Chapter 24
TWENTY-FOUR
Kill or be killed.
CELINE
It’s bitterly cold.
I order my body not to shiver. It’s a weakness. And I can’t afford any weaknesses.
Riven is silent as we cross the bridge.
He’s silent in the corridors under the arena too, never once looking at me. It’s a bad sign.
He unlocks the holding room, gestures for me to go in, and I see the writing on the wall. He’ll leave me alone here, locked in and friendless, surrounded by thousands of people who want to watch me die.
“I want to make a deal,” I say.
“You have nothing to bargain with.” There’s a rasp in Riven’s voice I’m not used to hearing. Uncertainty? I’m being silly. He could have a cold, for all I know.
“Maybe not,” I admit. “But I’d like to ask, anyway.”
“What?” He hisses the word through clenched teeth, and his face warps. He doesn’t meet my eyes, and a chill rolls down my spine. In all our interactions—no matter how hostile—he’s always faced me head-on.
Call it paranoia or intuition, but I’m suddenly confident that Riven doesn’t plan for me to survive this fight. It changes nothing about my approach. I’m not ready to die. I’ll give it my all, but if I don’t have what it takes . . .
“If I fall tonight.” I swallow around the lump in my throat. “If my father gets what he wants, let them go. He doesn’t care about them, not really. He wants to hurt me.”
Riven laughs bitterly. “Why should I protect them? They aren’t my responsibility.”
“Because if you do this for me, I’ll forgive you.”
“You’ll be dead,” he says. “Why would I care about that?”
I wrap my arms around myself. “I don’t know, but something tells me you do.”
“You’re absurd.” Riven’s knuckles turn white around the door handle. He still won’t meet my eyes.
“Please.” I take a step toward him and clear my throat. “I’m begging you, Riven. Search your heart and let them live. S’lach poisons everything I love. He killed my mother, cost me years with Malach, and I couldn’t do anything to stop him.”
Familiar pain steals the air from my lungs, and my voice cracks as I mourn the future I had only just begun to believe in.
“I swore to myself I wouldn’t let his evil reach them. If tonight is my last fight. If he wins—I can accept that, I can—but don’t make me a liar, Riven. Please.”
“You beg for them,” he says. “They make you weak.”
I shake my head. “I’ve never felt stronger.” His amber face blurs, but he’s looking at me now. “If I die, I’ll do it protecting the people I love. Let me have that.”
My eyes burn with unshed tears, but I refuse to look away. He’s welcome to my truth. I’ve survived this long wearing my feelings on my back, and if I go out tonight, I won’t waste a second regretting the emotions my father hated me for.
I’m S’lach’s daughter, but we aren’t the same.
Riven’s face glitches wildly. “He thinks you’re disloyal,” he scoffs. “Of all his wrongs, that’s the worst. Your loyalty—”
“—is hard earned,” I say. “By each of them.”
“I’ll free them,” he says. “Although knowing what you’ll face in the arena, I can’t fathom why it matters to you.”
“You don’t understand love,” I say gently. “Even if my heart stops beating tonight, it will always belong to them. As long as they live, part of me will too.” After all, it’s breaking as we speak. The sharp pain in my chest is as unmistakable as it is relentless.
My head drops, and I wrap my arms around myself.
Luca once told me some burdens were too heavy to carry alone.
He was right. But there’s no one here to help me shoulder this one.
I have no choice but to hoist it onto my back—like I did as a girl—and keep moving forward.
One step after another, I’ll walk this godsdamn road right off a cliff if I have to. No regrets.
Riven grips my chin. I blink. When did he get so close? His touch is warm, warmer than it has any right to be. My breath catches as he stares at me. “Keep your head high, darling. Give no one the power to erase you, and they never can.”
“Will he be here tonight?” I ask. I’m not sure if it’s morbid curiosity, or a pathetic attempt to postpone the inevitable.
Riven shakes his head. “Not to my knowledge.”
I sigh. “Good. I don’t want his face to be the last one I see.”
“Whose would you like?” Riven asks. His voice is more urgent than I’ve ever heard it. “I’ll show you any face you want, just say the word.”
Blinking, I study the waxy living mask that coats his features and force a smile. “Yours isn’t so bad, Riven.”
He drops my chin as if I burned him and retreats.
The door slams, and then I’m alone.
The crack in my heart grows, and I do my best to wall off the pain. Undefeated in the cage and the arena. Maybe I have one more win left in me, but if I don’t, at least the others will get to go home.
