Chapter 13 #3
An arena looms in the distance like a metal coliseum, towering with brushed steel walls that gleam under the high sun.
We enter, wedged together in a narrow corridor, struggling to maintain the distance we prefer.
Wide eyes dart around in the darkness. We pass several holding rooms and stop at the steel gate to the arena floor, where a Citadel official waits for us.
Roars of a crowd can be heard beyond it.
“One at a time, when you hear your contestant number, walk to the center of the arena and find a seat.” He winds a lever and the gate lifts.
“You’re excited for the chance at love, but not too excited.
We’re self-controlled!” He ushers us inside, and we crowd against an interior wall, waiting to hear our names.
When I step through the gate, a chill skitters down my spine.
The open-air arena is latticed with steel beams crisscrossed over it like ribs, supporting moveable cages hanging in the air. They’re empty. For now. The arena floor is scorched in some spots, grated and rusty in others.
Cheering, clanging metal, and the screech of steel on steel reverberate violently through the arena.
Bumps race across my arms beneath my gloves.
It sounds like all of Skyhaven could be here.
Garlands and flowers styled into heart shapes ornament every platform and railing, covering the rigid, sharp edges of the arena.
Bright, colorful lights trace the contours of the topless dome before spotlighting us one by one as our names are called and we walk toward a podium arced in chairs.
The first contestant called who I recognize is Talia. She marches forward, spotlighted. She takes a seat in the first row of chairs. A dozen more are called.
“Courage. Loyalty. Strength.” The chant rolls like thunder across the arena, pounding in my chest and burning my ears.
Ivy—Wraith Girl—is the second one who is called that I recognize.
She’s already moving forward but pauses mid-step and falters in that way Serafina does when she’s actually scared but trying to be brave.
Her shoulders are pressed back too tight, like armor that doesn’t quite fit.
Her fists are clenched at her sides as her eyes flick to the sea of strangers shouting her contestant number like they know her.
Every glance spurs her feet faster. She likes to watch.
She doesn’t like to be watched. She hangs her head, keeping her hair around her face as she slinks across the arena floor.
When Contestant Seventeen is called, I look at Mae.
For a second she doesn’t move. She inhales like she’s swallowing nerves, shaking off Heartfiller withdrawal, and exhales something steadier.
There is a flush in her cheeks and a shine in her eyes as she bows to the Ethyrian flag before moving.
The crowd’s noise surges as she walks forward, shaking her fists in the air, cheering, beaming.
She twirls in a full circle, arms thrown wide.
She’s been waiting for this moment her entire life.
The crowd screams louder, feeding off her energy. She gives it right back.
Many more go after her. My heart speeds up when the half-shaved contestant who can’t stop staring is called.
Apparently Rhythe is his name, and I definitely don’t recognize it.
He’s a handful of heads in front of me. Not long after, a hush rolls through the crowd.
He doesn’t look at them or engage them. He also doesn’t smile, walking unhurried, as if nothing owns him and nothing ever will.
Heat flickers low in my chest at his arrogance.
Ronan is next.
“Contestant Fifty-Four.”
I step forward, and a coppery scent hits me.
The whole place reeks of blood and roses.
Of death and hope. A little Skyborn who is smaller than Serafina throws petals as I pass.
I keep my eyes on the armored statues flanking the podium and walk as fast as I can.
When I reach my seat, my pulse is still thundering.
The crowd hollers as more contestants fill the seats.
We are all quiet. The excitement has faded, like someone’s drained all dregs of Heartfillers all at once.
We watch the Benevolent rise as Kade, the last contestant called, takes his seat.
The morning tumbles through my mind with fresh panic at what’s ahead of us.
This arena is dressed in flowers, but it feels like another prison.
The seat beside the Benevolent’s is empty, and I wonder where the prince is.
I scan the competition. Kade’s not here for love.
Ivy is hard to read. She doesn’t look interested in being here at all.
Rhythe is an enigma. Talia took a literal beating to be here.
Maybe she just wants to be loved that badly.
Mae, Dorian, and Finn—sure, they seem to be here to try to win the competition.
But of the handful I know a little about, most of them give me the eerie feeling that I’m not the only one here with ulterior motives. I don’t need to just pick a match. I need to outsmart, outsurvive, and outmaneuver all of them. Suddenly, I feel surrounded by new enemies, rather than friends.