We broke apart, circling each other. She studied me just as I studied her, searching for a tell, a weakness, an opening. Grace feinted left. I didn’t bite. When her real strike came from the right, I was already moving, elbow slicing toward her temple. She ducked, her leg sweeping behind mine. I jumped the sweep and came down hard, fist aimed at her face, but she caught my wrist mid-strike.
For three heartbeats, we strained against each other, her breath hot on my face. I could see the calculation flashing in her eyes, the same cold math running through my head. Which joint to target. Which angle would break the hold.
“I know what you really are,” I said. “You’re nothing but a pale copy of me.”
Her eyes widened. I used the distraction, wrenching my wrist free and shoving her back. “I just haven’t figured out how your master got her hands on my DNA. But she couldn’t get my eye color right for you, could she?”
Her perfect mimicry faltered. She came at me wildly now—all rage, no technique.
“I’m the original!” she shouted. “You’re the inferior copy, and you’ll die here today!”
This is some narcissistic shit,Sy remarked as Grace and I tumbled across the scorched rails, hands locked around each other’s throats.
Grace’s forehead cracked against mine, and stars burst behind my eyes. I drove my elbow hard into her ribs. We’d abandoned strategy for raw survival, both of us knowing this wouldn’t end until one of us stopped getting up.
Let me handle her,Sy growled.I’ll rip her throat out.
You’ll get your turn,I shot back.But not now, and not in front of these jackals. I can handle them.
A horn blared. The tracks shuddered. Another train thundered toward us, and Grace’s eyes flared with panic.
Dive left!Sy screamed.
I dove, rolling hard across the rails as metal death roared past. Grace’s crew scattered like roaches, then quickly regrouped, hungry for my blood.
Another train whistled, closer this time. And it clicked: the trains weren’t just passing. They were hunting me.
“There!” Grace’s shrill voice cut through the noise. “Push her onto the tracks! Now!”
Her minions surged forward just as the crimson spotlight flared again, blinding us all.
Grace tried to pivot away, but I’d already grabbed her, using her momentum to swing us both clear. She stumbled toward the rails. I reached for her instinctively, but Bellona shoved me from behind, trying to throw me under the train I spun, seized her arm, and used her weight against her. The train’s wheels caught Bellona mid-scream. It cut short abruptly.
Then, the spotlight died. Darkness swallowed the rail network just as two trains emerged, speeding toward Grace and me from opposite directions.
I stared at the oncoming trains, frozen for a heartbeat. There was nowhere to run.
Up!Sy shouted.Jump to the roof!
It was the only way. I launched myself upward, strength and speed carrying me just high enough to clear the train’s roof. Sy’s claws slid out, digging into the metal to keep me anchored.
Grace darted right in a flash. The second train swerved across another rail, sparing her life, but it clipped her hard, sending her spinning through the air. She hit the tracks with a sickening crunch.
I didn’t see what happened next. The train plunged into pitch darkness, carrying me with it, until it swung back toward the center of the rail maze.
Crouched atop the speeding train, I scanned the ground frantically for any sign of Bea.
This trial had no rules except survival, and I’d be damned if I let my best friend get splattered across these tracks.
From my shaky perch, the maze sprawled below in a dizzying blur. I tracked the chaos, searching for patterns, and then I spotted a flash of blue hair.
Three witches had Bea cornered. One was our old enemy, Fake Blonde. Wands drawn, they jabbed toward her with sharp, hostile motions. Bea countered, brandishing her own wand, but every spell fizzled before it fully formed. Magic didn’t work here—not for them, at least. Killian and I were probably the only exceptions. He was the true heir to this realm, and I was something else.
The witches exchanged frustrated glances. Then Fake Blonde pulled a dagger from her boot. Wands were one thing, as they traveled with their owners, but how had she smuggled a blade? We’d all been swept into the vortex straight from the dance in the courtyard. The candidates were all still in their gowns, though our masks were long gone in the storm.
I was still wrapped in the crimson gown, the one Killian had given me as both a romantic gesture and a political statement. It was the finest thing I’d ever worn: one-shoulder silk witha thigh-high slit that bloomed like rose petals when he spun me during our dance. His gaze had been pure fire and sin, smoldering, possessive.
It pained me to ruin it, but survival came first. I’d torn the hem off at the knees as soon as I hit the rails. At least the blue diamond necklace—the token of House Chaos—still hung safely around my neck. My fingers brushed the smooth gem, a silent reassurance.
