The man chokes. She twists the dagger in his throat. There’s a loud crack, and she roars. The man’s head rolls off his shoulders and away from his lifeless body, which slumps on top of the weapon pile.
It all happens so quickly, in a matter of a few minutes.
The public is lost in a chaotic, excited frenzy. And when the woman raises the bloody dagger over her head, they absolutely lose it. Her face is carved out of coldest marble as she circles the weapons and the corpse. The crowd chants words for her that I can’t make out.
Goose bumps rise all over my skin. It’s a mesmerizing sight, and the crowd lost in a frenzy makes my skin buzz with excitement. The air around us is charged, full of feral thirst for blood. It’s intoxicating, I can’t lie.
This is the finale we have all been preparing for, all this time. All the fancy masks and clothes are off, elaborate events over. Now, it’s time for rivers of blood to flow freely.
Lorca purrs at the back of my mind in agreement.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT
PHOENIX
Another few hours pass. At least I assume it’s a few hours. My muscles are screaming from fatigue, and I wish I could stretch my legs. However, I can’t leave the safety of the tree.
Not yet.
The powerful fae woman who claimed the first kill during the Trial of Strength now sits on top of the corpse, playing with her daggers. She’s showing off, tempting other participants to challenge her.
Nobody has a bigger ego than a Decarios.
From where I sit, I can see two more Ezkai roaming the perimeter of the clearing, hiding behind the trees and bushes. I don’t need to see his face to know it’shim. I recognize the shape of his shoulders, and the way he moves.
Daegel is waiting, biding his time. The woman is a powerhouse, but I’m sure he will find a way to kill her. But for that, he needs his swords.
Seeing him opens the dark pit in my chest. I don’t want to think about it, but it’s impossible. Especially when I know I’ll have to face him sooner or later.
At the end, only one of us will walk out of this trial alive.
Slowly I shift on my branch so that I’m kneeling on one knee and slide my bow off my shoulder. Carefully I lift it and draw an arrow from the quiver he gifted me.
The irony doesn’t escape me.
I fit the arrow and aim it at those broad shoulders between the foliage.
I know what to do. I’ve done it so many times.
This is easy. Take him out without having to look him in the eye.
Can I find it in myself to kill him? Kill the man I love, however fucked-up he may be?
When it’s time to face your weakness, remember the destruction that will follow if you give in to it.
With an exhale, I close my eyes.
This opportunity should give me satisfaction. I’ll have a chance to make him pay. Yet it only breaks my heart further.
I lower the bow and arrow, ashamed of my weakness.
The public is calmer now.
They’re patiently waiting for the next public display of strength, for more blood to spill. A garlic smell of chicken soup and grilled fish reaches me, and my stomach growls. Oh, I could devour a whole horse and then some right about now.
The sun is dangerously close to the horizon. Soon, the sky will be painted in reds and oranges, and then the night will fall. I didn’t expected the last trial to last for more than one day. But from the way everyone is taking their time, we might be here for a while.
That might pose an issue for me. I don’t know how much longer I can remain perched in the tree without food, water, or sleep. As a child, the longest I spent in a tree was twelve hours. But I was much smaller and more flexible. Plus, I had a pouch full of snacks with me.
