Flóki held out his arms. “Well, if it isn’t the ice princess. Jealous to miss out on our fun?”
“I am not your princess,” she seethed, every footfall a promise of blood.
“Fair point. If my men did their job”—he raised a blade towards the royal box—“which it looks like they did, that makes you ‘queen’.”
All the air rushed out of me. Sweat lined my palms. My knees buckled.
“Breathe, baby,” Ryder said into my arm, the inflection vibrating against my skin.
“You shut up,” I spat through gritted teeth. Tears burned my lids. “This is your fault; this is all your fucking fault.”
“No weapon?” Flóki taunted the princess—the new queen. “You make this too easy.”
Eyes darkening, Freyja raised her palms. “I have something better.”
The arena began to shake. Silt spilled from the cracks in the stone. Then, in a roll of rock and dirt, the ground pitched down, then up. I jolted forward, bringing myself closer around Ryder’s shoulders. Arm still tight around his neck, I rested my cheek on the crown of his head, using his chiseled body as my anchor.
Waiting out the tremors, I locked eyes with the jelmadag. Steam leaked out of every orifice, fur damp and blanched, gaze red and glassy.
We only had a few minutes. I only had one knife. And at least half the people down here wanted to kill me.
“Your useless Galdur can’t do shit.” Flóki’s tone grew impatient, aggressive. “Have you forgotten I am of elven blood?”
“Betrayal will do that,” Freyja snarled.
“What?”
“Make you forgetful. Turn you into a monster.”
A scream leapt past Flóki’s lips.
There was nothing human about it.
I am… sorry… The jelmadag’s last words entered my mind.
No. Tears I’d worked so hard to hold in splashed my cheeks. We’ll stop this. I’ll fix this. What stupid, meaningless things to say. I knew the reality. I had no ounce of hope.
We were going to die here. We all were.
A violent sob racked my chest, my body shaking against Ryder’s back.
Silver beads of light pierced my wet lash line—a reflection hitting me square in the eye. The chain. The one swinging between the jelmadag’s shoulder blades, pinning his wings.
Pinning him here.
An idea took hold.
A foolish, reckless idea.
Nerves clawing at my stomach, I released the tight hold on my ex, my fingers skimming the collar of his shirt. He slumped forward, palm cupping the nape of his neck.
I took off running, heading straight for the jelmadag.
“River!” Ryder’s scream was lost to the endless pounding of my heart, to the wind whistling past my ears.
The demon let out a wet snarl. Intelligence shone in his eyes. Suffering. Defeat.
As I drew closer, a blast of heat and humidity swarmed me—stray hairs stuck to my temples, sweat lined my upper lip, my eyeballs felt like they were on the verge of melting.
