-hand man. He’s probably up there right now, on his balcony, seated on furs and satin cushions, watching and issuing orders to everyone to make sure that his friend and dragon speaker comes to no harm.
“What did I say about keeping out of danger,” he now drawls, “and about me being too busy to keep saving you?”
Who is this man? How did I find myself at his mercy?
I huff as I take his hand and let him pull me to my feet. My bare toes tense against the metal surface, barely gripping it. His gaze dips from my face to my chest, and I become suddenly aware of how my wet white dress clings to my body. The light corset hides anything of interest, but the wet lace molds to the shape of my breasts, and heat goes through me.
Such a male thing to do, staring at my breasts.
Such a presumptuous thing.
“You’re welcome for the saving, by the way.” His generous mouth curves into a smirk as I find my feet and pull my hand away. “Here?—”
I shove at him, and it’s like shoving at a rock wall.
His lips peel back, though I bet he barely felt anything. His dark eyes flare. “What was that for?”
Refusing to shake out my tingling hand, I point at the people. Then at the palace. Then at him. He’s part of the problem, a big part. A willing part. A part I’m here to fight against, and I hate that he has helped me.
His brows bunch together. His jaw clenches. “Be careful,” is all he says. “This trial isn’t over yet.”
Oh, I know.
I watch his face before he turns away, but I’m not sure I can read it. His expression has closed up like a book, the cover blank, giving away nothing.
Now isn’t the time to fight for justice. The only thing you need to fight for right now is to finish this game alive.
The platforms sway on the water, a good ten or so of them. The one tethered in the middle sports a forest.
A grove.
Rocks are piled around the trees. Soil runs down the sides of that platform, along with moss and trailing plants.
I blink, confused.
What is the purpose of that? The people scattered over the other, bare platforms also look perplexed. I make out about twelve of them after a quick count. Half the number of those thrown into the arena.
And this isn’t over yet.
In the middle of the trees, on that central platform, a structure rises. It’s symmetrical, four-sided, tapering into a point.
A tower?
Wait. Trees, rocks, buildings. I’m sensing a theme here. Earth , I think. Has to be. The element of the earth. The fae king’s journey. This is about the beginning, about the world he left behind. About his culture, the earth, the trees, and the rocks. About his origin.
Think. Think. What is the goal?
To reach the Palace Island.
How can you do that? Push one of these platforms over there? And what about this forest? What role does it have to play?
Even if I had my water magic, it wouldn’t help me here. I’m on equal footing with every other surviving contestant.
Four more people are standing on our platform. I keep a wary eye on them in case they decide to push us off, but they seem to be eager to join us.
They nod at us as they approach.
“Athdara.” One of the men bows his head. “If you hadn’t pulled us up with those shadows of yours… I doubt any of us would have made it.”
“We thank you,” a woman says, strangely formal. Or maybe it isn’t strange at all, given that he’s still the Royal Commander, the Lord of Dragons, the King’s Sword.
The other two also bow their head, nodding their agreement.
He helped them all? I carefully avoid looking at him as the other humans join us in gazing at the grove. Perhaps he joined the game to save everyone, not just me.
He doesn’t make any sense.
“We have to reach that tower,” Athdara says.
I’d figured out as much. What might be in it, though? What do I know about the world the fae left behind, and what sort of towers did they have?
“Towers were temples,” Athdara says as if reading my thoughts.
He doesn’t have to be a mind-reader, though. I bet we’re all thinking the same thing, coming to the same inevitable conclusion.
“It has to contain something we need to win this trial,” he goes on.
What? I gesture and don’t expect him to reply, but he shrugs those broad shoulders, pulling my gaze to his chest again. The chest I slapped.
Heat rises to my face.
“I don’t know the details,” he says. “I was never involved in the games. But everything in this arena is here for a reason.”
Is it true that he doesn’t know more? Is he lying to us?
But why would he save us and then lie?
Temples. What lives inside them can’t be good or safe. Remnants of old gods, objects infused with power, curses, and keys.
It doesn’t matter. Nothing about these games is good or safe. I have to make it to this central platform, to the grove and the tower.
I step away from the group gathered around Athdara and approach the edge, only to find that the people on the other platforms had the same idea, came to the same conclusion. They are all crouched at the edges of their platforms, contemplating the distance between them and the grove.
