Chapter 29
The crowd roared, the sound swelling like a wave crashing over her, but Elara’s world was caving in.
She was the prize.
A shiver danced down her spine, cold sweat beading at her neck as Osin’s words slithered back to her, his smile a serpent's grin splitting the dark.
"For those willing to pay a premium... more intimate interactions could be arranged."
Her stomach flipped, bile rising fast. She was going to be sick.
Eyes—so many eyes—fixed on her, hungry, devouring, crawling over her skin like parasites. The cheers grew louder, more savage, but it all blurred, like she was underwater, like she was drowning.
Osin raised his hands, and the crowd fell silent.
"Now, now, let's not get ahead of ourselves," he purred, "there’s plenty of the Hallowed to go around.
" As he lowered his hands, shadows pooled at his fingertips, thick and oily, creeping across the dirt like spilled blood. Elara’s heart pounded, fear rising like the acid in her throat as they lunged.
Her body moved before she had time to think—an urgent, desperate attempt to sidestep, to run.
But her legs gave out beneath her, and she hit the ground with a bone-rattling thud.
The crowd’s cruel laughter rang out, but all she could focus on was the sickening sound of glass shattering against stone.
Goosebumps prickled along her arms. The tonics.
A dampness spread slowly, cold and sticky against her side.
Elara’s hand brushed her gown, and her fingers met the broken glass, its remains leaking through the fabric.
The ground seemed to tilt beneath her, the faces in the crowd smearing into a whirl of sneers and gloating eyes.
She didn’t have time to mourn, no time to panic over the loss—they were gone, and Osin's shadows were upon her.
They snaked around her ankles and wrists—tightening, squeezing, seeping into her veins.
It was a freezing fire that numbed her limbs, stole her breath, clouded her mind.
Her fingertips turned blue, nerves screaming.
Fight. She had to fight. But the shadows moved too fast, dragging her across the grid, feet barely grazing the ground before she was lifted into the air.
Tears pricked her eyes, freezing upon her cheeks as they fell. Through the haze, she glimpsed Osin standing below, at the center of it all, like a spider in his web.
This was her punishment. For defying him.
For outsmarting his men. For daring to step out of the neat little box he’d shoved her into.
He’d been waiting for this—a chance to remind her what she was.
A pawn to be sold to the highest bidder, as though she were mere chattel, as though she were nothing.
Rage flared, a brief spark in the darkness. She summoned it, clung to it.
"Now, we all know Spindlebind is a simple game," Osin said, his voice dripping with false charm, carrying effortlessly over the crowd.
The players gathered on the grid below her, their eager faces lit by the glowing runes.
Osin gestured toward the shimmering crystal dial hovering in the air.
With a languid flick of his fingers, it spun, the runes blurring in a whirl of light.
"When it stops, the runes will, of course, instruct you where to place your hands and feet.
" The dial spun faster. "But tonight," he continued, his tone laced with a chilling sweetness, "we’ve added a few… enhancements."
Osin turned toward the four Legionnaires stepping forward, their faces hard as stone.
At the slightest tilt of his head, they spread out, moving to the edges of the grid, arms lifting in unison, fingers splayed as they called the elements to life.
Flames roared up from the tiles as air howled, whipping through the grid.
The ground beneath them trembled, the earth groaning as it cracked and shifted, while torrents of water surged from every corner, crashing together in a wild, swirling current.
"The tiles beneath you will shift as you move, and these obstacles? Let’s just say they’re designed to…
inspire a bit more urgency." His smile was all teeth.
"First to reach the middle and touch the Hallowed wins.
" He flicked his hand, dropping Elara into the center of the grid. "May the strongest claim their prize."
She hit the stone floor with a bone-jarring crack, pain lancing up her spine as her knees slammed hard into the cold surface.
The shock rattled her teeth, and her lungs seized.
Her legs—gods, they felt shattered. Agony flared through her, a searing, white-hot wave that left her vision blurry.
Trembling, she pushed herself up, her palms scraping against the rough tiles, but the ground beneath her wasn’t still—it shifted, sliding like a snake, the runes etched into the stone beginning to glow.
