“Stop it.” Celine grabs my hand and squeezes my fingers until the bones ache.
“Don’t be stubborn, hot wings.” I duck my head to keep Riven from hearing. “I could hide you with a nightmare, and you could kill whatever creature he sends after you in five minutes flat. Wham bam, we skip back to the birdcage and take a delicious shower.”
“It’s not worth the risk.”
“It’snot worth the risk oryou’renot worth the risk? Because I disagree,loudly.”
“You’re whispering, Ciprian,” Celine says.
“The candle man is nosy.”
“I’m not made of wax,” Riven snaps.
“Could have fooled me.” I raise my eyebrows in faux shock. “Think about it, hot wings. You don’t want to let this dude boss you around, do you?”
She stops. The wind yanks two strands of hair free from her tight braids. “Ciprian, my ego isn’t as fragile or as valuable as any of your lives, much less all of them combined. I won’t risk you. I can’t. Please don’t ask me to.”
Her lip quivers, and I fold faster than a wet paper bag. “Okay, I’m sorry.”
“Pathetic,” Riven mutters. “You’re all pathetic.”
I bite my tongue. One day he’ll realize that he’s the pathetic one.
We walk in silence the rest of the way to the arena.
The crowd is obnoxious. Their cheers rattle my bones.
It’s unsettling, and it only gets worse when Celine enters the arena.
Just like before, I’m forced onto a pedestal next to Luca, Alistair, and Malach. The only difference is the lighting. My tube has a new green light at the bottom that half-blinds me as soon as Riven starts his introductions. The other three have red lights.
I adjust my feet to block as much of the eerie glow as I can, but it’s still obnoxious. If they were going to ramp up the production value, they could have at least installed a fucking dimmer switch.
Celine is calm and assured in the arena.
She glances at the guys, then looks away, her jaw clenched tight.
The crowd boos—they think she’s cold—and I growl. Bloodthirsty idiots. They have no right to judge her. No one’s ever forced them to fight to the death for the lives of the people they care about most. Celine is giving Malach, Luca, and Alistair something far more valuable than her attention: she’s giving them her focus. I know it, and they know it too. As far as I’m concerned, everyone else can get fucked.
“Today, we’ll learn if the angel sinks or swims.” Riven spreads his arms wide, a game show host revealing what’s behind door number three.
He glances at me and winks. I frown.What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Is he taunting me or trying to give me some kind of signal?I flip him the bird, and he grins.
“Pick your weapon, Celine of the celestial realm.”
She dips her chin and approaches the arsenal rock. At first, she reaches for the same sword she used last time. With her fingers hovering over the hilt, she freezes and scans the arena. As far as I can tell, it hasn’t changed. It’s still dotted with big trees and sandy, ice-encrusted boulders.
Celine turns her stare on Riven next. Thousands watch their interaction, but he holds her gaze without flinching—not even a ripple of expression crossing his face.
Lips pursed, Celine refocuses on the assortment of weapons. Skipping the swords, she digs around in the rock well, nearly burying her head inside as she sorts through the options.
Eventually, she pulls something out. It’s long and pointy—a weird cross between a spear and a crossbow? I squint at it for a second before it clicks. It’s a speargun. The projectile is attached to a rope, so she can retract it if she misses.
But why pick that? The uses are limited. If her opponent has wings, Celine might as well throw rocks at it. It’s meant for hunting underwater?—
I gasp as I replay Riven’s earlier words.Sink or swim.Celine isbetting everything on the assumption that he was giving her a hint. Gods, I hope she’s right. We don’t know where this asshole learned English or if the translation magic can even handle idioms. Shit, Riven could have said it on purpose to throw her off.
My fingers curl.
