I hold my breath.
She lands behind the rider on the horse's back. Her shirt falls away from her mouth on impact, and her agonizing scream reverberates in my ears. She’s in pain. Terrible pain. But her sword cleaves a path through man and beast, slicing the monster down the middle.
Celine hits the sand hard as the horse half melts to ichor in the sand.
She crawls away from the shifter, then uses the heavy longsword to push to her feet. Strips of her pants are gone, revealing thighs badly burned from contact with the horse. They’re dripping with blood and thick, black sludge.
Celine ignores the screaming crowd and glares at Riven.
“Amazing!” he shouts. “The angel wins!”
The ticker shows her face, repeated dozens of times from every possible angle. It’s lined with fury and pain.
“Get on with it,” Celine snarls, waving the sword menacingly at the veydra’s platform.
“Who should she pick?” Riven asks the crowd, ignoring her asthe clamor grows wilder. It’s a cacophony—hundreds of spectators shouting four words in countless different languages:
Demon. Basilisk. Angel. Vampire.
I glance at the others.
Luca and Alistair are locked in a silent debate, red in the face, their arms waving. Luca points at Ciprian, and Ali cocks his head. Ciprian shouts at them both soundlessly, then pounds his fist three times against the flat of his other hand.
I don’t have the faintest idea what he’s trying to communicate.
Luca shakes his head at Ciprian and crosses his arms over his chest. He catches my eye, raises his eyebrow, and mouths something that looks like,You good?
I nod. It doesn’t matter who she picks first, because Celine won’t rest until she’s reunited with all of us. I can wait my turn. I’ve been waiting for years, haven’t I?
And if she gets to take whoever she selects into her future battles... I run some quick calculations. Celine and I are a deadly pair, but our skill sets overlap. Alistair is fast and ruthless however, Luca and Ciprian both have magic that can be used from a distance.
Celine looks at us; her face splattered with the same sludge that coats her thighs. She glances between us and raises one eyebrow.
In unison, three of us point at Ciprian.
He blinks wildly, a wrinkle appearing between his eyes.
Celine turns to Riven. “It’s my decision, isn’t it?” she demands. “Why are you asking the crowd?” Her voice is tight with fury. There’s a moment of silence, then boos ricochet in all directions.
Celine ignores them and stands taller as she stares Riven down.
“Of course, darling. You won the battle. You can decide who to?—”
“Ciprian,” she interrupts him. “I pick Ciprian. Give him to meright now and wrap this bullshit up or bring me someone else to fight.”
Riven watches her wordlessly for a long time. A band of static rolls across his face, disrupting the smooth amber. The crowd devours the tension but doesn’t dare break it.
Then the ticker updates. Ciprian’s color—white—flashing rhythmically.
Riven waves his hand, and a puff of air releases from Ciprian’s tube as his platform drops. Hands fisted, he jumps down onto the sand when he’s still several feet off the ground and runs to Celine’s side.
“How romantic,” Riven croons. “An angel surrounded by her lovers reveals her favorite in front of thousands. How does that make you feel, demon?”
Ciprian yawns. “Bored. A shitty announcer and a shittier crowd. I’ve seen better entertainment on daytime TV.” He wraps one arm around Celine’s waist. It’s subtle, but she leans into the support. I thank the gods that her bravado didn’t lead to another fight. She needs rest and recovery. She needs to get away from this arena.
Riven shakes his head and smiles as if he’s humoring a misbehaving pair of children. “A quote for the ages.”
“Put it on my tombstone,” Ciprian snaps.
