Chapter 21 - Isi #2
I couldn’t be seeing understanding in his eyes. Yet his expression wasn’t the cold amusement I’d expected. It wasn’t satisfaction at seeing me humiliated either.
It appeared to be…concern?
No. That couldn’t be right. We were enemies.
Weren’t we?
Enemies didn’t help each other, and he’d helped me.
My belly flipped, tightening low. I didn’t like how I was responding to his gaze. I begged myself to look away, but I couldn’t.
A serpent-like creature slithered toward me. Sniffed me. Then it turned and slunk across the arena, leaving through the gate.
Only a few beasts remained. What did it mean that none were interested in bonding with me?
Of course I was the outlier. The unwanted. The one the Rite spat back.
I swallowed the acid in my throat. I should’ve known better. Pretending I was special. What a stupid, stupid mistake.
Another lion-like beast approached me, all deadly grace and barely contained power. Surely this one would choose me. Surely—
It sniffed once, delicately, at least. With a snarl, it jerked back, reeling around to gallop across the arena and disappear through the exit.
A sound escaped me. Not quite a sob, not quite a growl. Something raw and broken I couldn’t contain. My knees buckled, but I caught myself, my heels scraping stone as I forced my spine straight again. Hundreds of eyes were watching. Let them.
Trew shifted on his throne, and I caught the briefest flicker of magic crackling around his fingers, barely leashed lightning.
Then he checked himself, his fingers tightening on the arms. His mouth flattened, and I realized he probably wanted to drag his gaze away, to stare at the floor or the roof or the others in the stands.
Anywhere but at me.
Was he watching me because he felt pity?
Anger filled me, because part of me had wanted to believe he’d intervene, that he’d do something to mitigate my humiliation. To help. He had inside the trial.
My hands clenched into fists so tight my nails bit into my palms. Pain was the only thing keeping me upright, the only thing real in this nightmare of rejection.
The crowd’s whispers grew louder.
Let them stare. Let them hiss. I’d survived worse than their judgment, and I’d survive this too. But when this was over, when I had power of my own, I’d remember every face that had looked at me like I was nothing.
Kira’s voice cut through the murmurs. “Fucking end it. Kill her.”
Gasps from the crowd turned to nervous laughter, though only from a few.
I was happy for my friends, but people had died in almost every group and… Alright. It would be me. I wouldn’t be able to fulfill my mission.
“I’m sorry, Addie,” I whispered, my heart cracking wide open and my misery leaking through the gap. “I’m sorry, children.”
I tightened my backbone, determined not to cower when I died. Inside, though, I had turned into the quivering child I’d been the night my mother died, the ten-year-old who had to show she was strong. Wear the mask and hold her head high.
Not even pain could be this cruel. Pain ended. Shame lived.
Almost defiant, I met Trew’s gaze again.
His smirk made heat roar through me. So lazy and knowing and snide, like he’d already decided I wasn’t worth worrying about any longer.
The noise of the crowd dulled. My heart skittered like it hadn’t gotten the message that he was the enemy. That he was dangerous. That I had a hundred better things to do than stare at his mouth like it might taste like sin.
My breath shuddered in and out of my lungs.
He tilted his head, like he could hear its furious rhythm. Like he knew that even in this, I couldn’t quite suppress my craving for him.
I yanked my gaze away, furious at him. Furious at myself.
And already dreading the next time I’d have to pretend I didn’t want to look again.
A few of the last of the beasts looked toward me before turning and leaping or flying through the exit. Most didn’t bother to give me even a chance to bond before leaving.
Peering around, I sought one face that wasn’t twisted with a sneer or, just as worse, crushing sympathy.
Instead, my gaze found his again.
Still watching. No longer smirking. He looked curious. Fascinated in a way that had nothing to do with this entertainment and everything to do with genuine puzzlement.
Our eyes locked across the arena, and for a moment, the crowd fell away. The chanting faded. My complete rejection became irrelevant.
It was just him and me and something I couldn’t name hanging in the air between us.
