Crone barely acknowledges me as she glides up onto the dais, but Arga doesn’t take his blue eyes off me for a full minute after he takes his seat—the one farthest from me—while he taps one of the blades at his chest.
The other royals file onto the dais and take their seats, Koda next to me, and Esta next to him. Esta is wearing navy-blue full body armor and carrying a single dagger like I am. Koda, on the other hand, is wearing only a simple T-shirt and pants.
“Welcome back from the dead, Nova,” Koda rumbles quietly. “I was surprised to feel relief when I heard you’d survived.”
I narrow my eyes at him, uncertain how to interpret his statement, but he continues swiftly. “Don’t worry. It passed quickly.”
Because I’m looking in his direction, I’m drawn to the far end of the dais, past Arga, where the royals’ mother, Carys, is standing. She must have been at the end of the line when the royals came out.
She’s flanked by Tyrus and another soldier, both of whom are holding spears.
Her long curls fall down her back like rivers of gold, the black evening gown she’s wearing bringing out the color in her huge eyes—or at least, it should. Despite her glamorous appearance, her cheeks are blotchy, her eyes are red, and there are dark circles under them. She clutches a strip of material in her right fist, steadfastly held at her side as she stares into the crowd. I recognize that look because I’ve seen it on my own mother’s face a thousand times.
Carys is somewhere else.
“Is your mother unwell?” I ask Koda.
His features harden. “She’s in mourning. She loved Sotain.” Koda gives a harsh laugh. “It seems that when he died, his power of sadness infected us all.”
I’m not sure if Koda means literally—as if the power was released somehow—but I don’t think so. Judging by the way Carys is present without beingpresent, her grief is real and it’s her own. I shouldn't be surprised that a mother is mourning her son but given her cold attitude the first time I met her, it’s unexpected.
Koda returns his focus to Crone and I do the same as the ancient woman raises her hands, calling for quiet.
The moment her voice vibrates through the rooftop at our feet, the crowd hushes.
“Six remain!” she cries. “They have proven their resilience in the Wilds and now they will prove their strength against an opponent of my making. To proceed to the next trial, they must kill the creature. There will be no mercy. And, make no mistake, while this opponent is conjured, the injuries it can inflict will be very real.”
At the back of the dais, Carys flinches so visibly that it draws my attention away from Crone. The royal mother’s lips press together, her hands trembling. She’s suddenly focused on Esta, as if her youngest daughter is the one she fears for now.
I can’t see Crone’s face, but I hear the gleam in her voice as she continues. “Kill or be killed! We will see how many survive this round of the Elimination.” She swings to my oldest brother. “Arga, first son of Jareth, step forward and fight for your life!”
Arga lurches out of his seat, already reaching for one of his daggers, drawing it as he strides along the short path to the fighting ring. The gate opens ahead of him and then closes behind him as he steps inside. At that point, the lights around us dim, while the lights in the combat ring brighten.
The watching elites become completely silent, and I count my heartbeats as I wait to see what opponent Crone has conjured.
I’m suddenly aware of her eyes on me, those black eyes that bore into my soul, and the rapid beat of the pulse at the base of her neck beneath the neckline of her robes. For some reason, she has swiveled in my direction while Arga takes up position at the side of the combat ring, his dagger ready.
Even if I could tell her emotions from touching her, I don’t need contact to know that she’s excited about something and it fills me with dread.Why would she be excited about us fighting an angel?
A spark glows in the middle of the combat ring.
Arga braces, his lips drawing back in a grin, his dagger ready, his eyes bright with anticipation. An involuntary shudder runs through me when he also switches his focus to me, as if, like Crone, he’s waiting for my reaction.
The spark shimmers, a silhouette forming that slowly takes shape, its dark lines gleaming and growing. Within seconds, it becomes apparent that it’s not an angel.
One seat up, Esta gasps. “Oh, Mortem, no.”
I guess she was fooled by Crone and Arga’s scheming.
In the center of the combat ring, onyx fur forms across a powerful body, the animal’s sharp teeth catch the light, and its lips draw back in an angry snarl while its claws scrape across the mat.
The demon wolf opens its violet eyes, and that’s when the three claw slashes glow across its face.
“Behold!” Crone cries. “The fearsome Reaper!”
CHAPTERTHIRTY-FIVE
The crowd breaks out in shrieks of anticipation, their bloodthirsty screams washing across me.
