Chapter 30
Syneca
To brew protection tea, steep rosemary in water touched by starlight. Drink it cold. Warmth invites things that should remain uninvited.
The Nexus arena was even louder than last time.
Thousands and thousands of people packed into the tiered stone seats, all screaming for blood and glory, stomping to the music that echoed around the arena.
Banners snapped in the wind, red and silver for the Thunderfen Hounds, blue and silver for the Silverbolt Serpents.
The smell of fried dough, caramel crumbles, and roasted nuts mixed with the sweat and excitement and magic that made it all come alive.
Our seats were in the Magistrate’s section, elevated enough to see the entire field, but not so high we’d miss the violence. Premium positioning for premium guests. And the Magistrate was nowhere to be seen. We were to hold the constant spotlight. Just as he’d planned.
“The Hounds are going to crush them,” Calder announced, settling into his seat with the confidence of someone who’d never lost a bet in his life. Even though he most definitely had. This wasn’t about the game to him. This was about the show. About preservation.
“Absolutely not!” Pip flew up to hover directly in his face. “The Bolts have Kieran Asp as striker. He’s got the best scoring record this season!”
Lucy snorted. “Asp’s play leaves a weak left side. The Hounds will exploit it in the first quarter.”
“Agreed,” Calder said, shoving the last bite of his salted bread roll into his mouth.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about!” Pip huffed, shifting her stocking cap to make sure the blue bolt on the front was centered.
“Twenty crowns says I do.”
Pip’s eyes went wide. “Twenty crowns? That’s... that’s a lot of money, Calder.”
“Scared, Pip Squeak?”
Her wings fluttered faster. “No! I accept! The Bolts are going to win, and you’re going to owe me twenty crowns and an apology!”
“I’ll throw in a candy apple when you lose.”
“When you lose!”
Lucette leaned forward in her seat beside me, a large bucket of caramel crumbles balanced on her lap. “My brother played for the Bolts. Before... Well, before. I’m with Pip on this one.”
“Sentimental betting,” Calder said, already reaching over to steal a handful of her caramel crumbles. “The worst kind.”
“Says the man about to lose twenty crowns to a sprite.”
I glanced across the section to where Wickett sat with Aureth and Riot. Far enough away, no one would assume we were allies. Close enough, I could see him if I let myself look.
Which I absolutely was not doing.
Except I was.
His face stayed carefully neutral, but I’d learned to read the subtle shifts. The way his eyes tracked the teams warming up on the field. The slight forward lean when a player executed a particularly clever move. The almost-invisible curve at the corner of his mouth.
He loved this.
“Stop staring,” Calder muttered beside me, stealing more of Lucette’s caramel crumbles.
“I’m not staring.”
“You’re absolutely staring. Also, you get your own food. This is mine.” Lucette pulled the bucket closer, but Calder just reached further.
“You said you’re sharing with everyone. I’m just more efficient about it.”
“You’re eating all of it!”
“That’s a wild exaggeration.” He grabbed another handful.
The arena lights flared. The crowd roared. The teams took the field in their respective colors, and the energy shifted from excited to electric.
“Here we have it!” The announcer’s voice boomed across the arena, amplified by runes as always. “The semi-final match between the Thunderfen Hounds and the Silverbolt Serpents! Only one team advances to the championship! Veils are active! Three golden ribbons in play!”
The crowd exploded.
“Go Bolts!” Pip screamed, her tiny voice somehow cutting through the noise.
The game started fast. Brutal. Maybe even beautiful.
I’d hardly watched Nexus. Too dangerous to be in crowds, too visible, too much risk.
I knew the players and gameplay though. There was always a feature in the papers, no matter which country the games were in.
But now, caught up in the energy, I was beginning to understand why people loved it.
The way players moved like water around each other.
The quick decisions. The raw athleticism mixed with just enough magic to make it spectacular without making it unfair.
A Hounds player, massive, scarred, and mean-looking, slammed into a Bolts defender. The defender went down hard, just missing the veil he was closing in on. The crowd’s roar shifted to a mixture of cheers and boos depending on which team they supported.
“Foul!” Pip shrieked. “That was clearly a foul! Where’s the penalty?”
“Clean hit,” Calder said calmly, stealing the last of Lucette’s crumbles.
“That’s it. I’m done sharing with you.” Lucette stood. “I’m getting more. Syn, want anything?”
