Her face drains of color. My heart lurches when I recognize the feather he took from her hair that day in my room.
Flynn turns his back. For a second, I’m afraid he’ll leave, but then his footsteps veer away from Carver and the door, and he stalks into the deep shadows of the suite among the farthest beds and the extra gear. He lies down on a cot and throws his arm over his eyes.
I watch him, but he doesn’t move again. I don’t know what he’ll do tomorrow.
Maybe Flynn doesn’t, either.
CHAPTER 29
THE IMPATIENT YELLING AND THE POUNDING OF THEaudience’s feet is nothing like the excited, festive rhythm I’m used to from the circus. This is violence and anticipation, brutality and expectation mixed into a thundering roar for blood.
Deep-seated aggression swells inside me. Adrenaline surges until my pulse beats like a drum in my ears. The heavy, loud thumping nearly drowns out the noise of the crowd.
“Cat’s not interested in putting on a show, and neither am I,” Griffin says. “No unnecessary risks.”
“Nonfatal wounds when possible. Quick and clean,” I remind everyone. “Let’s get out of here fast and intact.”
I glance at Jocasta. She has her own knives as well as Cassandra’s leather upper-body armor and lightweight sword. Her wide, blue eyes are glued to a big splatter of blood in the center of the arena. There’s a severed limb.
Her terrified gaze rises to find Flynn. “What if you were right?” she asks so quietly I barely hear her.
“Right or wrong doesn’t matter anymore.” He looks at her hard. “I’ll protect you. Youknowthat.”
She nods, but then her eyes swing back to the bloody stump.
The gate across the arena from us rattles. They let us out first, which I think means the Gameskeepers consider us the weaker team. It’s more fun to see us sweat.
The name we gave our team flows like an undercurrent around the arena, spoken by many beneath the rowdy cries. Elpis. The personification and spirit of Hope. There are enough people here that know the old language and legends to dig up the truth behind Elpis, and they’re probably confused, given the setting, but to us, it makes perfect sense.
Elpis. The word seems to swell in the air until it’s all I can hear, even though the shouts for blood are infinitely louder.
Pandora opened her box and filled all worlds with plagues and misery and the potential for evil. But one thing remained—steadfast, unshakable, not flying from the box.
Elpis.
Thalyria has suffered. We will all suffer before we win these Games, but no team here will break us. For what is Hope if not unbreakable? And what is Hope if not the natural extension of suffering, that which eventually overcomes?
Gears grind, metal clanks, and the far gate begins to rise. I tense, ready to spring into action.
“This is just another fight,” I say. Albeit carefully orchestrated for the most potential blood loss and carried out in front of a sanguinary, paying audience.
“And we’ve seen plenty of those.” Kato grips his mace, showing no fear.
I quickly take in the rest of my team. Flynn with his ax, a short sword in his other hand, his wild auburn hair pulled back with a leather tie, and his eyes still on Jocasta. Jocasta looking back up at Flynn, her lips white and her face gray. Carver, long, lanky, and ready, his sword just another part of his arm, his sharp eyes focused on the jangling gate.
And then there’s Griffin. No man ever wore weapons better—or looked more ready to use them.
Griffin’s eyes meet mine. He pins me with his granite stare. “Don’t take any hits to the middle.”
Frowning, I say, “Uh, okay. You either.”
His beautiful mouth flattens. “Or anywhere else, for that matter.”
Nodding, I turn back to the front. Six competitors are fanning out on the far side of the arena, already moving toward us. All men. Four are burly and wearing a lot of blades. Number five is in a long, voluminous cloak, and the sixth one carries only a sword. No creatures.
The gong sounds, signaling the start of our round. The imminence of battle slams into me like a Centaur’s kick, and my fingers tighten around my knives. I straighten to my full height, which isn’t much, and take a deep, steadying breath. Here goes nothing. Or possibly everything.
“Did I ever tell you that I kicked a Giant’s ass with only a throwing knife?” I ask loudly enough for the competition to hear.
