Seventeen
S EVENTEEN
ESTRELLA
I fell through the bottom of the river, the water vanishing as I landed on the dirt. My cheek smacked against the surface as a strangled growl rumbled in my chest. Pushing to my feet, I found my blades in hand before I even had time to stand, spinning them dramatically as I looked about the arena I’d found myself in. The sand I stood upon was shaped in a circle, burning hot. A glance overhead showed the river flowing above me, held back by some kind of magical barrier. The water looked cool, refreshing somehow, even when logic told me it was the reason for the hatred churning in my gut.
Still, I couldn’t deny that hatred. Couldn’t see past the blinding rage as I looked into the arena. Countless spectators cheered from their seats, sitting upon the stone-crafted benches of a stadium.
They’d come to watch me die. To watch me fight and struggle against something that would be futile in the end. There would be no stopping me from demanding blood, no stopping me from slaughtering them all.
I did not exist for their entertainment. I did not exist to be used and looked upon like a curiosity—whether it was trapped within a gilded cage or sacrificed to a battle I hadn’t chosen.
I felt nothing but rage as I studied the faces staring back at me, spinning in a circle, my twin blades held tightly within my hands. Nothing compared to the complete, mind-numbing anger I felt as I paused, my gaze landing on the golden-eyed man standing beneath a canopy. He was sheltered from the sun, his shaded oasis filled with living plants and greenery. A jug of water rested beside him, and it was only then that I acknowledged the truth of my own thirst.
He raised the jug, pouring the water into a sheepskin canteen slowly. Screwing the lid on tight, he tossed it down the sands of the arena below him, quirking an eyebrow as if he expected me to thank him for the gift.
I remained standing still, even though every bone in my body wished to move for the water. The river that had filled my lungs had done nothing to quench my thirst, only making me crave true refreshment more. Khaos pursed his lips, running his tongue over his teeth. “You disappoint me, daughter,” he said, seeming so confident that I didn’t know the truth of his identity. He’d silenced Nemain before she could reveal it, after all. He’d expected the word to rattle me, to get a reaction from me when I already knew the truth of who he was.
And I suspected he couldn’t hear the words Fenrir whispered in my mind. Whatever bond he had with the wolves, it was unique to mine. Separate enough in the end.
“I live to please,” I said, keeping the truth I knew to myself. There was no telling when such information might come in handy, and if this was what he had in store for me as his child?
I wanted no part in any of his grand plans.
“I had thought your survival instincts were greater than your foolish pride,” he said, dropping into his seat gracefully. The golden cloth that was draped over one of his shoulders shifted as he did so, moving to keep him covered equally no matter the position he assumed.
“Then you clearly do not know me at all,” I said, smiling sweetly as I contemplated how long it would take me to climb the mantle and reach his seating area. I doubted I’d make it before he struck me down with the golden power that shimmered behind his eyes.
I took a step forward, preparing to risk his wrath in my anger over the position he’d put me in. If he possessed any kind of love or loyalty for his child, he’d have allowed me to skip the trials altogether and given me just what I needed to defeat his other daughter.
A monster of his own making. Created through his own ignorance and foolishness.
I knew my anger was unreasonable—that my hatred for him not telling me the truth wasn’t like me and yet…
The heavy footsteps of something massive made the entire arena shake. My knees wobbled beneath me with each step as a creature stepped out from the shadows beneath the pedestal where Khaos sat. The creature’s head appeared first, emerging just above my eye level. A familiar ring hung from his snout, the gold of it shining in a way that matched the shimmering golden marks painted onto the black hair covering his body. He walked on four legs unlike the Minotaur had, his hooves enormous with a cleft separating the toe. His neck was thick and corded with muscle, covered in scales of golden armor that followed a path down his spine. His breastplate was made from the same golden armor, covering his more sensitive areas from my swords.
His body tapered toward the back, thinning out in comparison to the muscle and fat of his front torso. He was bigger than one of the draft horses we used to till the soil in Mistfell. He stopped several paces away, his deep brown eyes glaring at mine with a rage that matched my own.
“The bull has taken a vow of revenge and agreed to act as champion for someone you may recognize,” Khaos said, drawing my gaze back up to the real source of my ire. The puppet master who pulled all of our strings and expected us to dance to his song. A man stepped up beside him, his coiffed silver hair as pristinely kept as I remembered from my worst nightmares.
The Lord who had ordered me to be beaten into submission and groomed me stared down from the platform, his place alongside my supposed father making my skin crawl. Everything in me tightened, a harsh familiarity growing into a yawning, massive pit in my stomach. Complete and utter rage filled the hole, swirling within me until my hands clenched into fists at my sides and my vision was tinted with the distinct haze of red. Khaos shifted on his feet, putting more distance between himself and the man who had somehow found himself summoned to the prison of Tartarus.
