Chapter 39
ARLET
The light slants red across the arena, turning the sand rust red and the walls to a single unbroken wound. The final trial is taking place at dusk. Though adrenaline runs through my veins, weariness weighs on me.
Vann is beside me, his body close enough that our shadows merge and stretch like a single creature across the ground. I watch them, thinking about how it felt to sleep near him. How it felt to sleep with him for what could be the last time.
When Thorne came to take Vann back to his cell, I felt…loss.
Now the chain between us hangs loose but heavy. It’s already started to leave a raw ring of skin around my wrist, another mark, like the tender skin around my neck.
Vann brushes my arm with his, giving me a long, intense look that promises the world. It makes my heart flutter, despite how weak and tired I feel.
When we enter the arena, I peer up at the crowd. I’m not used to the shouting coming from all levels. It drones on, washing over my head and ringing in my ears. They beg—demand—for our blood. For my humiliation.
Arion sits on the Throne of Living Wood high above them all, robed in white and gold, a gleam of jewels coiled around his throat. His crown catches the dying light, and for one unreal moment, he looks carved from sunlight—every inch the supreme leader he believes himself to be.
When he stands, the noise dies.
“Citizens of Shvathemar,” he calls, his voice rolling like silk through smoke. “As I said the first night of these trials, if these two somehow managed to make it out of here alive, I would let them go home. But today is special—the Trial of Blood. You might see a familiar face tonight.”
The reaction from the crowd is charged. Lightning-quick silence skitters over the stands.
He smiles. “You have seen strength. Now witness surrender.”
I glance at Vann. His gaze stays fixed on the sand, his jaw tight. “He’s not letting us walk out,” he murmurs.
“I know.”
He lifts his eyes to mine, and for a breath, I forget the noise, the heat, the waiting death. “Then we go down together.”
It shouldn’t comfort me. But in that moment, we are more than the sum of our parts. Perhaps the face of death makes it easier to forgive and forget what once was. The betrayal that Vann gave me seeps out of my bones, slowly sliding away and disappearing into the sand.
He lied. He hid.
But he also cared for me. Followed me. He has made it clear the lengths he will go to be mine.
Mine. That word sticks in my throat, forming a lump I can’t seem to swallow.
He grows on you, that is for sure, Cursed One comments.
As the horn blares, tears fill my eyes.
We will die together. I am grateful for the world I was able to experience, thankful for the adventures, the opportunities, and the people I was able to know.
And then I am sad. The sadness quickly shifts to anger at the life that I will not have.
Some of the anger toward Vann returns. What could we have been if we were not here?
And then the gates open.
This time it’s not just beasts. It’s a nightmare parade.
I see more wolves, snakes the color of copper, and an ogre so tall the setting sun halos its shoulders.
Behind them come armed human men and I gasp.
They don’t look like soldiers—they are chained and drugged, pushed into the light like offerings.
“They’re going to make us kill humans.”
My breath comes faster, and blood roars in my ears.
“I don’t know if they are still alive, Firelocks. Just…let me take care of them.”
Vann’s hand brushes mine as the first creature charges. The chain between us jolts taut, and the world shrinks to motion.
Cursed One’s power starts almost instantly. Her strength lends itself to my strength, and I mostly manage to push the creatures off, leaving ample time for Vann to cut them down.
When two wolves come too close, he sweeps his rusting sword in a wide arc, forcing a gap, then pulls me through it by the chain. The crowd screams approval.
The night before didn’t do us any favors. I feel the closeness of his body, every time we are too close. I know the chain is meant to disadvantage Vann, to slow him down and let him die. But somehow, we find it to be a strength.
He pulls me out of danger, and we pause for breath, our foreheads nearly touching. “You still with me?”
“Yes,” I say breathlessly. And my body remembers what my mind does not wish to see. My skin heats at the memory of last night. I remember everything.
Vann’s mouth curves, then he pushes me behind him. I look around his massive body as the ogre lunges.
“Run to the side as far as you can!” Vann shouts, and we split, the chain whipping between us. I catch its flank. He drives his blade through its calf. It collapses, bellowing, but the humans are already closing in.
I see their faces, dull and lifeless.
Something inside of me breaks.
Is this like the Cold Ones that once plagued Enduvida a year ago? Do they come from labor camps? My eyes burn, and my chest constricts.
