Chapter 20
Kressa rolls, and my blade sinks into the ground, slashing through mud and sand and blood. The impact reverberates through my arm and tears at the open wound on my hand.
She grips her sword and rises to her feet. Her lips press together, and she unravels her fist, exposing the name.
Harriet.
My stomach hollows out.
A familiar scream comes from the stands. “Behind you!”
I twist to Thea’s voice, but a tentacle sweeps my feet out from under me, and I crash to the ground. My temple slams into the grainy mud, and my sword soars out of reach, sinking into a puddle. I fumble toward it as the tentacle thrashes over the shore, knocking over anyone in its path.
A second shoots from the water. And a third.
Competitors scream, stumbling over each other, and a cry pierces the air as Simon sinks his sword into the chest of a man. Chills sweep down my spine and I rise to my knees, scrambling for my sword.
I reach for it, but a foot meets my side and throws me onto my back. My vision swims, and Kressa’s figure blots out the sun. Her hands grip the hilt of her sword, tip poised to my chest.
Lifting her blade, she readies it over my heart. Not quick. Not painless. “No hard feelings.”
She brings it down, but I roll, and her sword pins my shirt to the ground. I rip it free and lunge for my sword. My palm screams as sand bites into the wound, but I grip it tighter and push to my feet, sprinting around the edge of the lake.
My boots pound the shoreline, heart hammering in my chest. The kraken thrashes men and woman through the air, pulling them beneath the surface one by one.
Sunlight bounces off the churning water, and I risk a glance over my shoulder.
Bloodied, prone bodies coat the open space where we entered the arena.
And between me and the bodies—Kressa gains, blade swinging at her side.
Hand throbbing, I pump my arms harder. Wet sand shoots into the air with each footfall, and the loose fabric of my pants catches the wind, slowing me down.
The sun beats down on the back of my neck. I bank around the curve in the lake, the pile of boulders inching closer. If I make it to them, I—
A large tentacle twists through the air and slams into my chest, pinning me to the ground. The air rushes from my lungs, and its weight pauses over my middle before it slowly reels itself back into the lake.
Two yellow, slitted eyes peer at me from the surface.
Hello, Princess.
Fuck.
It sinks back into the depths, and footsteps sound behind me, close enough for mud to splash onto my calves. I jump to my feet as Kressa raises her sword, her eyes locked on me. I duck, roll to my blade, and lift it in time to meet hers, the vibration of metal on metal echoing through my bones.
Our blades slide together, screeching.
I grit my teeth and look for an out, but there’s no weakness or fault in her technique.
She smirks, as if reading my mind, and shoves her weight into me, blade slipping free. I stumble back. She takes the advantage, lunging forward, and slashes her blade in a wide arc.
It slices through my upper arm, and I scream. Deep, ruby blood blooms through the fabric of my shirt and seeps down my forearm. I snarl and regain my balance, forcing my attention off the gash
I’ve fought battles far deadlier than this, with and without my power. Growing up, I was trained by masters of the craft. I don’t lose.
I narrow my eyes. Raising my sword, I inhale a deep breath and center myself—calm like the seafloor. I breathe out and pin my stare on the soft skin of Kressa’s throat.
I attack.
My sword thrashes through the air—a flash of metal.
Kressa deflects my blow, but I advance and force her back until she’s flush against the stone barricade.
Spectators lean over the rail, cheering and shouting.
Her blade scrapes the wall, the metal squealing as she dodges my assault.
I slam my pommel onto her wrist, and it jerks open, her sword tumbling to the ground.
I swing my blade and point it at her throat, directly over her artery. “I was going to make this quick, but then you cut my arm and pissed me off.” I narrow my eyes, my lip quirking. “No hard feelings though.”
She blinks—the first time I’ve witnessed fear etched into her eyes, and I tighten my grip, swallowing down the lump in my throat. It has to happen this way. I entered this competition knowing I’d have to kill.
Kressa shifts and hooks a foot around my ankle, kicking out with her other leg.
My legs flail, trying to gain purchase, but I trip over a jagged stone and fall, my back sliding into thick mud. A fist connects with my jaw, and Kressa drops onto my chest, pushing me into the earth.
She wraps a hand around my throat and squeezes until my vision blurs. I gasp for air, fists pounding her sides, but my blows do nothing. Her weight, the leverage, is too much.
Lungs screaming, I inch my fingers into my pocket and find the hilt of my dagger. I ease it out, rearranging it in my palm, and slam it into Kressa’s thigh.