The arena ground is the same odd mix of spongy sand, dirt, and cracking ice.
Sunlight shines on the arena and the stands, but it’s fading. I shiver, and it has nothing to do with the current temperature. The time of day is another opponent. If I don’t win fast, the cold will decide the winner of the fight.
Is that why Riven decided to do this now? So I would freeze to death and there would be no way for me to win?
The crowd is thinner than usual, but they’re hungry. For spilled blood, for my death—I don’t care what they want. This is my life at stake. If I got my way, the situation would be reversed, and they would find themselves down in the sand.
I take my place in the center of the arena, roll my shoulders back, and plant my feet wide.
I’m not supposed to win this fight, but I’ve never been good at meeting expectations. I’ll fight until my last breath, and there’s nothing my father or Riven can do about that.
Riven makes the announcements.
I barely listen.
He waves his arms toward the weapons.
I trudge to the rock arsenal and select the longsword. I wrap my fingers around the hilt, the grip familiar against my palm.
My muscles bunch, ready to do whatever I need them to. They don’t know we’re fighting for survival, but I trust them. Whether it’s a pole routine, a long ride on my bike, or a night on the couch with Imani, laughing until my abs are screaming, this body rarely lets me down.
Riven’s voice rings around the arena. It’s flat. The melodic teasing note I’m used to hearing from him is nowhere to be found. I’m not surprised. Time spent with my father has that effect on everyone.
The gong sounds, and my magic returns to me like a warm blanket around my soul. I sink into my fighting stance. Knees slightly bent, toes aligned and facing forward, arms up. Let’s go, motherfuckers.
There are a dozen gates spaced around the arena. I eye them warily, wondering which one will usher in my new fresh hell. There’s a groan, followed by a snap, then a heinous grinding whine echoes around me as every single gate rolls up at the same time.
Gods alive and dead. I was wrong. The sun won’t factor in to this fight. I’ll be cut to pieces within thirty seconds. Fear rolls over me, and I release my wings. They turn to blades in a heartbeat, then split at the ends, icing over and morphing into something new.
Stress, fear, heartbreak . . . What is this? And does it even matter?
The sun flees under the horizon, and a resonant hum echoes around the arena as a faint, gray-tinged bubble snaps into place. Bright lights kick on, adding to the synthetic buzz in the air.
The ground shakes as the first monster steps into the arena, scenting the air and pawing the ground. Boxy and oversized, with spikes running the length of its back—I’ve never seen anything like it. Is there a person inside the beast, with thoughts and fears and emotions?
I’ll probably never know.
Another creature comes out to the left of the first. Long and sinuous with iridescent yellowish wings, it hisses at the spiked one, then focuses its beady eyes on me.
I force myself to take in every single opponent, even though part of me wants to shut my eyes and curl into a ball.
Two wolves emerge from the gates directly behind me. There are three hulking lions, bigger than any I’ve ever seen. A tent-sized moth with red eyes and talons. Someone who looks human but is anything but, and a handful of other opponents, all focused on me.
The crowd is eerily silent.
The arena is flat tonight. No rocks, no trees, no water—nothing but an enclosed space filled with monsters. They don’t want me to hide or strategize; I’m here to die. This will be quick, bloody, and brutal. An execution disguised as melee.
But I’ve had bad odds before. Think, Celine, think. Maybe I can take them in layers. Only two of my opponents have visible wings.
I kick off, flapping my wings and gritting my teeth from the effort. Flakes of ice fall as I gain altitude, sliding off my spiked feathers in chunks. These wings are weapons, good at slicing through flesh but not great at keeping me airborne.
I beg them to get me off the ground, and somehow, they do.
I push higher, and by the time I reach a decent hovering altitude, I’m winded. With the sword clenched in my hand, I survey the battlefield below and try to catch my breath.
As I expected, the moth and the—what the fuck is that, anyway?—take flight. The second monster is part lizard, part dragonfly, and it has muscle tone, for fuck’s sake. Its wings, all six of them, vibrate incredibly fast, making a tinny buzzing noise like a truck-sized gnat or a swarm of bees.
It flies directly at me as the moth circles, fluttering its enormous wings lazily—a confident predator on a routine hunt. The moth’s beady red eyes devour me more thoroughly than a bag of takeout, and I have to tear my eyes away to focus on the more immediate concern: the shredded lizard-fly.