Somewhere above us, Arion’s laughter cuts through the noise.
The sound causes the hairs on my arms and neck to stand straight up. How many times have I heard that sound? It enrages me. This hunger for life fills my taut belly.
I wish for his power to bleed out along with his blood.
Another beast charges and my vision narrows on Vann.
He stands tall, slicing through the last of the wolves. His forearms and shoulders ripple under the light, coated in sweat, dirt, and blood. His tail is tense behind him, causing the short leather armor to show the raw power of his thighs as he lunges and moves.
He is graceful and beautiful. Every last bit of him.
I don’t care that Arion watches. Before the undead humans come within dangerous proximity, I grab Vann’s braid, pulling him down to me and kissing him.
The world stops.
It’s blood and dust and the taste of iron. He kisses me back with the kind of desperation that belongs only to the dying. The crowd doesn’t like our display, but at least Arion stops fucking laughing. They begin to sneer and shout about the “whoring bitch.”
I ignore them. If I am to die in this next wave, if this is to be it, then I will go out of this world with one final kiss from the man who gave it all up to be at my side.
And with that image, something inside me snaps.
All the grief. All the rage. All the months of being a spectacle, of being silent, of surviving when I should’ve been allowed to live. The manipulation. The cruelty of putting me against my own kin.
My fury breaks loose.
“I love you,” he breathes. The words are clipped. They are short, desperate, and life-giving.
I look him in the eye and pull back from him. “I know.” And then an arrow whines past my ear.
“?Agáchate!” I shout, holding my ears. I hadn’t realized they’d also put archers with the crowd. Vann grabs me again, making sure to twist me around and out of the sight of any marksman.
Vann and I begin circling, trying to stay moving targets. A few spear-wielding humans run forward, only for Vann to cut them down single-handed.
He bellows, emboldened by the kiss.
The crowd boos.
And then Arion stands.
“My bride did not just bring the traitorous troll to our gates,” he says. “She was a decoy for traitors to spread like wildfires. Tonight, this trial of blood extends not only to her and her lover, but to one who sought to bring me down!”
Guards enter the chaos of the arena, dragging an elf with short white hair. Fire blows up from the arena’s walls, lighting us in a grand spectacle just as night falls.
“The pretender! May his blood feed the soil!”
Thorne, I realize.
“Fight each other, traitors. Let us see you bleed.” Arion’s voice pierces me straight to the heart. Dozens of bodies lay around us, beast and being alike.
Thorne looks up, smiling through bloody teeth.
Vann tightens his grip and starts forward.
“Wait,” I say. “Are you really going to kill him?”
Vann turns around, looking at me, confused. “It’s us or him, Arlet.”
I understand the logic, but it seems wrong to just slaughter him. I think of his confession about his sister—of seeing him in my room to give me those herbs.
The weeks in Arion’s court changed me, but my compassion still exists somewhere. Faintly, but it’s still there.
Then Cursed One speaks. I cannot hurt him, she says.
Because he worked with Arion, right? Wouldn’t the king know that?
“Arlet, we need to move before Arion decides we are taking too long.”
“Wait, Vann. Please,” I beg.
And then Thorne begins to stand.
Ask better questions, Arlet.
And I ask, Why can’t you hurt him?
Because…
Why?
Because he is my kin.
My eyes go wide, and facts begin to spin through my mind.
Thorne had a sister. She was Arion’s last wife. She was talented in magic.
She was executed for not producing a child. And then…
The presence in the back of my mind stirs.
“Spill blood, my bride. We are waiting,” Arion’s voice taunts.
Does Thorne know she is with me? He did everything for her memory. To make a better world.
“Vann, we cannot kill him,” I say with finality. Not before he knows the truth.
Vann looks back at me, confused. I wish that I still had my Fuegorra so our matehood would let us speak to each other’s minds.
How can I explain to him what I know? Is there any way he knows too?
All you have seen him accomplish and risk for me was for you—for those like you, I think.
Cursed One doesn’t respond.
Instead, something shifts over us. A massive cloud, fanning the fire and blowing heat over my face. I look up just in time to see vast golden wings flapping overhead.
My mouth falls open.
“Seraph?” I call out. She lives. I have wondered about her, hoping she was all right. But of course she was. When I look at Vann, I see him watching me, half smiling.
I think of him flying—how much he hated it. He must’ve flown her to be with me. My heart swells.