Chapter 29 Lore
TWENTY-NINE
Lore
MIDNIGHT CAME WHETHER I was ready for it or not. I hadn’t been able to access my dreamweaver magic, and I was beginning to piece together that meant the test was fully underway for this Trial.
It seemed like the Liber Noctem was able to shut my power down, trapping me in a story that tested whatever subconscious fear lurked below the surface of the test. Jessa Maya’s cabin was my desire for safety and the fear that I’d never truly find that in myself or anyone.
The dragon shifter test wasn’t just about desire; it was about the fear of never being loved.
The murder and the marquess was about loyalty and my fear of betrayal.
The sea monster attack was centered on my fear of drowning, but when I looked deeper it was really about remaining hopeful.
If this test was about survival, I suspected the underlying fear would be being alone.
“Who’s our lucky rabbit tonight?” Conquest asked, unfastening the lock and swinging the gate wide.
I stepped forward without prompting. I might not be able to free the rest of the prey, but I would make sure none of them were taken. This was my test. No one else needed to suffer for it.
His gaze burned with amusement.
“How utterly shocking that you didn’t make a single friend.”
I pulled my shoulders back as I strode out of the pen.
His hand clamped onto the back of my ill-fitting tunic, the fabric stretching taut against my skin.
“Not so fast, mortal.” A sly grin spread across his face. “Tonight my fellow hunters want to have some real fun.”
I stiffened. I hadn’t wanted anyone else to get hurt because of me.
“You stay there.” He pointed at me. “And you four. Come.”
The leader had been spared, but three other young women and one man were not as fortunate. I wished there was something more I could offer them.
We trudged along behind the Fae, and as we were herded out, nervous whispers started from the ones left behind. Mostly they wanted to know what dark games the Fae had in store for us tonight, but I didn’t want to dwell on that.
With the Book of Nightmares twisting the plot, it wouldn’t be fun.
Guilt coiled around me. I was the reason these people were trapped in this nightmare world.
Even if the Liber Noctem was the true villain, it was my test that had brought this story to life, and the book was having a wonderful time torturing everyone in it.
If the book was this terrible, I could only imagine how awful the goddess was.
I struggled to rein in my own darkening thoughts and mood; it was getting harder and harder to cling to that little flame of hope I’d always had.
No one in our group of five spoke, but everyone’s attention was far more alert than it had been while we’d been trapped in the pen.
Hopefully that meant their survival instincts were kicking in.
We marched single file out of the city limits and eventually traveled through an old village, one that seemed to be more uninhabited than lived in.
There were no lights flickering in windows, no smoke wafting from chimneys or scents of food lingering in the air.
We passed crumbling stone cottages that loomed like gravestones in the moonlight, and even though there were no obvious signs of life, I swore I felt eyes watching us from those deserted homes.
We continued our silent march until we finally hit a dirt road that led out of the village and walked for another long stretch before we came to the bottom of a large hill. If the cursed Fae was trying to tire us out before the true action began, he was doing a wonderful job of it.
No food or water had been provided, we hadn’t slept, and we’d easily walked a few miles. I was struggling to find my silver lining. My mother would encourage me to keep trying, to find that one spark of hope and cling to it.
Thinking of my mother made me think of the rest of my family. They might not be here physically, but not even the dark book could take them from me.
I pictured a familiar nightly scene from our worn wooden table: Fable and I had just cleared the dinner plates and my father sweetly demanded that my mother put her feet up after cooking the majority of the meal by herself.
He’d pull out whatever book he was reading at the time, a paperback in which he’d dog-ear favorite passages or places he could ask us questions on the text.
Mother would have a fit over his folding of the pages and Fable and I would grin as Father simply said, “Yes, dear. I’ll take that into consideration next time.
” Knowing he’d never met a paperback he wouldn’t eventually dog-ear.
We’d all sit around, bellies full, laughing and discussing whatever section had caught his fancy. We’d analyze it sometimes long into the night. More than once Fable and I had fallen asleep at the table and had been carried to our beds.
My father and mother both had such a strong desire to connect with our daily worlds, no matter how busy their days or weeks were. Their love and company had always been my guiding light, no matter the storm.
