The fracture in my heart that was just starting to heal shattered all over again.
I didn’t want to cry—then I’d have to admit that I’d fallen for him, his tricks.
“What?” Flóki shoved off his grip. “Just trying to help.”
I fisted a handful of hair, tugging my braid loose. “I told you in the tunnels, Flóki, I don’t need your help, but let me make it even clearer to you: go away.”
“Alright.” Another metallic blur soared through the air—a throwing knife lodged in the jelmadag’s shoulder. The demon screeched in pain. My nerves pulsed with anxiety. “But only if you come with me.”
I scrunched my nose. “Not in your wildest dreams, dude.”
On a clipped inhale, I dared to look at the stands. My knees buckled and the wind left my lungs at what I saw: pointed weapons, knives to throats, all black ensembles. People bleeding and running, mimicking the screams from the night at Crescent Rock. An undercurrent of terror pulsed through it all.
Not again, not again, not again.
My eyes darted around to find any sign of my friends, sweeping over the royal box. A flash of sparkling steel, a glint of purple silk. Gunnar impaled one intruder in the gut while Freyja kicked another in the chest. Their opponents stumbled over the edge of the balcony, landing face-first in the pit.
The queen and the rest of her royal, cowardly court held themselves flush against a wall. Kristjan held his clipboard over his head like a shield.
“River.” An accent, a lilt of the R that still managed to reach some aching part of me.
Acid roiled in my stomach, burning up my throat, just looking at him.
Putting up his palms, Ryder inched forward. “Listen?—”
I waved my dagger at him, the blade singing its high-pitched tune that promised violence. “Straight through your heart if you don’t back the fuck up.”
He stopped, a dark strand falling over his temple.
“Well played, my friend.” Flóki wrapped an arm around Ryder’s stiff shoulders, giving them a gentle shake. “You got her right where we want her. Your brother will be thrilled.”
I forced my face to look bored even if the words were like a scythe to my gut. “Well,” I said, hardly able to control the tremble in my voice, “I see you brought your crew. What’s your next move, Flóki? Kill everyone here? They’re innocent.”
“It’s an easy choice for them, really.” Flóki twirled a knife along his knuckles, but it was his stupid, certain grin that made him the most dangerous. “Join us or die. It’s not my fault these people are too proud.”
“Good luck getting through the elven soldiers.” Behind him, in the stands between the scared, civilian huddles, the brilliant blue uniforms of the queen’s cavalry clashed against the shadows of Chthonia’s. “They’re much more experienced than your band of hooligans.”
“Okay, I’ll give credit where it’s due.” Flóki sucked his teeth. “But we only need to hold them off for so long.”
“W-what do you mean?” I stammered, throat tight.
“The sword is blocking that monster’s airway.” He gestured to the jelmadag, lip curled as if the demon were a disgusting, mindless beast and not a living, sentient creature.
Tail cracking the air like a whip, the jelmadag shakily sank back on his haunches, deadly promise in his dozen eyes.
“The steam is trapped,” Flóki continued. “It will start building in its gut. With no way out, it will explode.”
My lips parted in horror.
He grinned coldly. “This creature is a ticking time bomb.”
“Isn’t he a demon?” My grip tightened on my dagger, the dwarven scrollwork indenting my palm. “He’d be on your side. And you’re going to just… kill him with all the other victims?”
“Don’t get soft on me.” Bitter laughter coated his tongue. “There’s plenty more monsters where that came from.”
Despite the chaos, my world fell into silence.
Fight. A single word, an order. I gritted my teeth. Fight, demon.
