“I don’t … think so!” With my free foot, I deliver a well-aimed kick to his shin. He releases me, and I lurch forward, launching on top of him.
We wrestle around in the ash and dirt.
“Get your … fingers out of my eyes…” Troy forms another light blade and aims it at my heart. I grab his free hand, prepared to do the one thing I swore I’d never do. But I have to. For my survival. Instead of absorbing the negative energy that already swirls within him, I do theopposite. I gather every ounce of my own and disperse it, channelling it into Troy’s skin; his very flesh and bones.
The transformation is slow, but also immediate. Troy struggles to move.
“What are you doing to me?” he cries, his voice full of confusion and a great deal of pain.
I avert my gaze and push through, channelling every ounce of suffering I’ve endured in the past few days into him. The gut-wrenching sight of my sister’s lifeless form, my seething hatred for Madame Vera, and the escalating weight of guilt for setting all of this in motion. For robbing Elara of her life.
Troy quivers, his eyes losing focus. His pleas grow softer as I guide his head down on to the ground. A stillness settles upon him; he’s alive but rendered powerless, a hollow shell. Another Emo on the Principal Guard should be able to fix him, I think.
I look down at Troy. Immobilized and at my mercy. He was someone’s son, someone’s brother. But he was also a fool for willingly entering this tournament of death.
My breath is thin, the air toxic with what I’ve done. I’ve taken a life. He’s still breathing, but his brain is dead. A sudden movement beside me startles me.
“It had to be done,” Taron says.
I gulp when I look behind him. Selene’s body hangs limp, impaled on the spoke of a cart wheel.
My voice trembles as I ask, “Is she…”
Taron responds with a simple, “Yes.” His hand cups myshoulder. “Maeve, you know we didn’t have a choice. If not them, it would’ve been us.”
My gaze drops to where his fingers press against the fabric of my uniform, the outside of his thumb grazing the soft skin of my neck. My sleeve is soaked with blood.
“I know,” I mutter in barely a whisper.
“Are you OK?”
“It’s just a graze.”
“Good.” Taron extends a hand to lift me off the ground.
The silence between us doesn’t last long. The sound of someone kicking up rubble makes our heads collectively swivel. There, in between the ruins, are the flickering shadows of the other red team members.
Somewhere, someone screams. And then: a thundering roar.
“What the hell was that?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” Taron says, moving towards the sound, “but I think we’re about to find out what the Games Master’s warning meant.”
Chapter Twenty-three
Taron charges forward with no inkling of what lies ahead, and I follow after him like a complete and utter fool.
“Why are we goingtowardsthe sound?” I pant.
“Because the stone arch isn’t in the other direction,” Taron says.
He’s got me there.We’re hurtling through the narrow streets of the scorched village, the shadows of teetering buildings creating a canopy overhead as we wind between alleyways and leap across ruins.
My pulse throbs in my ears and my side stings, but I follow in his shadow, manoeuvring through the rubble in his footsteps. Another thunderous roar erupts from the treeline beyond the village, reverberating through the ground. It’s a primal noise, a deep, guttural growl that makes my hair stand on end.
We hurtle out of the village and down a winding,overgrown path, when Taron suddenly skids to a halt. We’ve reached a clearing, dotted with more crumbling ruins. A yawning gorge stretches out before us, with a wobbly rope bridge suspended across it. The bridge sways precariously in the breeze. It looks fragile, to say the least.
Then, a flicker of flames. We’re not alone in the clearing.
