I squeeze her heart harder and begin to lift it from her chest. With one mighty pull, I’ll have it out from beneath her ribs—
She freezes beneath me. Then slowly, she extracts her claws from my hide. Her scent flares with shame. Grief. Humility. When she speaks, her voice quavers. “I yield.”
17
ASTRID
My hands are clenched so tightly around the bars of the grate, I’ve lost feeling in my fingers. I’d give anything to be in the stands right now, to sit in one of the coveted boxes where I’d have a better view of the pit. Torben and Helody are a tangle of bloody limbs at the center of the ring and have been struggling in nearly the same position for what feels like an eternity. There’s so much blood and gore, I can’t tell where one wound begins and another ends.
Then finally, they both freeze. I hold my breath, the sound of my racing heart filling my ears, sending my entire body trembling from its force.
Torben pushes away from the griffin. His front paw drips rivers of blood as he pulls it from Helody’s chest. My eyes go wide as I seek any sign that he holds her heart. The way he’d splayed his paw over her feathered chest and dug his claws in deep…it’s the same thing he tried to do to me when he first captured me last night. It was frightening to witness, for it only made me realize how easily he could have ended my life. How quickly he could have torn out my heart.
But now, as I stare at his bloody paw, I see no sign that he holds the griffin’s most essential organ. After a few tense seconds, Helody shifts on the ground. As Torben backs away from her, Helody starts to right herself, wincing as she folds a crumpled wing to her side.
I stare open mouthed. They’re both alive.
Helody limps back on all fours, then slowly dips into a shaky bow.
Abow. To Torben.
One of the proudest, fiercest fighters ever to grace the pit…yielded.
The pounding of my raging heart reaches a crescendo, its roar so loud I’d cover my ears if I could manage to pull my hands from the grate. Then I realize the sound is only partially from my heartbeat. Most of it is coming from the stands.
I tear my eyes from Torben to catch sight of angry faces and shaking fists. No one expected the duel to end this way, and most aren’t happy about it.
I, on the other hand, am overwhelmed with something very close to happiness. If one could feel joy over such violence and bloodshed. And the fact that I’m now one step closer to having to face my stepmother.
Nausea turns my stomach at the thought, but I’m not given any more time to consider such a daunting prospect. The Master of Ceremonies flies down on his violet wings and lands on the floor near the two fighters. I can’t hear him announce the winner over the disappointed shouts of the spectators, but soon the griffin and the bear begin making their way toward their opposite ends of the arena. The latticed grate slides open just as Torben lumbers toward it. It takes all my restraint not to run to him at once, especially as my eyes land on all the crimson gashes marring the bear’s flank, his face, his neck.
Finally, he reaches the archway.
“Torben! Are you all right?”
As he enters the dark waiting room, the solid metal gate closes behind him, muffling the sounds of the audience. He releases a heavy breath and sits back on his haunches, head drooped low as if it’s too much effort for him to lift it. It would be absolutely adorable to see a bear sitting like this if I weren’t so worried over his fate. “You only have a few minutes to prepare,” he says, his voice emanating from inside him. Blood trails down a particularly gruesome cut stretching from under his eye to his thick neck.
Unable to help myself any longer, I close the distance between us and press my hands gingerly to the side of his face, seeking any sign of how deep the cut is. “This isn’t good. You’re badly injured.”
“I’ll heal.”
My eyes wander the rest of him, and I find hardly any part of his body that isn’t covered in blood. Thank the All of All it isn’t my own or I’d faint. I bring my attention back to the still-oozing gash on his face. “If your healing is so impressive, why is this one still bleeding?”
His chest rumbles with an irritated groan befitting a bear before he answers. “Even pureblood fae have limits to what our healing powers can accomplish. The more wounded a fae is, the harder our bodies have to work. Helody didn’t hold back with those talons.” He tries to make his voice sound light when he says the last part, but he comes across more somber than anything.
“None of your wounds were fatal?”
“Do I look like I’m missing a head or a heart? Only wounds with iron have long term lethal effects. A griffin’s claws are nothing. I’ll be healed in a matter of minutes.”
“But Torben—”
“Worry about yourself,” he says, tone sharper. Then it softens. “You don’t have long. Once those gates open, it’s your turn.”
The blood drains from my face. I swallow hard.
“Besides,” he says, once again attempting to sound lighthearted, “you’re only worried about me because I’m a bear. If I were in my seelie form, you wouldn’t care.”
I huff. “That’s not true at all. I’m not that callous, you know. Were you seelie, I’d be just as worried. We’ve established we’re allies, have we not? Allies should care about each other’s fates.”
