34. Chapter 34
Chapter 34
T he foreboding sound of feet crunching through the blanket of fallen dead leaves was Imani’s death march.
She longed to devour a soul more than usual. Death was all she could think about, but she’d fed from Tanyl yesterday, and even in the dark, spying eyes observed the witches.
The dull roar of a crowd grew in the background until it drowned out the spirits’ taunts. Unlike the others, tonight’s final ascension assessment would be public.
Entering the cells below the outdoor fieldhouse made Imani think the whole city had come out for the spectacle.
Clad in black fighting leathers, like everyone else, Imani looked around the tent, taking in the remaining participants. The third male Norn elf was there. After Imani had killed the other Norn, he’d kept his distance.
Nearly all the survivors were male, and spectators placed wagers against the four remaining women. It shocked Imani there weren’t fewer females remaining. Nida and Esa were competing, and the fourth was an unfamiliar redhead.
Strangers betting against the women filled Imani with a sick sort of glee.
She found Esa sitting with her wand between her teeth, lacing up her boots. Those fools should be afraid of the female pixie, in particular, and despite their rift, Imani would relish Esa’s victory.
Esa surprised Imani with a curt nod. Give them hell , her eyes said. Imani returned it in silent understanding with a tilt of her chin as Lore swept into the room to loom over Esa.
His face hardened, clearly in a dark mood. How did he manage to be here without competing? Especially since he seemed ready to kill everyone .
With her wings hidden tight behind her, Esa stood, looking deadly, too.
Lore planted his hands on the wall on either side of her head, bracketing her in, and positioned himself tightly around her, hiding her.
Esa’s face contorted into a sneer. Her head cocked to the side while saying something to him. Despite being so much smaller, Esa was still somehow even more impressive, at least to Imani. More surprising was how she didn’t push him away. In fact, Esa angled herself closer and allowed his hand to skim her arm lightly.
A nerve ticked in his jaw while Esa laid into him. A quiet tension built, but Esa didn’t relent. Lore didn’t, either. Instead, he blinked then laughed without amusement.
She pushed at his chest, not moving him an inch, which only made him smile down at her. Her mouth moved again, but he cut her off with a raised hand and pointed at Esa’s chest. Whatever he said made her scoff dramatically.
Shuffling forward, Imani slyly caught the tail end of Esa’s insult.
“You think this means you’re worthy?” she hissed, grabbing his hand, the master brand gleaming. “Unlike you two, I never needed it. I never have, and I never will.”
“You’re infuriating,” he snarled, ire flashing across his face as he lifted their clasped hands to his mouth, lightly kissing them. “You think I care about any of it when I have you?”
“You think a brand means you have me?” Her voice was low and venomous. “You’ve got fuck all .”
As if sensing eyes were on them, Esa glanced up and tried to push Lore away again. It only made him pull her closer. Flustered, Esa managed to shove him off and storm away.
“Bloody fuckin’ hell,” Lore groaned to himself. Rubbing his hand over his bristle-heavy chin, he worked on composing himself. Mismatched from his blue hair, the shadow of dark stubble added to the strength of his jaw and the sharp lines of his face. His narrowed gaze landed on Imani.
“What are you looking at?” Lore snapped. His violet eyes were aglow with anger. His hair was a tousled mess. Not bothering to let her respond, he stomped out of the room after Esa.
Arsehole .
The bells sounded again, calling them outside. A heavy silence fell as the witches wove through the pits below the arena and trudged out under the scaffolding to the benches lining the edges.
Thousands of eyes landed on the participants.
A few weeks ago, Imani had walked down here to see the fieldhouse, but she had never seen it so full of people and from this angle.
Noise, magic, and emotions swirled in a cloud of thick smog. At least some Essenheim subjects didn’t find this practice barbaric. Would the Order bring back dueling to increase their goodwill?
Stone bleachers rose all around her, much more extensive and higher than she remembered when packed with people. Many stood on the steps, along the wall, and above it. The wood stages and platforms typically lining the center of the ring had been removed, and a smooth dirt floor had taken its place. The rain had been sparse the past few days—not since the storm—so the dirt remained dry instead of a mass of wet mud.
The Illithiana princes sat in the center box seats on one end of the ring. Imani seriously considered if they had any deity blood in them because they seemed like gods.
Although Kiran was the more handsome of the two, with their fine clothing, both appeared impeccable. But even more alluring was their magic.
Clawing and snarling, their signatures freely rolled off them. A tugging sensation in her chest stole a little of her breath. Her whole body responded to the power, simply wanting to be near them. It made her think about the other four brothers and what all six of them were like together with their father, the Niflheim king.
She shuddered, both excited and terrified by the thought.
Kiran sat with his fingers over his mouth in amused indifference, surveying nothing and everything. Sitting beside him was the elegant Master Heirwyn who had visited her the other night. They moved their heads close together, conversing privately. Kiran laughed with a rare, genuine smile.
Imani narrowed her eyes at the sight.
The queen and Tanyl sat in the more ornate box directly across from the Niflheim royal family. No one laughed or spoke, which made sense. For all intents and purposes, the event was an embarrassment for them.