“How very unpleasant to have to suffer your insolence even in death, Miss Barlowe,” Byron said, his smile twisting into a sneer of hatred.
“How fitting that you would be around to fucking haunt me,” I muttered, my toes curling in my boots. They gripped the soles, as if it would help me grip the sand beneath my feet. It was the only thing preventing me from launching myself toward him and scaling the platform.
Khaos sighed, rolling his eyes as if exasperated by the hatred that I was right to feel in this situation. Any who would side with someone who abused a child to make her into a good wife was not someone I wanted to call my blood. “Only one of you will leave this arena alive as his revenge for a wrong you committed against them both,” Khaos said, his stare on me feeling pointed as he ignored Byron and didn’t engage with him further.
“I’ve never seen him before in my life,” I snapped, shrugging my shoulders as I nodded my head toward the bull pointedly. I reached behind me to grasp the hilt of my swords, twirling them in my hand as I dragged them over my head and brought them down into a fighting position.
Not knowing him wouldn’t stop me from killing him, not with the craving I felt for his blood and the blood of all who had gathered to watch me die. Not with my hatred for Byron like a breathing, tangible thing in my veins.
“You killed my son,” the bull said, his words shocking me. His mouth moved with them, leaving me feeling certain that they were not spoken into my mind the way Fenrir’s would have been.
I tilted my head to the side as I studied him, the golden ring in his nose bringing a smile to my face as realization set in.
Whoopsies.
“He had your hooves,” I said, the quiet murmur snapping through the arena as a bark of laughter rang through the crowd. “Considering he was trying to eat me, I hope you’re not expecting an apology.”
“There is no apology large enough to make up for the pain and loss of a child,” he snorted. He stomped his front hooves against the ground, dragging dirt backward and kicking it beneath him. Waiting to be unleashed upon me I realized.
“I think my daddy dearest must have missed that memo,” I said, leaning in to whisper the words as if they were some great secret. The bull drew his head back sharply, his eyes widening in a moment of shock. It passed as soon as it had come, leaving him to blink through his rage once again. Even though I spoke the words with a sardonic edge, I couldn’t help but feel the truth in the conversation. Here was a father, however misguided, who was willing to risk his life for the very memory of his son, while mine sat there beside a man who had tormented me for years.
“Enough, Estrella,” he said, the words a quiet admonishment. It was the first moment I saw the potential for a father in the disinterested male who stared down at me. A moment that reminded me of my father when he discreetly attempted to get me to behave in a way that was for my best interest. “Begin,” he said, waving his hand passively. All thoughts of paternal bonds faded away in a flash. There was no longer time to think of my own revenge against Byron, only time to think of survival.
The bull’s hooves beat against the sand as he charged, leaving me to throw myself to the side to avoid his strike. I rolled to my feet, spinning back to face the creature who ran in a circle around the arena. He couldn’t turn quickly, needing a great deal of space to get his enormous body to change path.
I filed the information away in the place where I knew it would come in handy, readying my blades as he came at me a second time. I sidestepped his charge, swinging one of my knives down onto his back as he passed by. The clang of metal rang through the arena, confirming my sinking suspicion that the armor had been crafted by something magical. The same as my swords, as my own armor.
Where I suspected my swords would have cut through most armor that came from the land of the living, it was evenly matched.
I kept my eyes on him as he charged me, moving out of the way and finding that I couldn’t get close enough to his vulnerable, unprotected parts to connect with flesh. The only time I did, a swipe of my blade across the fatty part at the top of his rear leg, was barely more than a flesh wound.
I felt the humor of the crowd as I struggled. Felt the way they were entertained by the difficulty with which I fought. The horns atop the bull’s head posed a great threat if he managed to connect with me, his hooves and body weight big enough to crush me if he managed to get me on the ground.
My anger rose, that fury becoming blinding. The red that filled my vision in the river returned, forcing me to blink past the stain of blood in my eyes. I held my stance as the bull charged me again, his own bloodred stare meeting mine as he came closer.
Closer.
I struck, shoving my knife into the front of his leg. It collapsed beneath him, but his momentum didn’t end there as he toppled forward.
Blinding heat filled my stomach, the pain agonizing as a scream tore free from my throat and threatened to shred the flesh there. Gasping for breath, I tore myself back just before the bull flipped over himself, landing on his back on the dirt before me.
He fought to get to his hooves, leaving me to press a hand to the gaping wound in my stomach. Blood coated my skin, dripping down to coat my leather as I wheezed.
The bull got to his feet, stumbling over himself as his leg gave out beneath him again.
The tip of one of his horns gleamed with my blood, gold shimmering within the red even without any of the power flowing through me.
Fuck.