She howls, releasing her grip as I yank my dagger free and push her off. Air burns against my raw throat, and I clutch at my chest, heaving.
“That dagger,” she rasps, eyeing the handle. “Did she give that to you?”
I smirk. “Jealous?”
Sheathing my blade, I rise to my feet and pluck my sword from the sludge. I hold it over Kressa’s chest.
A coppery rust taints the air. Blood dyes the shore crimson and the lake scarlet. The surface is completely still—not a ripple or bubble or disturbance in sight, as if the kraken has already succumbed to the freshwater.
I count those still standing along the bank, and my stomach flips. One more death until the trial ends.
Kressa’s.
In the stands, Caelus observes with a grin, watching us the way he would a performance or an opera. Beside him, Isolde sits, stoic.
Nobles laugh and tap their tankards together, beer sloshing over the rims.
All this death—all this pain for the benefit of a king, the amusement of a court.
My stomach sours, and the cuts along my body throb, my throat a searing ache.
“Get it over with,” Kressa says, trying to lift herself in the mud. Her foot slides out from under her, and a fresh wave of blood gushes from her thigh.
I shake my head. “No.”
My weapon slides through my fingers and hits the ground with a slick thud.
Her gaze meets mine. “No?”
I tilt my chin to the crowd. “I’ll play to win, but I’m not going to kill for their entertainment. I won’t kill innocent people.”
Even if it sacrifices my freedom.
I thrust out a hand, and she hesitates, but accepts it and allows me to hoist her to her feet.
Her face is pale and bloodless as she rubs at a scrape on her arm. “You’re a far better person than I am.”
A splash comes from the lake, and Kressa’s eyes widen over my shoulder. I twist, and a tentacle pauses midair.
I curse under my breath.
The tentacle freezes, suckers flexing, and the very tip tilts in my direction. It darts toward us and slams Kressa into the barricade. She slumps to the earth, her head drooping at an unnatural angle.
I snatch my sword. “Kressa!”
The tentacle turns on itself and faces me, testing the air. Tremors wrack my body, but I raise my blade over my shoulder and bring it down, severing through a layer of leathery scales and muscle. The kraken screeches, and a second tentacle wraps around my waist, jerking me into the air.
My sword falls from my grip, and I wedge my hand between my waist and the kraken’s hold, but it’s too tight. I can’t reach my dagger.
A scream comes from the stands, but it cuts off the moment I plunge underwater.
I beat my fists against the tentacle as I sink. Light at the surface dims, and through the haze, two yellow eyes come into focus—pupils nothing but a thin slit. Tentacles float around his grey, elongated head like snakes.
A deep, otherworldly chuckle floats across the mental bridge.
You look different, princess.
Do I? You’re as revolting as I remember.
A massive, welded chain wraps around his body in a figure eight. The end disappears through the cloudy water, where it’s secured to the lake floor. A prisoner.
He tightens his hold, nearly forcing the oxygen from my lungs. It seems your power is missing. An interesting turn of events.
I ignore him.
He shifts and flinches as the iron bites into his skin. Blood seeps from his wounds, clouding the water with crimson. I trace the path of the chain, where angry, red sores weep beneath each link. My chest tightens.
My chains aren’t as visible, but the pain cuts as deep.
Where his largest tentacle would be, only a jagged nub remains. A reminder of that fateful day all those years ago. I relax my muscles and slow my heart, rationing the dwindling oxygen in my lungs.
The kraken scans me, his pupils dilating. You’re a prisoner, too.
I struggle against his grip and lift my leg, but one of his razor-tipped suckers cuts my thigh. I clamp my mouth shut as blood floats into the water. Yes, but at least you’ll be returned to the sea when the trial ends.
His eyes track the red liquid, widening with what I can only assume is hunger. They swing back to me with a slow blink.
Caelus has no intention of returning me to the sea.
My heart stutters. But he told me—
The false king lies.
He pulls taut against the chains and cringes as they dig into his open sores. His gills strain, searching for salt water the way my lungs beg for air.
They’ve kept him here for days.
The kraken and I may be enemies, but we come from the same waters. We share the same home.
We don’t belong to Caelus.
My lungs scream for oxygen, and my vision blurs. Spare me and I’ll help you escape.
He pauses, considering. Then the skin around his eyes wrinkles.
He catapults me up through the water, my head whipping to the side with the force. I break the surface and gasp for air, my throat like sandpaper from Kressa’s chokehold. I push my hair out of my face and every set of eyes—spectators and competitors alike—focuses on me.
They’re waiting for the final death.