“I remember.”
The Bloodwood cottage had been the place Gran and I escaped to when the hunters had slain my family, claiming we were trying to leave Vestra. It became my childhood home until it birthed my own nightmare.
“Good. Now get out. Real customers are coming. Oh, and Syneca, dear. Try to get some rest.”
We left through the back, but not before I caught Vitoria scanning the window again.
Above us, Silas called once. A warning that meant hunters were nearby. We were allowed to walk the streets, but we took no chances and split up without a word. On the brisk walk home, I kept thinking about that Life Rune. Draven Varrow’s last protection, now sitting in Eda Mire’s drawer. If anyone discovered she possessed it, no excuse in all of Fuerlis would be good enough. We would all be damned.
Chapter 5
Syneca
The burden of our kind is this: we carry the responsibility of continuation without the comfort of return. When you burn, you will not rise. Another will. And they will be magnificent and new and nothing like you.
“Isaid we had to come, I didn’t say we had to dress the part. I look ridiculous,” Calder muttered, tugging at his purple and black scarf.
“You look festive,” Vitoria corrected, grinning as she adjusted the matching ribbons in her dark hair. “Like you actually give a damn about something other than murder.”
I snorted, nearly spilling the wine I’d bought from a passing vendor as we searched for our seats. “That’s asking a lot. This is the man who considers cooking to befun.”
“I like food,” he said, but his mouth twitched toward a smile. “And purple doesn’t suit me.”
“Purple suits everyone.” Vitoria bounced on her toes, scanning for our seats among the crowd inside the Nexus arena. “It’s the color of mystery. Of passion.”
“It’s the color of bruises,” Calder said.
“Romanticbruises,” I added, which made Vitoria snort.
The arena circled us like a coliseum built from white stone, its curved walls climbing skyward in tiered rings that could hold thousands. The field below was grass, impossibly green, trimmed short and even, the kind that cushioned falls from the floating platforms above. Those platforms drifted at varying heights across the arena, some barely off the ground, others suspended twenty feet up, each one wide enough for two players to stand. They rotated slowly, bobbing like boats on gentle water, their positions never quite the same twice. Between them, Light Veils danced and spiraled, ribbons of gold and silver that moved like silk scarves caught in an invisible breeze, weaving figure eights through the air, their edges sharp enough to cut if you weren’t careful.
The crowd roared from the stands, their voices echoing, banners in team colors snapping in the wind.
“Section twelve, row thirty,” Vitoria read from our tickets.
Even though my presence was mandatory, I still had to buy my own ticket. After checking in with Matthias, and watching him make a larger-than-necessary checkmark beside my name, I rejoined Calder and Vitoria.
“Perfect view of the carnage,” I mumbled.
We climbed the stone steps, weaving between families decked out in team colors. Purple and black everywhere on this side. Howling Banshees fever had infected a quarter of the city. Everyone else wore blue and silver for the Silverbolts, though their cheers were more subdued tonight. Word traveled fast in the city.
Hard to get excited about a team missing their star player.
A sprite darted past my head, trailing silver dust in his wake. His voice squeaked something that sounded like odds andbetting pools before he zipped toward a cluster of gamblers three rows up.
“Five crowns says the Banshees take it in six,” Vitoria called to him, though her focus lay beyond the gambler, eyes fixed on the docks in the far distance. The sprite doubled back, hovering in front of her nose until her gaze shifted back to him. His wings beat so fast they were just a blur. “Understood. But Miss, current odds favor the Silverbolt Serpents. Even without Varrow, they’ve got Kaine Mills.”
“Mills is good,” I said, settling into my seat. “But he’s not Draven Varrow good.”
“Nobody’s Draven Varrow good,” the sprite whispered mournfully. “Was going to break the single-match veil record tonight. Had it on good authority.” He zipped away, muttering about ruined betting schemes.
Below us, the arena filled with players taking their positions, scowls on most of their faces. The Silverbolts moved with professional precision, blue and silver uniforms as crisp as military dress, accommodating as many runes as allowed per the rulebook. The Banshees looked wilder, their purple uniforms flowing like storm clouds, their movements loose and predatory.
“There’s Ingrid Shadowmere,” Vitoria pointed to a Banshees player whose form seemed to flicker at the edges. “Shifter. Watch how she moves.”
I watched. Ingrid didn’t just run, she flowed, her body phasing between solid and something more ethereal. When she reached for a practice veil, her hand passed halfway through it before solidifying, guiding the ribbon of light with impossible grace.
“Show-off,” Calder said, but his eyes tracked her movements with interest.
