Kara and Savannah catch my attention beyond the flames. Their arms are wrapped around each other, and their loving gazes are softened by the firelight. There’s a tenderness in the way they look at each other, a quiet intimacy that seems to block out everything else.
I suppose it’s romantic – entering the deadliest tournament of the Triumstellar Accord together, facing death as one. Fighting, and perhaps dying, side by side. I can only hope their love for one another is more sincere than their smiles have been.
Beside them is Cyrus. He’s sitting with his back against a log, while Gideon struggles with the task of tidying his unruly plait.
The firelight flickers against Cyrus’s face, mirroring his disgust as he takes another spoonful of the broth. “Yuck,” he mutters for what feels like the thousandth time. “I wouldn’t feed my horse this bathwater…”
And for the thousandth time, Taron performs an eye roll next to me. “He’s too spoiled for his own good,” he mutters, his fingers absentmindedly playing with a shard of grass.
Luckily, Cyrus doesn’t hear him.
“I don’t know about yours, but our cabin only has one bed,” Gigi says, poking the coals with a stick. Their now-tangled red hair almost resembles flames.
“Hope you’re all comfortable with spooning,” Gunther agrees. “Because tightly packed is an understatement.”
Cyrus snorts. “Gideon will be sleeping under the stars tonight. He knows I don’t like to share.” Then his dark irises drift in my direction, and his expression shifts into something more suggestive. “Though I suppose I could make an exception.”
Heat rises in my cheeks. Instinctively, I look at Taron, whose expression of indifference spawns an odd shrinking feeling in my chest. Much like Gideon, he remains an impassive canvas.
“No one?” Cyrus asks. “OK, suit yourselves.”
The crackling fire continues to paint the clearing in flickering shades of orange and yellow. I stay quiet as stale conversations ripple through the group, punctuated by the occasional ring of forced laughter.
It’s ridiculous, all of us sitting here. Pretending everything is fine when we’re all aware that the final trial awaits, a looming storm that could break at any minute.
“Are we taking bets, then?” Savannah asks, twisting astrand of Kara’s golden hair round her finger. “What does everyone think the final trial will entail?”
“Another monster, for sure,” Mei says. Her voice is hoarse, and I can’t help but notice the beads of sweat pooling around her temples.
One hand is clutching the wound where Cyrus’s rogue scale lacerated her before. The other is resting on her thigh, trembling slightly.
My own wound prickles. It’s warm, almost sizzling. I try to reach for it, but it’s right down the middle of my back.
“Sounds about right,” Gigi agrees. “They’ll need to up the ante after all this.”
“These Astrals love their theatrics,” Rhius agrees.
Cyrus leans closer to the fire and dumps the remainder of his stew on to the coals, making them hiss and sputter. “Whatever it is, it’s everyone for themselves, right, Gideon?”
“As it should be, Your Highness.”
There’s a collective nodding of heads, and the agreement is sealed.
“If it comes down to it,” Kara says, half-dreamily next to Savannah, “I’ll do anything to win that wish.”
Cyrus sniggers.
“Did Kara say something funny?” Savannah snaps.
“Oh, it’s nothing…” He smirks. “It’s just, I don’t tend to lose.”
Gigi laughs. “That might be true on the mainland,YourHighness, but remember, your daddy isn’t here to help you now.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Cyrus shoots back.
“Your old man is on the High Council, isn’t he? Which means he was part of the selection committee.”
“The ballot is chosen at random.”
