Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
CHELSEEA ROCK
“ N o rest for the weary,” Bastian exhaled, looking up the steep cliffside.
The storm was passing, lightning glowing mutely within the thunderclouds rolling out to sea. Sage stared back at the choppy waters they’d just crawled out of. No swimmers were left.
How many were at the bottom of the ocean? Twenty-five had accepted the challenge, the lion’s share bowing out. How many were ahead of them? Already at, or near, the lighthouse ruins.
They’d lost too much time. She’d have to try and make up the difference on whatever test came next.
Sage turned around, catching the princess’s gaze. She was also looking back, out over the turbulent sea. Past it, to the tiny figures high on the castle walls.
Without a word, the princess lifted her hand and waved, then flipped it around and shot the royal court of Windsong the bird. “Fucking assholes!”
The princess pivoted and started up the incline, forging a path over the slick and jagged rocks. Sage moved to follow but caught Bastian staring at her .
“Thank you,” he said.
“You shielded me in the ballroom.” Sage began the trek up. “Consider us even.”
He didn’t reply, just brought up the rear. Twenty minutes later, they made it to the top and headed for the lighthouse. No one uttered a word. Sage wondered if they were all considering the same thing; there might only be one winner leaving this islet.
The king’s alterations to the tourney thus far had been unprecedented. There was no telling what would be waiting for them inside those ruins. No way of knowing if Calian might change his mind again.
They stepped through the broken doorway and into the shell of the roofless lighthouse. Five contestants were waiting. Four males and a female, all disheveled and wet, kept their distance from one another and the table positioned in the center of the circular ruin.
Sage looked at each of them. Only one was unexpected. The medium-sized male with the sandy blond hair. The rest she had paid close attention to over the last few weeks, knew their strengths and weaknesses, understood what she’d be up against when the time came. Why had she failed to notice him?
The male in question spoke. “There’s a note.” He pointed to the table. “It states that…”
The princess marched up to the table. Sage took the opportunity to mark the exits. There were two clear points of entry, including the one they’d just come in. Four in total. One exit route would be difficult to access. The last one she hoped no one else had noted.
“We are to wait until the last three of eight contestants arrive,” the sandy-haired male continued. The princess looked at the paper. “Only then can one of you read the second set of directions placed under the table.”
Sage scanned her surroundings again. She detected no one else. At least, no one in fae form.
The princess glared coldly at the male, then bent and reached under the table, pulling out a letter that had been taped to the underside.
Straightening, she broke the seal and began to read aloud, “Congratulations to the eight of you that made it across. You may now form a circle in the center of the room and await your final instructions.”
The princess dropped the note to her side and looked up angrily. “Then what?” she yelled into the cavernous space. “Hold hands and sing songs?”
“We do whatever they say,” the female, Shanja, answered meekly and unhelpfully.
Loyal. It didn’t matter how good Shanja was with throwing knives or water-wielding if she couldn’t kill the king’s daughter when the time came.
“Now that you’re finally here, I guess we’ll find out, Princess .” The biggest contestant, Ivar, crossed his barrel-sized arms over his shirtless chest.
This one however …Sage mused. He’d enjoy killing the princess. Was eager to. Would enjoy ending them all.
The good looking, debonair fae by the name of Maximillian added his voice to the discussion. “We can hold hands if you want, Princess.” He smiled.
Disingenuous. He’d keep her alive only if it meant he could marry her and continue his climb to power.
Sage looked to Glenton. The favorite to win. An incredibly gifted transference practitioner capable of bringing inanimate objects to life. He was also a vicious fighter without any magic. It was rumored the king had plans of him taking the Warborn oath.
She trudged through her memories of the remaining male. Damion? He’d kept mostly to himself, watching the festivities and retiring early each night. Not bragging, not plotting. Not overindulging in all that the court had to offer.
Now, here he was. One of only twenty-five to even attempt the crossing. One of eight to survive it. Clearly, someone to watch out for.