It opens its mouth, revealing hundreds of razor-sharp teeth.
“Fuck me,” I mutter. Walling off my fear, I fake an aerial lunge and swing my sword. The monster dodges the brunt of the strike, but my blade clips one membranous wing and slices it off. The lizard wobbles. Thank the gods. If I can knock out one or two more of its—
The wing regenerates, because of course it does, unfurling with a crackle like a ball of paper being un-wadded.
Change of plans. I’ll chop its head off next and see if it’s capable of regrowing a brain.
From the corner of my eye, something flies at me. Instinct alone has me rolling to the side and bringing my wings in tight as a glob of sizzling black paste flies by. It sails into the stands, hitting an empty chair and melting it to sludge.
Murder spit, that’s just awesome.
Screams echo from the stands, and the moth chuckles like felt drumsticks bashing against a bucket. I shiver, and the moth fucking winks at me. Creep.
The lizard-fly is circling me now, eyeing my wings speculatively as it maintains a more cautious distance. My wings look heavy because they are, and I can practically see the reptile calculating how much flight time I’ve got in me. Whatever it takes, motherfucker.
The lizard glances at the moth, and they both dive for me, teaming up.
Twenty feet turns to ten, then five, and I spin, swinging the sword at the moth and bringing my wings together with a clap.
The lizard flies directly into the spiked edges, and we both drop sharply from the added weight.
Gritting my teeth, I thrust my wings wide again, shredding the lizard’s body, then flapping hard to regain my altitude.
It screams as it falls, but the sound cuts off when it hits the ground with a dull thud.
The moth retreats, blood spurting from one eye.
I injured it with my sword, but it wasn’t the killing blow I needed, and now it’s furious. Shit, shit, shit. It opens its mouth, preparing to spit at me again, then the lights flicker out, casting the arena in crushing darkness.
Yelps of terror echo from the stands, and the gray bubble around the arena pops as all twelve gates reopen. For a second, I hear ringing in my ears, then the cold lashes me. Ice clings to my wings, making them impossibly heavy. What the fuck is going on?
“Stay calm and in your seats. We’re experiencing technical difficulties,” Riven says, his voice crackling through the speakers in irregular bursts.
White light flashes below me. It’s enough for me to see most of my opponents retreating behind their gates, taking the opportunity to leave the arena during the confusion. I glance at the gate I entered from and squint. Is someone standing there, or am I imagining things?
My stomach flips. Maybe the guys managed to escape. Maybe they’re here to save me. Hope burns in my chest, and I shift into a controlled glide and head for the gate. I hit the ground and run inside, grinding to a halt when I see Hyacinth gesturing for me to follow her.
“Come on, we’ve got to go,” she whispers.
“But—”
“Hurry, Celine.” She punches a code into the keypad, and the door swings open. “Follow me.”
I run after her, adrenaline coursing through my veins. “Where are the guys?”
“You have to leave them,” she hisses. “My distraction won’t last forever.”
My heart skips a beat. “N-no,” I sputter. “I can’t leave them. I won’t.”
“Then die,” she snaps. “It’s your choice.” There’s nothing kind or timid in her voice anymore. Only apathy and frustration.
“Hyacinth,” I try again. “I appreciate you helping me, but I can’t leave them here.
Which way is it to the cabin?” We’re in a corridor I’m unfamiliar with.
It’s enormous, with a rounded ceiling so high I can barely see it.
Recessed lights embedded in the floor flicker on and off, revealing deep claw marks.
“Forget them,” she snarls. Her voice is a full octave lower than it was before.
I grind to a halt, and every hair on the back of my neck stands on end.
“Hyacinth?”
“What?”
“What does chamomile do?” I keep my tone soft, but I have to know.
There’s a beat of silence before a deep, cruel chuckle rattles through the corridor.
“Smart little angel. Chamomile makes shitty tea, but I’m guessing that’s not the answer you’re angling for.
” Hyacinth Belladonna disappears, replaced by a tall, thin man with a hawkish nose and a raised scar on his chin. “Your father sends his regards.”
A veydra, but not Riven. I’m not sure how I know it, but I do.
I lift my sword, but the stranger backs away with his hands up, grinning until the shadows devour him entirely. I consider chasing after him, then stop. That’s not my priority. I need to get out, get the guys, and get the fuck away from this realm.
That’s when I hear it: wet panting.
Heavy footsteps.
Claws dragging against stone.
I’m not alone.