I’m sure the tsar still means to rip the magic from my veins. Something tells me this is only a pause before the ritual begins. My stomach twists at the thought of Nadya suffering somewhere above us, of Dante shackled by that cursed collar, of myself, powerless to stop what’s coming.
Footsteps echo outside, making us jump. We both turn toward the door as a key turns in the lock and the door groans open. Large guards stomp in, and in the next moment, rough hands seize us again, wrenching us forward.
“Where are you taking us?” I demand, struggling against their grip. “Where’s my friend?”
One of the guards sneers down at me, breath sour and eyes hard. “The tsar awaits you,” he says, dragging us into the hall. “In the arena.”
The sky is a muted indigo, barely touched by morning light, but the interior of the fortress pulses with a terrible glow—torches lining the corridor like burning eyes. Their flickering light throws our shadows long and twisted across the walls. Our wrists are bound. Dante walks beside me, silent, his head high despite the bruises and dried blood that mar his jaw and shoulder. His hand brushes mine as we turn a corner, and though the contact is brief, it’s enough to steady me.
We emerge into the cold.
The air cuts like knives. It sinks into my lungs and curls icy fingers around my ribs. My boots crunch over gravel and broken bone. We’re led into the massive, open space ringed by jagged walls and towering iron torches. The space I looked down on when the tsar made me watch thecarnoraxis attack the Dulcamaran citizens.
Now that I’m down in the arena, the full impact of the place hits me. Designed for spectacle. For horror. The ground is packed dirt, but it’s stained—dark, ugly patches in the soil where blood has seeped in so deeply, it will never be clean again. Cages line the outer ring, each one bristling with bars and rust. From inside, the carnoraxis cry out—high, warbling whistles that fray at my nerves. They snarl and claw at the metal, saliva stringing from their jaws, red eyes catching the firelight like coals. The sound is unbearable.
I flinch as one throws itself at the bars closest to me. They rattle under the force of it, and one of the guards lets out a harsh laugh behind me.
Dante shifts closer, muscles flexed, his body half in front of mine.
I swallow the bile rising in my throat.
At the far end of the arena, a stone, spiral staircase leads up to the balcony I once stood at, black stone, ornately carved. And at its center stands the tsar. His eyes are already on us, glittering in the firelight. There’s a coldness in his expression that makes me shiver.
To his left, Ella, the seer. Poised at his right is Osrem, his hands folded in front of his body.
Draped in her deep-crimson cloak, she wears her hood pulled forward to shadow her face. Her silver mask gleams over her eyes, delicate and sharp, like a masquerade piece forged from blades. She doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move. My magic recoils the moment my eyes land on her, like it remembers what she can do.
Near the cages, with spears in their hands, are the tsar’s guards. They stand beside the levers that release the cage doors, awaiting the tsar’s command.
Dante swallows hard beneath the enchanted collar, his fingers twitching at his sides. His wide eyes find mine, and his jaw hardens. He’s as unprepared for this as I am.
The tsar raises his arms, and his voice rolls out across the arena like thunder.
A hush falls over the arena. Even the growls and snarls of thecarnoraxis grow quieter.
The tsar’s gaze cuts past me, settling on Dante. His lips curl. “So. This is the boy who dares to break into my fortress. Who dares steal from me—take my daughter, my prisoner, my prize.” His voice slams through the chamber like a hammer blow. “You thought yourself clever, slipping past my guards. Thought you could drag her from my grasp. But here you are, collared, captured. Every thief pays a price.”
My stomach drops. The room feels colder, tighter, like the walls themselves are pressing inward.
“I believed she was the key,” the tsar continues, his eyes gleaming like fire on ice. “The gods’ gift. My weapon to wield. And perhaps she is. But perhaps…” His hand drifts through the air, pointing at Dante like he’s already marked him for sacrifice. “Perhaps there is more than one key.”
The words slam into me like a blade. My chest cinches tightly, my breath shattering in my lungs.No, no, no.Not him. Not Dante. The thought of his life twisted into the tsar’s hands makes my stomach heave. He already took Torbin, but I’ll be damned if he takes Dante too. Desperation claws up my throat, hot and suffocating, drowning out reason. I can’t let this happen—Iwon’tlet this happen.
“No,” I blurt out, the word tearing raw from my throat. “Please! He doesn’t deserve this. Let him go. I’ll do whatever you ask, I swear it.”
Dante tenses beside me.
The tsar chuckles, a sound so mirthless, it scrapes like broken glass. “You will do whatever I ask regardless.”
“Then take me!” My voice cracks. My chest burns. “I’ll marry Torbin. I’ll bind myself to him, give you my power—just release Dante!”
The tsar’s grin spreads slowly, like ink bleeding across parchment. “It appears I’ve found your weakness.” He takes a step forward and raises a brow. “It is far too late for bargains, daughter. I make the rules now. And here is what I’ve decided.”
My heart lurches violently against my ribs.
Dante doesn’t move. Doesn’t even blink.
The tsar lifts one arm, gesturing to the shadowed tunnel across thepit.