“Shall we, then?” Bastian walked up and claimed a spot left of the princess.
Sage followed his lead and positioned herself to the right of the princess. Glenton stepped up beside her. The others reluctantly did the same, one after the other, each eyeing the other carefully, until a circle was formed around the table.
Time dripped by as they stared at each other, waiting, primed for whatever was to come next. Their bristling energy buzzed around Sage. Her magic answered the calls, surging against the insulating cuff, seeking an escape, filling the gaps between her breath and bones.
A cool, cultured voice purred into the space, “Competitors. Take a good look at whoever is standing directly across from you,” the game host instructed.
Sage met Damion’s gaze. She should have paid better attention. Wilkes would have a fucking fit if he heard the irony–that she’d missed an opportunity to assess the very opponent she was about to be paired with. Or against.
She spared a glance at who everyone else was across from. Beside her, Glenton was studying Shanja. Bastian was across from the flirt, Maximillian. The princess was staring down brutish Ivar.
Sage returned her attention to Damion.
“Four of you will make it to the final competition. To earn your spot…” Their host’s voice bounced off and around the abandoned ruins. “Kill whoever is across from you.”
B astian didn’t hesitate. He pulled the only weapon he’d dared swim with, a dagger, and leapt over the table. His challenger ducked and spun, driving something serrated into the back of Bastian’s knee. It was the only blow he got in .
Harnessing the rush of pain, funneling it into the darkest recesses of his being, Bastian gave himself completely to the killing calm. Dodging, spinning, slashing, he carved his opponent up, until the blood was mist around him.
Only then did he seek her out. Not the princess . His eyes went straight to Sage.
She was holding her own against the sandy-haired fae brandishing a short sword. Making good use of the twin blades she’d strapped to her body, she kept him moving, circling in a dance of steel. She was good.
Exceptionally good.
The sound of bone meeting with stone brought Bastian’s head around. The one they called Glenton stood over the female fae, a blood-soaked rock in his hand. The warrior looked at him briefly, gave an almost imperceptible nod, then knelt down and closed the fallen fae’s eyelids with two fingers.
Bastian felt the wind and ducked just in time to miss the debris. The table shattered against the stone wall behind him. He spun in place as Ivar roared.
Nothing stood between the giant fae and the princess now. She backed up, looking side to side frantically for a weapon. Ivar didn’t need one. He had his fists.
Bastian moved. Glenton shook his head no. A reminder . Their host was somewhere in the ruins watching all this play out, ready to report the outcome. The rules had been simple: a one-on-one fight. No one else could assist.
Ivar stalked toward her. The princess backed into the wall and her eyes went wide. She darted to the side.
Not fast enough.
Ivar caught her by the throat and slammed her into the crumbling stones. “What’s the matter, Princess?” He lifted her off the ground. “Did you think Daddy was going to show up and save you?” The brute sniggered as the princess thrashed and kicked. “I’ll admit, I was hoping to win you for myself. ”
Ivar’s knuckles were growing white. Color was draining from Mekale’s face. Bastian started toward them. Fuck the rules.
Ivar leaned in and hissed, “I wanted to destroy your little cunt.”
A knife came through his eye socket, so swift and hard it skewered the eyeball on the blades tip, an inch from the princess’s face.
Bastian jerked his attention behind the towering fae. Sage dislodged the knife and glanced up to the crow perched on the lip of the tower ruins. Bastian didn’t require any clarification.
In one swift move, he threw his own dagger, faster than the shifter could catch flight. It struck true.
The bird plummeted, transforming back into its humanoid form. The host landed in a broken heap, in time with Ivar’s collapsing body. Sage’s own opponent lay four feet away, his throat slit from ear to ear.
Bastian looked at Glenton.
The warrior said, “All that matters is they get four victors.” He turned to go. “The stupid bird just got in the way.”