“No, thank you.”
She left, and Calder immediately leaned over to whisper, “Wickett’s looked over here four times in the last ten minutes. I’m not trying to control what you do. But you have to know how dangerous this is.”
“You’re counting?” I asked, ignoring the facts.
“I’m observing. There’s a difference.”
“You’re impossible.”
“That too.”
The first quarter ended with the Hounds up by two points. Pip looked personally affronted, but still she defended them. “It’s fine. The Bolts always have a slow start. They’re strategic. Unlike some people who just throw money at bets they’re clearly going to lose.”
“Keep telling yourself that.”
Lucette returned with two buckets of crumbles, one for her and one specifically not for Calder, she announced. He looked wounded. And hungry.
The second quarter was even more intense.
A Bolts player, one of the shifters who kept his abilities mostly contained, made an impossible veil capture and portal move that had the entire arena on its feet.
Even Wickett stood, though he controlled it quickly, sitting back down with that mask firmly in place.
But I’d seen it. The genuine joy. The moment when he forgot to perform.
“Your hunter celebrated that play,” Calder murmured.
“Stop giving me the play-by-play. And he’s not my hunter.”
“Right. My mistake. The hunter you keep staring at is definitely not yours.”
“I hate you,” I said, shifting in my seat to face away from him.
“You don’t.”
By the third quarter, the score was tied.
The energy in the arena had reached a fever pitch.
People were on their feet constantly, screaming encouragement or curses depending on what type of play had just happened.
Pip had somehow acquired a small flag in Bolts colors and was waving it with both hands while hovering above her seat.
“Where did you even get that?” I asked.
“A nice vendor gave it to me! He said anyone cheering as hard as me deserved proper support!”
“You charmed him into giving you free merchandise?”
“I have no idea what you mean.” But her grin was pure mischief.
The fourth quarter started with both teams playing desperately. This was it. The winner advanced; the loser went home. Everything was on the line.
A Bolts player went for the light veil, the magical ribbon that had to be captured, and sent it through the opposing team’s portal to score. He was fast, dodging through defenders and using the moving platforms with practiced ease.
Then mid-leap, his body began to shift from human to stag. It should have been smooth, natural, as easy as breathing for any shifter. Instead, he froze. Stuck halfway between forms, body twisted into a position that should have been impossible. His scream cut through the arena’s noise like a knife.
The crowd went silent.
Completely, utterly silent.
Thousands of people held their breath as the shifter, still caught in that horrible in-between state, collapsed on the field.
A medical team swarmed him immediately. Blue robes flashed under the lights. Emergency magic had been called upon, everyone moving with the calm efficiency of people trained for any disaster.
They carried him off the field on a stretcher, his body still twisted wrong, still stuck. Lucette’s hand found mine, squeezing hard enough to hurt. “That’s Brennan,” she whispered. “He trained with my brother. They were friends.”
“Is he... will he...” I couldn’t remember anything like this happening before.
Lucy was quiet. “If he didn’t die immediately, it’s only a matter of time.”
But I saw her jaw tighten. Saw the way she pressed her lips together to keep from saying something that couldn’t be unsaid. The game didn’t resume. The officials called it a draw, both teams waiting for a coin-toss determination later.
But none of us cared about that.
We filed out in silence, the joy of the morning completely evaporated.
Pip tucked herself into Calder’s giant pocket, too shaken to fly. He didn’t comment on it, just adjusted his jacket to make sure she was secure.
Wickett appeared at my side as we navigated the crowd. Not touching. Not speaking. Just there.
“That shouldn’t have happened,” I whispered.
“No. It shouldn’t have,” he agreed.
Lucette cleared her throat. “Failure to fully shift is something new that’s been happening to my kind more and more. But it sounds like none of you have heard about it.”
I shook my head. “I had no idea.”
She looked up at the sky, letting out a slow breath as we continued walking. “The shifters are afraid. Why do you think you never saw me shift in the Mortalis?”
“I’m sorry you had to see that,” Wickett said quietly. “Watching someone you know die like that—”
“Did you know?” The question came out sharper than intended. “That shifters are getting stuck mid-change?”
He looked away, another tell I was learning to read.
“Wickett.”
“It doesn’t change anything if I do. And I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but we still have to go down to the docks.”
Damnit.