Chapter 34
The stadium circled around me, rows of packed seats rising up into the curves of the dome, the cloudless blue sky twinkling behind the oculus.
Without the layers of earth and stone to pad out the noise, the elves’ cheers were nearly unbearable. The acoustics made it worse, melding their shouts into one singular, ear-splitting roar.
Hands exchanged money. Lips whispered bets. Popcorn littered the floor. How were they excited for this? It was bloodshed, not entertainment.
Gritting my teeth, I fought the instinct to lower my gaze and cup my palms over my ears, to shut it all out.
But I needed to keep my chin up, to look them straight in the eyes, so they would think I wasn’t scared—even if the fear was a steady rumble in my veins.
Right away, I found the royal box, positioned above another barred entrance directly across from mine. Symbols marked the ring of stone dividing the pit I was in from the seating.
I didn’t have time to decipher what they meant—a whistle, steady and harsh, drifted to my ears. A silhouette walked across the sand, dark hair, stiff shoulders, arched shadows casting from their back.
As they drew closer, my dwarven blade sang a song so high-pitched it could shatter glass. I kicked the side of my boot where it remained hidden, mentally ordering it to shut up. It didn’t, of course—it was just a weapon—and it’d been magically configured to warn me of his presence.
Ryder.
All the air left my lungs.
He halted several yards away. The whistling quieted. I could feel the hollowness of his gaze, the pity, roving all over me.
“What are you doing here?” I demanded.
Before he could answer, Hildur held up her hand. Cheers fell to hushed whispers, which quickly fell to silence, her ruthless, loyal followers bright-eyed and ready for blood. My angel senses pricked up as if they were a second pair of eyes, keeping watch on Ryder.
“My kingdom.” The Queen of the Elves rose from her gilded seat, addressing the crowd with a soft sweep of her arm. “We have a very special event in store for today.”
My gaze flicked to Ryder. He hadn’t moved, but his face had gotten paler, and the dimple between his brows could almost pass for a sign of concern.
“This is quite unheard of,” the queen said, tapping her fingertips together, “but it appears we have two participants.”
Two? My pulse skittered.
In the break for applause, Hildur’s indigo gaze met mine, eyes slitted. Assessing.
I bit the inside of my cheek, forcing an empty stare, not letting it drift away from hers.
“The Angel of Water has called upon the old gods for a pardon, a mercy, a wish. One that requires sacrifice, as was the way of our ancestors.” She bowed her head. “Let’s take a moment to remember their strength. To remember where we came from.”
With the elves distracted, every head folded in silence, I seized the opportunity to shoot a quick glance at Ryder. He was already staring, lips pursed, cheeks flushed, panicked.
“What is going on?” I mouthed.
He held up his hands, shaking his head.
Unlike that night at the Boardwalk when he’d been all wry grins and harsh threats, right now he actually looked confused. He ran his hand through his hair, his sleeve crinkling up over his bicep, and I caught a tendril of inky blue.
His river tattoo—the one that tethered our souls and taken him to the Heimer Töfra, and the very thing that pulled him out and put him into this death game when I enacted elven law.
Yet, this time, only one of us would be making it out.
Jaw tight, I turned to the stadium, eyes raking over the crowd, searching for my friends in the audience. Freyja stood beside her mother, clasping her elbows, mouth tight. Gunnar patrolled one of the aisles, expressionless, steps featherlight. Olivia… Where was she, where was she?
As Hildur raised her head, I spotted Olivia in the second row.
“Today,” the queen continued, “the old gods have been awakened. They have chosen a worthy opponent.”