My heart shattered, my thoughts flying away like startled birds. I faced the empty arena while the crowd shook their heads and hissed to each other.
In all the years of this ritual, had anyone ever been rejected by every single beast?
Kira leaned forward, her voice lifting, chanting. “Kill her. Kill her. Kill her.”
The words wrapped around my throat like a noose, squeezing until black spots danced at the edges of my vision.
I forced my fists to unclench. Forced my spine to hold me upright. Forced my jaw to unlock.
I would not cry in front of them. I would not run. I would not give even one of them that satisfaction.
Trew raised one hand.
The arena fell into silence. Crushing, suffocating silence.
He glared at Kira, and she slunk back against her chair.
A fluttering sound erupted from the other side of the arena, and a tiny bird zipped into view. It moved too fast to track properly, a blur of color against the white stone walls.
A minxpip?
Teal and silver and fluffy, no bigger than a child’s fist, its wings beat so fast they were just shimmer and suggestion.
Timid, they lived in hedges. Feigned death if something came near. Chirped when they were scared.
What was it doing here in this place of giants and fangs and death?
It hovered in front of me, close enough that I could feel the wind from its wings against my face. Tiny eyes studied me with an intensity that made me want to step backward.
Of all the creatures in this arena, this was the only one that didn’t flinch. Maybe because it was too small to know fear.
Or too wise to fake it.
“Please, I don’t…” I whispered. “I’m not—”
Something prodded at my mind. Worried about what it might see, I fought back, reflexive, protective, trying to carefully nudge it away.
The air shimmered around us both and gasps rang out from the crowd. This…tiny thing was bonding with me.
And I was so confused. Of course it was a minxpip, something small and sweet and utterly useless. The whole arena saw it. And worst of all, I did too. I hated myself for how badly that mattered.
The pull felt invasive yet gentle. Like fingers ghosting across my forehead. Not asking. Taking. It found the place I kept hidden, and it sank its claws in.
When it reeled back, I gulped in air as if I was surfacing from deep water. My throat closed off.
This was what the magic had chosen for me; a puff of downy feathers. Big blinking eyes. A limp tail that twitched and went still.
I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t look at the crowd or at him.
This wasn’t strength. This was pity. Mockery.
Anger twisted in my gut, ugly and hot. And beneath it lurked shame. Shame that I cared what they were thinking. That part of me still wanted to be chosen. That something inside me ached at being so thoroughly, humiliatingly overlooked.
The tiny creature chirped and flew to land on my shoulder.
The arena had gone completely silent.
Hundreds of eyes watched us.
Was this better than death?
Confusion rippled through the stands. Whispers of “impossible” and “has never happened.” Even Kira had gone silent. Only Trew remained still, his dark eyes fixed on my shoulder with something that looked almost like satisfaction.
I crooked my head around to peer at the bird, reeling backward.
The minxpip stared at me while I stared back, still unable to believe what had happened.
I could feel the warmth of its magic, the gentle insistence of its choice.
Somewhere deep, I understood what it offered: a partnership, a bond, a chance at strength and connection that others would kill for. And yet my mission burned brighter than any comfort this tiny creature could give.
There was no applause. No roar of approval from the crowd.
Just silence.
I swallowed hard. This bond could’ve saved me, strengthened me, and protected me.
But my path lay elsewhere. I had promises to keep, and vengeance to see through. This wasn’t disdain. This was focus, steel over comfort.
I straightened and kept my gaze forward. Let the crowd whisper. I had work to do.
Trew sat forward, both hands gripping his throne, his eyes still fixed on the creature perched on my shoulder. He wasn’t smirking. Wasn’t clapping. Wasn’t showing any of the reactions I would’ve expected from him.
He watched us with an expression I couldn’t begin to read.
I didn’t want to look weak, yet I already had. In front of him.
A pang of guilt shot through me as I glanced at the bird. Tiny, brave, and trusting. It deserved better than to be nudged aside by me.
But I couldn’t give it what it wanted.
Not yet.
I had a bigger battle to fight.