Saevel stood, and the audience grew calm and still.
“We value strength over magic in our kingdom,” he boomed, the deep rasp of his voice echoing throughout the stadium. “The third and final assessment will test the witches’ magical skills, mental fortitude, and physical ruthlessness in combat.”
With a flourish of his wand, he sent fireworks into the air, signaling the start of the first match.
Violence and death permeated Imani’s keen, elven sense as the evening wore on. They were nearly through the night, and Esa was taking on a high satyr witch.
The pixie witch’s terrestrial magic kicked dust up in a constant swirl. Esa hammered him with blows from her fists and magic, but she could never hurt him enough.
Surrounded by all this brutality, a stirring grew inside Imani. She smothered the emotions as she readied herself for the awaited duel, needing all her strength for what she had planned.
The shifter probably assumed Esa was an easy kill. The pairing of the slightest participants with two of the largest did not go unnoticed by Imani. Victory—and staying alive—would be a challenge for the females, and even the unshakable pixie appeared ragged and animalistic as her match wore on.
Seconds ticked by, and the noose of death tightened around Esa’s neck.
It was close to ending. Indeed, Lore appeared to be losing his mind next to Tanyl. The male sprite was an arsehole, and Imani didn’t understand his relationship with Esa, but it was clear he cared for her. Imani’s heart hurt to see such a powerful witch be so helpless. His pain also made her nervous.
What would he do if Esa lost? The thought was concerning.
Bursts of dirt flew high above, forcing Imani’s eyes up again. The shifter whinnied loudly, circling below, taunting her. Esa flew into a corner of the ring as if in retreat.
People booed, assuming her imminent loss, and Lore roared, tearing his hair out. He had chewed his lip to shreds, and blood coated his mouth.
An end would come soon, either way.
Onlookers cheered or shouted, their eyes on the horse. Imani’s eyes were drawn to the dirt and the unnatural way it moved. It churned like the sea, forming subtle but distinct waves.
She inched forward in her seat, her mouth gaped in anticipation; it was clear Esa wasn’t in retreat. Instead, her friend had been working—yet waiting—in complete control the entire time. Some magic took longer than others to cast.
The two combatants stood in limbo for seconds. Then, arms rising, Esa clutched her wand in both hands above her head. Her thin, nimble Draswood heated, an orange ember appearing on the end.
With a lurch, Imani’s power pressed harder against her skin, as if responding to Esa’s magic. She doubled over, clutching her belly. No longer contained in her veins, fingers of black ink spread subtly out from her skin. With her jaw clenched, Imani imagined strong, invisible hands shoving the power back down where it belonged. If it exploded here, they’d demand her death.
When it quieted to a background whisper and disappeared altogether, Imani’s shoulders sagged in relief as the pressure dropped in the stadium.
In one movement, Esa took control of all the air. All of it was sucked out of their lungs.
Imani choked, grabbing her throat.
A force shuddered the ground. Separating her hands, Esa sent it outward. Gravel flying around appeared too slow, floating unnaturally. Loose earth coalesced into five giant moving columns, moving like puppets.
Yes, Esa.
The pixie’s spell put pressure on the structure—a massive creaking sound groaned through the building. Imani and a hundred others rose to their feet.
But it held.
Like the magic of all master witches, it appeared effortless. Her brother had trained her well, far better than Ara had trained Imani.
A gleam of pure pleasure shone in Esa’s wide eyes while the slight movement of her wand commanded the storm across the arena floor. Her cold, murderous gaze reminded Imani that she wasn’t alone in the horrors she’d seen in this world. What had Esa been through that had led her to this moment?
The sight also reminded Imani how people underestimated the pixie’s true strength.
Twisters of dust and debris boxed the satyr into the corner. With a push of her hands, Esa lifted the air again. The magic blew out of the arena, where it presumably dissipated.
A whistling from above forced their heads skyward.
Mangled, the shifter’s corpse dropped from the sky. It slammed into the ground with an unceremonious splat, but no blood shone on the corpse.
The pixie’s wings gave out. She dropped to the ground on her knees, tucking her wings tightly behind her, and then mayhem erupted.
Esa roared as the new brand seared into her skin, and an onslaught of new magic imbibed her being. Trembling, she ripped at her face in the most undignified way. It reminded Imani of the day on the river when her brands had formed, except worse.
Yet, when Esa quieted, the mob merely murmured in hushed whispers. Imani understood why. Esa looked incredible—insane, yet beautiful.
After a moment, Esa stilled and stared at her hands in her lap with her wand discarded at her side. Despite the chaos, Esa didn’t care one bit. The pixie hated the Crown and the Order, and the master brands and everything they stood for. But she put on a masterful show.
Such brilliant yet terrifying magic. A true master witch, whom the Fabric honored, walked out of the building.
The spirit of the victim swirled and flickered in confusion over Esa’s head, trailing her as she left. Hunger tore through Imani, and her hands shook with black tinting her veins and tendons again.
They called Imani’s name next.