My father, mother, and brother were in my heart. My soul. And that meant I was never truly alone.
Conquest spared us one long, sinister look, then strode up the incline.
We slowly ascended the hill behind him, and in the distance a line of trees stood like soldiers at the far end of a field, their tall outlines darker than the night sky.
I wondered if the hunters expected us to run for the woods, and if the forest would offer any sanctuary at all or if I should seek a different route. Would it matter if we all chose different directions and forced them to split up?
Somehow, even if we’d planned our tactics earlier, I doubted we could have devised much of an advantage against immortal harbingers of doom.
It was hard to make out details, but shapes were moving up ahead.
As we drew closer, I noticed where we were heading: a rough amphitheater carved out of earth and stone, rising in tiers along the slope.
The seating looked ancient, as if it had hosted thousands of blood spectacles, and with all the dark stains splattering the stands, I imagined it hadn’t been cleaned since the first ever hunt.
Some people enjoyed freshly cut flowers or beautiful art in their sacred spaces; others enjoyed decorating with the blood of their enemies.
Not my personal preference, but I doubted they cared.
My attention moved away from the blood-splattered gore and took in the spectators. Fae clustered in every row.
Some wrapped in silks and furs, some gleaming with bone jewelry and metallic masks, some barely more than shadows with glinting blades they kept raising toward the moon.
I swallowed the lump in my throat.
I wasn’t sure if they were dressed in all black and armed to make a wicked fashion statement, or if they would be participating in the grand event tonight.
They looked like the grim reaper had a handful of bastard children and they wanted to gain his favor by bringing him tokens of death.
This was very, very different from the original book. My pulse started pounding and I tried to calm it. The immortals probably sensed my fear.
And terrified or not, I didn’t want to give them any other free entertainment.
Hundreds of Fae turned toward us, sighing with the impatience of a bloodthirsty crowd waiting for the main act to get slaughtered and being forced to suffer for few more moments without any action.
A cold, ticklish dread ran over my skin.
This was their Colosseum. My father was highly curious about mortal history and had read many tales of distant mortal lands where people were forced to fight to the death.
He’d quiz me and Fable on the psychology of why those blood sports were so popular.
And what it said about society as a whole.
If my magic hadn’t been locked down by the dark book, now would have been a fantastic time for me to manifest a new story.
I held the phoenix tear and tried again to summon my power.
The stone remained as cold and distant as it had before. There really was no way out but through.
Conquest held a fist in the air, sending a signal to the spectators.
“Everyone, take your seats.”
A hush swept through the stands as our group was herded onto a patch of bare earth at the center of the makeshift arena.
I tried to ignore the growing discomfort of hundreds of eyes boring into us, taking our measure.
The five of us prey stood in a loose circle, waiting for instructions.
“Welcome to tonight’s hunt. As you can see”—Conquest swept his arm out—“we have an odd number of mortals. That was by design. One target per horseman, plus a bonus for the goddess of the harvest.”
The crowd tittered and I knew whatever subtext he’d meant wasn’t good.
I glanced around at my companions, trying to see them the way our enemies did. Each one was exhibiting their own signs of tension.
One woman was biting her lip so hard I thought it would bleed, her gaze darting nervously from Conquest to the stands of Fae; another shuffled her feet, unable to stand still.
The man wrung his hands together, sweat glistening on his brow. And the fourth young woman kept swallowing hard, trying to maintain her composure.
My own breathing was shallow, my chest rising and falling rapidly no matter how hard I tried to calm myself.
We looked like exactly what they’d called us: prey.
When I thought my heart couldn’t pound any harder, the other horsemen of the apocalypse sauntered out onto the field with a ruinous sort of grace.
War’s gaze locked onto mine immediately, his eyes smoldering with a dark glint that promised he was coming for me the moment the hunt began.
I tore my attention away, shifting it to the two imposing figures flanking him. Both were towering males with powerfully built frames and exuded an aura of danger that was palpable even from this distance.
I really, really needed to read some fiction with characters who didn’t look like they could lift a thousand pounds without breaking a sweat.