I crouch down, too, feeling more stable like this and less likely to fall off as the floor under my feet sways. Could the platform be a sort of boat? A raft? Is there a spell or mechanical way to float it over to the palace, untether it somehow, and use it?
But first of all, how to cross?
The waves send the platforms rocking harder, knocking against one another with great booms.
I could jump over. When the moment is right…
Before I try, a man attempts it. The moment his platform crashes against the central one, he jumps—and falls between the platforms, his cry cut short.
Shit…
It doesn’t matter. I just have to do it better. If only I had magic… but one thing is for sure: I’m not waiting for Athdara to save me again.
By now, my group has come to stand behind me, and I keep glancing at them over my shoulder. They may be grateful to Athdara, but that doesn’t exclude treason, and they certainly aren’t grateful to me . Nothing stops them from throwing me off the side.
It surprises me they haven’t tried to jump yet, but I need to focus. Holding onto the edge with one hand, the other arm stretched to the side for balance, I observe the platforms rocking again, thumping together.
Where is Athdara? Why hasn’t he joined us? I don’t dare look for him and get distracted all over again. This is ridiculous.
Focus. Ready.
Sucking in a breath, ignoring the feeling of hot pins in my calves and feet, I tense my legs and wait for the right moment, wait…
“Fuck,” Athdara grunts behind me, the sound jolting me. It’s deep and heartfelt, his voice tight and gravelly.
Focus, dammit.
The next wave hits. The platform rocks forward—and letting out my breath, I push off the edge and make the jump, leaping over the steep gap with the sea moaning below.
Arms windmilling in the air, I’m suspended between earth and sky, sky and sea, and terror steals the air from the lungs. I don’t think I’m moving, I’m going to crash, I’m falling?—
I crash into the central platform.
Shit! I’m scrabbling with hands and toes to find purchase on the edge, cutting my palms on the rocks piled there. My hurt arm is pure agony, my shoulder socket feels like it’s about to give way, and my hand can’t grip.
I slap it against the hard surface anyway, eyes watering from the pain, until my numb fingertips find purchase. Before I slide right off, before I fall into the water and get smashed between the sheer metal walls, I swing my good arm up and wedge my fingers into a crevice, a cry caught in my throat.
My breathing is a saw cutting through my chest. Now, both arms hurt, and I try not to think about the fact that I’m suspended over the chasm with the treacherous sea rolling below.
People yell in triumph as they make it over or scream as they miss and fall to their deaths.
I am the silence hanging over the void.
You can do it. You made it this far.
Finding some hidden reserve of strength, I haul myself over the edge, over the rocks piled on the platform, and lie face-down on the rich-smelling soil.
That’s it. I made it. I can hear birdsong, squawks, and leaves rustling. I’m inside the bubble of a dream floating over the nightmare of the games, and then I remember…
Athdara.
Jai.
After a long, frustrating moment where I search inside me for those last dregs of angry energy that got me here, I heave myself to my feet, toes sinking into the soil.
My head is spinning as I turn around, scanning for him, and to my surprise, I find him still across the chasm. He hasn’t made the jump. Worse still, he’s on his knees, bowed over, black hair hiding his face, hands braced on the metal surface.
I frown. A tight, aching feeling twists about inside my chest like a snake. What’s going on with him?
Predictably, the ‘ grateful ’ humans have left him behind and tried to jump. Three of the four have made it, but he…
Whispers carry over the wind to my ears. Is he the one whispering? Whispering and moaning as if he’s in pain. Even from here, I can see his powerful arms trembling, his mouth moving.
And time is ticking. The other contestants have entered the grove.
I can’t go back for him. Even if I wanted to—and I don’t want to, I assure myself, definitely not—I’m not sure I can make that jump twice. It feels like my legs are on fire, my knees filled with jelly.
Damned legs.
Damned mind.
I beckon at him. Come , I think. Jump. You can do it.
But he doesn’t seem to see me.
Feeling as if I’m moving through quicksand, my limbs heavy, I turn my back on him. He’ll jump in a moment, I assure myself. He’ll make it. He’s Athdara, the King’s Sword, the dragon speaker, the shadow weaver.
As the telchin said, if anyone can make it, it’s him.