Taron flicks off the lamp and slides under the blankets. I sit in the dark for a beat, my mind heavy with questions he clearly won’t answer.
Finally, I shift under the covers. The bed is narrow, barely wide enough for two, and I try to lie still, careful not to touch him. Inevitably, our limbs brush.
He stiffens. Then he breathes out slowly. I would, too – if I were able to. I blink in the dark, waiting for my eyes to adjust. All I can see is the memory of him in the shower, water soaking his vest. The dangerous look in his eyes as his palm followed the curve of my ribs and he pushed me up against the tiles. Taron shifts beside me. Slowly, until he’s facing me in the dark. I do the same. I can barely make out the slope of his nose. The flutter of his lashes. His breath ghosts my face, and I know he can feel mine, too.
I gasp when his hand moves beneath the blanket. It settles on my hip. The weight of it sends a rush of heat spiralling up my spine.
His thumb brushes a slow, almost absent stroke over the fabric of my clothes. My skin prickles.
I don’t know who moves first, but suddenly our noses are touching. My lips part. His do, too. I shift closer, into the confines of his larger frame. When my hand glides over his bare chest, he flinches. Sucks in a sharp, involuntary breath.
“Sorry,” I whisper, pulling away. I forgot about his bruise. “Did I hurt you?”
“It’s fine. Just tender.” Taron’s voice is gravelly. He looks at me again, swallowing thickly. Then he turns around.
He’s curled away from me now, shoulders rigid. I mimic him, rolling to the other side but not closing my eyes. The cabin is quiet, though my thoughts are anything but. I think of his hand, still an echo on my hip. The unbearable closeness of his lips.
Most of all, I think of what he told me before. Madame Vera’s plan.
And I wonder,What ancestor could be worth all this bloodshed and chaos?
My eyes flutter open at the sound of distant voices. There’s a crash. Someone groans in pain.
Taron and I both sit up. The cabin is dark and I realize we’re sitting close together, our feet entangled beneath the sheets.
“What’s going on?” I ask, rubbing my eyes with the back of my hand.
“Can’t be good, whatever it is.” Taron leaps out of bed, pulling his vest over his head in one smooth movement.
I wrap the blanket around me and follow him outside. The campsite is swathed in a blanket of mist, and for a moment I’m disorientated, trying to work out where the cabins are.
Another crash, followed by a low moan, draws more bleary-eyed figures from the cabins around us. Competitors stagger into the open with tousled hair and hastily thrown-on garments, blinking against the chill.
There’s Kara and Savannah, Gigi and Gunther … and out of the mist comes Gideon, hurtling through the air before crashing on the ground in front of the fire pit.
Something is coiled around his body, long and black and feathery. A waft of bitterness stings my nostrils. The smell of grief.
“What’s happening?” Kara asks. “Where’s Cyrus?”
Gideon points a shaking finger at the trees beyond our cabins, where a sudden burst of light makes me wince.
I barrel after the group. We find Cyrus standing at the edge of the trees with his fists balled, knuckles fizzling with sparks of light. Around him, more sparks spiral through the air like fireflies. He throws his arms forward, and the sparks shoot through the mist at a figure on the ground.
The figure is immediately shrouded in a black haze, as though they’ve thrown a blanket over themselves. A blanket of energy that repels the onslaught of sparks from Cyrus.
“It’s Rhius!” I shout.
Cyrus recoils when he sees us. His vest clings to him, smeared with blood, and his skin is slick with sweat. “He tried to kill me in my sleep!”
“That’s against the rules,” Kara says.
Rhius staggers to his feet, but he can barely stand and falls back on to his knees. He has a swollen eye, and a gash runs from his temple into the side of his neck. “The rules only apply to competitors. Mei is gone, so I’m out of the tournament. I can do what I want.”
“But he’s still a prince,” I say, stepping towards Rhius. “And they’ll have your head on the mainland if you kill him.”
Cyrus laughs. “He can’t kill me! Look at him – he can barely stand. This is ridiculous. I didn’t kill Mia…”
“Mei,” Rhius spits, clutching at his ribs.