Then the tremors hit. The footsteps.
Like a dam breaking, they charged the board, bodies colliding as they funneled through, the elements pulling back just enough to let them pass.
Earth groaned and cracked, water surged in torrents, fire hissed and sparked, wind screamed in fury—alive, furious, wild—only to snap back into place the moment they crossed, a storm of madness swirling around them.
A living, breathing barrier. Unpredictable.
Deadly. The only thing standing between the players and their prize—her.
Osin twisted the dial, and it roared to life, the runes flaring so brightly they blurred into a blinding swirl of light. The players' heads snapped up, eyes locked onto the dial’s frantic spin. Anticipation crackled, the kind you could feel prickling your skin, ready to snap at any moment.
Then, with a sharp, jarring snap, the dial locked into place. The runes exploded in a pulse of red, a searing flash that burned across her vision, leaving dark spots dancing in her sight.
The first: fire.
Chaos erupted.
The rune—a jagged, serpent-like flame—blazed to life across the grid, a scorching red, its heat palpable even from a distance. Flames shot up from the blank tiles, twisting and hissing, consuming everything in their path. The heat hit like a wave, blistering, scorching the air.
It swallowed the grid in a swirling inferno, sparks flying, blazing at their feet. The players had mere seconds to react, to jump before the heat bit into their soles, the flames licking at the edges of their boots.
The air thickened with smoke, burning Elara’s lungs.
She sprang onto the nearest rune, a hiss of pain escaping her as the ground groaned, shifting, the low rumble vibrating through her bones.
For a heartbeat, everything held its breath.
Heat pulsed up through her legs, almost unbearable, her skin prickling from the intense burn.
Then, with a low, grinding rumble, the tiles beneath her lurched again, realigning themselves like pieces of a living puzzle. She swayed, struggling to stay upright.
The heat vanished.
Water.
The silvery rune flickered, a faint pulse of light, before it erupted into life.
Cool blue waves shimmered across the surface. The air thickened, pressing close, as though the sea itself had risen to claim the space. Salt filled her lungs, brisk and unmistakable—the same brine she’d tasted on the air back in Verdara.
A low, guttural rumble vibrated through the tiles underfoot. Then, without warning, the roar hit. Water. A wall of it crashing down like a tidal wave breaking free, sweeping over the board in a cold, savage rush.
The torrent crashed into Elara, yanking her from her feet, dragging her under before she had a chance to scream.
Darkness closed in as the freezing water wrapped around her, choking off her breath. Her arms flailed, legs kicking uselessly as she tumbled, chest screaming. But then her hand brushed against something solid—a tile. A raised platform, just barely within reach.
Elara kicked toward it, her limbs burning before she broke the surface with a ragged gasp, water streaming down her face.
She scrambled, fingers slipping on the slick stone before finally gripping the edge.
With a grunt of effort, she pulled herself up onto the raised tile, collapsing onto the glowing water rune, gulping down air.
She was going to die. There was no way in hell she could handle any more of this.
It had been almost an hour since the last dose of stonebrew, and she could feel it slipping, fading out of her system.
Her body shook so violently it felt like she was splintering apart, every inch of her screaming for mercy.
Elara glanced up, her vision swimming as the players in the distance struggled to stay upright, their boots skidding across the slick, ever-shifting tiles.
The waves showed no mercy, rising high before crashing down with punishing force, the impact sending bodies flying.
The fallen were swept from the board like leaves in a torrent, pulling them toward the outer lines of the grid. Disqualified.
The water rune on the dial flickered, a faint shimmer, before vanishing. In its place, the earth rune blinked into existence for the briefest breath, only to morph into fire with a crackling burst of heat. And again it shifted—faster, each change more volatile.
Then the earth buckled. A rolling hill of stone broke open beneath her feet, throwing her off balance.
She stumbled, crashing down, her fingers clawing at the nearest tile.
But the earth didn’t take her off the board.
No, she wouldn’t get that mercy. Elara dangled, her nails digging into the stone, breaking under the strain as the rune shifted again, flickering into wind—and the tiles reset.