This time, I don’t even feel my squashed ribs as I haul back my arm and launch the weapon of a God into the Cyclops’s eye.
CHAPTER 33
THECYCLOPS’S ENORMOUS HAND GOES LIMP. THEcreature goes over backward, and I drop straight down. My stomach flies into my mouth. I might scream a little. Or a lot. I definitely make some noise.
“Ooof!” Strong arms catch me, and the breath leaves my body with a hard jolt. Griffin grunts and staggers.
I gasp for air. “Griffin! Oh my Gods! You caught me.”
“Of course I caught you.” He sounds offended.
I throw my aching arms around his neck. He lowers his head, and his lips cover mine. I kiss him back, ecstatic to be alive. Ecstatic he’s alive. Ecstatic the Games are over.
We break apart, and Griffin sets me down. Wobbling a little, I look around. The amphitheater is as still as death and utterly silent.
The Cyclops’s slack face sags toward the ground. Its huge, punctured eye is wide open, its broad, thick-lipped mouth slightly ajar. The trident glows white-hot and melts what’s left of the eye before disappearing with a sizzling pop, leaving a gaping hole in the Cyclops’s craggy forehead.
The quiet starts to buzz. Murmurs fill the air.
“It’s only a matter of seconds before the stories start.” Griffin glances around the venue. “Who saw what. How it happened. They’ll mushroom and spread.” He squeezes my hand, as if to ask if I’m ready for that.
“I guess that’s a good thing at this point.” I try to sound convinced.
“By nightfall, only half of it will be true.”
A lot of people are already talking and gesticulating with enthusiasm. Even more are pointing at me.
I chew on my bottom lip. “In that case, I hope they embellish my size.”
Griffin doesn’t answer. His eyes are on his brother now, his expression grim. We start toward the gate before the first gong even sounds, gathering Flynn and Jocasta behind us. Griffin drops my hand and moves on without me as the second gong rings out, low and loud.
I follow as fast as I can. The noise around us swells like an unchecked wave, turning deafening. By the time the last gong signals the end of the Agon Games, the audience is going wild, calling out our name.
“El-pis! El-pis!” they scream, chanting for Hope, whether they realize it or not.
My gaze sweeps the arena, taking in the excited expressions, the favor. We just proved ourselves in the face of almost impossible odds. Once they understand our goal, how many more people will stand behind us now that they don’t just hope we can win, theybelieve?
Griffin lifts Carver into his arms as the gate begins to rise. Carver’s dark head lolls against Griffin’s shoulder. His long limbs dangle, frighteningly loose. I can’t tell if he’s breathing, but I think so. His skin is still too flushed and pliant for death. There’s a ghostly tinge to his lips, though, that sends a shock of fear straight to my heart.
The moment he can fit under the gate, Griffin ducks beneath the pointed spikes. Selena pounces, unbuckling Carver’s leather armor and then ripping his tunic to get her hands on his bare skin. She starts chanting, something she almost never does out loud.
I knew it was bad, but her frantic muttering confirms it. My lungs squeeze tight. We can’t lose him. I promised I wouldn’t lose anyone. He’s our family, and Griffin would never recover.
I hardly feel my own aches and pains as we fly through the underbelly of the arena, leaving the fevered roar of the crowd above and behind us. In our quarters, Flynn and Jocasta set about frantically lighting torches and oil lamps. Kato bellows for hot water, not looking at all well himself. Sweat rolls down the sides of his pallid, grit-streaked face. He cradles the weight of his crushed arm against his middle.
Griffin lays Carver on a cot. His muscles tense as he tries to be gentle, but Carver doesn’t feel anything at this point. His upper body isn’t just injured, it’s destroyed. A large pocket of blood swells on his side, distending already tight skin.
Selena doesn’t let up for a second. Her beautiful face shows the terrible strain, and her hands shake from the sheer amount of magic pouring from them. Her lips move so fast I can’t keep up with her chant. She sometimes throws in powerful words from the old language, many of which I don’t recognize, but which send magic exploding through the room. It ricochets off the stone walls, both biting and energizing when it hits my skin.
Long, horrible minutes pass with no visible change in Carver. Selena’s voice grows hoarse as her healing power drains from her, and she pales until her blue eyes stand out like twin eruptions of luminosity in her face.
“Cat!” she snaps.
I race to her side.
“Hold on to me.”
I clamp my hands around her shoulders and immediately feel an ungodly pull. Magic, life, energy—everything races from me and into her. She rips my insides out with one rough yank, and I scream. Selena screams. Carver wakes up with a yell.
