I glare, tears blurring my vision. “Screw you and Ari. I love being underestimated—it makes winning that much sweeter.”
Her laughter echoes as shadows twist, forming a figure across from me. My heart jumps.
“Malcolm!” I cry, hope and dread braiding together as his silhouette steps forward.
“Congratulations, Malcolm,” Sabine purrs. “You’ve won round two. And survived the hounds I sent to occupy you while Emma enjoyed her gift. Good on you.” She twirls, her black-and-white dress billowing andglowing against the checkerboard floor. “But now, for the main event: round three.” She snaps her fingers, and a black-and-white crown adorned with red rubies and gold chess pieces materializes on her head. “The battle to the death.”
A sense of doom overcomes me as Sabine’s laughter echoes off the clouds painted on the blue walls. Her eyes glitter with sadistic excitement. “This time,” she says, “if I don’t see blood, the kind that you truly mean—and death—I will kill every member of your pitiful little families.”
CHAPTER THIRTYMalcolm DavenportGRAND BELLE ISLAND, 1860
My heart thuds wildly. No matter how pissed I am, I know what I have to do. Taking a step forward, I shake my head firmly. “No,” I say. “I won’t fight her, Sabine.” My voice quakes with fear.
“Really?” Sabine’s lips curl into a smile. “Perhaps Imani would be a better fit for this challenge then?”
The idea of my little sister being forced into a death match swells me with panic. “No!” I yell. “Leave her out of this!” Imani shouldn’t be tossed into danger, especially when she was the only one who dared to help us after we ran away.
I sense the tide of rage starting to rise behind Sabine’s calm exterior. I look at Emma and say, “Do whatever you need to do, Star. I won’t fight back.”
“No.” Tears stream down Emma’s cheeks, and her voice vibrates desperation. “Malcolm, you have to—”
“NO!” I shout.
“The boy needs inspiration.” Sabine sneers.
She waves her hands, chanting, and the world around us stutters andshifts. The checkerboard floor morphs into dirt beneath my feet. The punishment room vanishes.
Emma and I stand in an arena. The dirt ripples like water, and the sky above swirls with ever-changing constellations. Treetops peek over the tall stone walls. Sabine stands in front of a microphone, a golden throne looming behind her.
“Fight,” she declares. “To the death.” Her voice echoes, shaking the branches outside the arena.
The seats in the circular arena around us fill with statues of petrified slaves, their faces reflecting anguish. Axes and swords materialize out of thin air, aimed at the eyes and throats of our families, who are now trapped in concrete chairs near Sabine’s throne. My ma’s eyes well up with tears. Jayla’s afro puffs are dusty as she sits squirming beside Imani. Their muffled pleas for help shatter my heart. A flicker of relief reminds me that at least Imani and Demetri are safe with our families.For now.But the sight of them with golden cuffs on their mouths and chains bolting their feet to stone chairs leaves me feeling more broken than ever.
“Or don’t fight,” Sabine’s voice sounds. Her ice-blue eyes glitter, and she strokes a sharp ax that is aimed at Imani’s throat. “And you know what I’ll be forced to do.”
Sabine snaps her fingers. The gold cuffs over our families’ mouths fall off, but they remain imprisoned to their stone chairs. My family calls out to me, pleading for me to save them, and Ma’s shoulders shake with crying.
I can’t let them die.
But I can’t kill the first girl I’ve ever loved, either.
Sabine snaps her fingers again. More knives and daggers appear. This time they scatter across the arena floor to where Emma and I stand. These are the weapons she wants us to use. To kill each other.
The wind carries my family’s cries and Sabine’s threats. Claws of anxiety squeeze my lungs, and I fight for breath.
Beside me, Emma sobs uncontrollably. Her hands tremble as she weaves intricate patterns in the air around us. “C’mon, Malcolm!” she hisses through gritted teeth.
She maneuvers swiftly, unleashing a powerful roundhouse kick to mystomach. I stumble back, but remain on my feet. She rains punches onto my chest. “Fight, dammit!” she yells. “She’ll murder our families!”
I grimace in pain but stand motionless as Emma throws more punches at me. My feet threaten to slide out from under me as her fists pound against my face. Her violent determination makes each impact feel like a dagger to my heart.
Jayla yells, “Kill her! Do it before she kills you!” Ma sobs. Imani’s expression flicks through multiple changes, as if she’s considering a million possible futures.
“Fight back!” Emma screams, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Please, Malcolm!”
I shake my head and gaze down at the bruises darkening the curves of my chest. “I won’t hurt you again, Emma. I can’t.”
“You have to!” She lands a blow that forcefully sweeps my legs out from under me.
