Sand shifted beneath me. The ground was shaking, moving. With a laborious groan, a third barred door to the arena rose up into the stone as the ones Ryder and I had come in through slammed shut.
Fanfare erupted.
Warning bells rang through my mind.
“It is with great honor I present to you the Ludi Mortales, our first in over one hundred and fifty years.” The sage pieces of chiffon that made up her gown shimmered in the midday sun as she turned to meet the eyes of the eager elven spectators. Dropping her pitch, she spoke in an ancient tongue, “Ab astris venimus, ad astra surgimus.”
“Numquam ignosces, numquam obliviscar,” the entire room muttered back as one, with a reverence that was almost holy.
Shifting in the grit, I stared into the open maw of darkness on the other side of the arena, every hair follicle standing up. My knees bent, back arched, elbows out. Proper defensive form—I think.
Out of the corner of my eye, Ryder drew himself into a fighting position.
In one swift motion, I swooped the dagger out of my boot, the handle cool in my grasp.
I didn’t need to acknowledge him—I could feel the shock radiating off him that I was armed. A smirk tugged at my lips; it was satisfying, really.
It didn’t last long.
Growls came from the unlit chamber, rattling the single, circular windowpane high above, shaking silt loose from the walls. A line of steam blew out of the tunnel, scalding the ground.
Smoke rose from the scorch marks, dissipating in the tense air. With a quick nod at each other, Ryder and I crept towards the opening. The crystal fractals embedded in my hilt flared an electric blue, pulsing brighter as the space between us got shorter.
Three glowing white orbs appeared in the darkness, disappearing for a heartbeat before burning back to life. Eyes—curious, intelligent. Suspicious, but familiar—like this wasn’t the first time they’d seen me.
I stilled. Ryder did the same.
Giant paws moved out of the shadows, blue-black flames lapping up the midnight fur, twisting towards the sky. Razor-sharp claws retracted, piercing the dirt.
The jelmadag stepped into the light.
“You,” I whispered.
“Stay back,” Ryder directed, arms wide, ready to strike. Although I wasn’t sure how much damage they’d do to a cat made of fire…
Me. The word bellowed across the sand, my bones, an echo inside my skull.
The elves were so still, they were near lifeless. My head shot towards Ryder. He hadn’t moved either, as if… no one else could hear the voice but me.
How? Tripping over my feet, I stumbled to create more distance. All dozen eyes homed in on the shift of my muscles, my pulse throbbing in my neck, cold and calculating. Why?
The dark flames threaded with the demon’s mane shuddered in an absent draft. I was summoned.
No. I shook my head. Why can I hear you? I glanced at the elves, at Ryder. And none of them can?
“River,” Ryder called, his accent smooth and enchanting. “Give me your dagger.”
My face twisted. “Absolutely not.”
“You don’t know what this beast is capable of.” He inched closer, as if I were the wild animal he needed to trap. “Hand me the weapon and let me deal with it.”
“And then what happens?” I shot back. “You’ll deal with me?”
I swore there was a wicked gleam to his eye—but even if I’d just imagined it, I couldn’t take the chance: once the jelmadag was dead, he’d have no other choice but to turn the blade on me. There would only be one winner, and it wouldn’t be the first time Ryder put his duty before me.
Seven sins, can we cut the small talk? Nostrils flared, the demon let out a chuff—coils of steam unfurled from his nose, snuck out the corners of his mouth. I’m starved.
My eyes went wide. Y-you mean, you’re going to eat us?
