Heisjealous. Except that makes absolutely no sense. Why should he care who I like, when he made it explicitly clear he feels nothing for me?
“How could I like him?” I respond, far more wearily than I intend. “I do not even know him.”
“But you wanted to.”
“Maybe I did. He was nice, a good conversationalist, and seemed genuinely interested in getting to know me. The only reason I talked to him was because you abandoned me for Demi.” And if I hurl it as an accusation, well, it is what I feel, and I will no longer mask that for his benefit. “Why should it matter that I was talking to him?”
“It matters,” the East Wind snarls, crowding my space, “because you offered him your smiles when you’ve offered me none.” His mouth dips near mine, and I inhale sharply, unable to resist the spice of his breath as it grazes my face. “Tell me why, bird.”
He is very close now. Darkness feathers our skin, and it takes everything in me not to lean into his body, no matter how alluring the pull. What might happen were I to press my lips to his and slot my tongue between?
“Funny,” I murmur. “I was thinking the same thing about you and Demi.” Whom he clearly has relations with.
The sting of that realization hurts all over again, and I turn away from him. How did it all go so wrong, so quickly? I think that is what wounds deepest. For once, I washappy, and free. “Please,” I say. “Just go.”
The East Wind brushes past me without a farewell, without… anything.
23
IWAKE IN DARKNESS.
Its thick, impermeable murk soaks into my eyes. Hard stone lines my back. Except, that cannot be. What of the plush mattress, the luxurious blankets and plethora of pillows? I inhale a mouthful of air tasting faintly of mineral. It chokes me, and I cough hard until my lungs clear, the first fragments of alarm stirring.
This is not my bedroom. This is not even the palace. The air stirs in a way that suggests I am outdoors. It lacks the autumnal, nutmeg-infused fragrance that clouds the City of Gods, and holds a chill reminiscent of exposed mountain peaks.
Moving slowly, I push upright into a seated position. I blink, blink again. The blackness does not lift. “Eurus?”
My voice carries, hits nearby walls, perhaps a ceiling. It folds onto itself and is gone.
Drip, drip—water in the distance. Where am I? What has occurred? Why do I not remember? I rub at my arms, for I have no coat, only a thin nightgown, no shoes, my hair falling loose down my back. Following my argument with Eurus, I slept, though poorly. Might this be a dream then?
Ears pricked for sound, I climb to my feet. My palm finds a damp wall. I pinch my arm, and the pain reveals my reality, all of it. Is this a cell? A burrow beneath the earth?
Slowly, I pick my way forward, one hand braced against the stone, the other outstretched as a precaution. My toes catch in a crack, and I stumble. Gradually, the gloom begins to lift. There, in the distance—a spot of gray.
The brightness coaxes me onward, and I lift a hand to shield my eyes as, at last, I emerge from a large cave into a cold and cutting wind.
It is day. High noon, according to the sun’s position. I stand on a hill overlooking a dell, movement luring my eye below.
In an open forest clearing, two immortals cross swords. A small, lithe woman with violet hair combats a strapping man with two-pronged antlers erupting from his skull. They move with a swiftness I cannot track. Their blades bleed silver.
Competitors. I recognize them both. The deer-like immortal hacks at his foe, again, again. His next cut threatens to remove the woman’s leg, but she dances out of range, receiving a slash to the thigh rather than a severed appendage. She parries his next attack, then sweeps under his guard. Her blade sinks hilt-deep into his chest.
The man drops to one knee, expression agonized. Yanking her blade free, the violet-haired woman decapitates her foe swiftly, one finite blow.
As I look away, a bell tolls. Its mournful clang draws the hair along my body straight up, and I wipe sweat from my forehead despite the frigidity. I’m not sure what the bell signals, but I do understand one thing. This is the final trial.
Once more, the arena has been transformed, in this instance a large tract of forest, unending hills, a dense swathe of trees enclosed in that same hazy enchantment that temporarily blocks the grandstands from sight. Beneath the wind, a muffled roar reaches my ears: the cries of a hundred thousand spectators.
Mother of Earth. How am I here? I assumed I would witness the event, but as a bystander. Surely I’m not a contestant?I’mcertainly in no position to win. My presence must therefore serve a purpose, and there is only one I can think of for a mortal participating in these immortal games:prey.
Ducking behind a nearby bush, I take stock of my surroundings. Strange hoofprints mark the soil, overlapped by the occasional outline of a bare foot. At some point, some of the participants wandered this way, but there is no sign of them now, and—what is this?
A long strand of red hair is caught in my nightgown. No,twostrands. The sight chills me. I know of only one—or rather, three—competitors with hair this shade of scarlet.
My presence in the arena is no accident. Here is what I know: only when the last competitor remains will the door appear. Regardless of the fury I feel toward the East Wind, allying with him is my greatest chance of survival. I must not delay.
As I slip toward the trees, however, I notice a large, dark shape sprawled across the forest floor.
