Shit.
Calder’s hand twitched toward his blade before stopping. Around us, those who understood the old word began backing away. Pushing. Shoving. Fighting to escape what they knew was coming.
But there was nowhere to go. The hunters had closed the Square. We were trapped, all of us, witnessing something that would change everything. The raven’s head turned. Slowly, deliberately, until its obsidian gaze found me in the crowd. It tilted its head with interest. Then moved on.
But it was the Ripper’s stare that burned deepest. He’d found me again, locked onto me with an intensity that made my hidden fire stir. Not the casual cataloging from before. This was focused. Intentional. Like he’d finally found the missing piece of a puzzle he’d been working at for years. But hecouldn’thave known. When he saw me and Vitoria together, she looked like a nymph, purple eyes, higher cheekbones, elongated canines. Fierce features. Nothing soft. Nothing ofher.
The net was closing around us all. Every searching gaze, every tightening trap, every second of injustice pressing down on an innocent woman. And I could feel every instinct Gran had beaten into me starting to crack as something reckless took root in my mind.
Chapter 9
Syneca
A smart witch hides while others seek the spotlight. But a wise witch never attends the gathering at all.
The rain tasted of ash.
Not real ash. Memory ash. The kind that coated my tongue when I dreamed of burning, when I woke up gasping from nightmares where I was the spark that burnt the world to cinders. I swallowed it down, that phantom taste, as the crowd pressed tighter around me.
The massive dragon circling the skies released a roar that shook the stones beneath our feet. Its scales gleamed obsidian in the rain. It swept lower, wings spanning wider than ten buildings, and opened its maw. Fire erupted. Not the contained breath of performance, but a torrent of flame that screamed across the sky. Heat washed over us even from this distance, making the rain sizzle into steam. The dragon’s cry echoed off buildings, primal and devastating, a sound that said predator in a language older than words.
Then it dropped.
Plummeting toward the stage with speed that would have been hard to track, if not for its massive size. The crowd gasped, surged backward. But just before impact, mere feet from the platform, scales rippled and reformed. Wings became arms. Claws became hands. The dragon shifted mid-fall into a man, massive and powerful, landing behind the Oracle with enough force to crack the stage beneath his boots.
A child near us cried. His mother held him against her chest, her face blank with shock. She kept whispering the same words over and over: “We’re not here. We’re not here. We’re not here.”
But we were here. The Phoenix was here, according to the Oracle. According to the lies painted across the banner in the sky. According to leaders that knew no real truths.
“By ancient law,” Tiberius’s voice erupted across the Square, “when one with divine blood is threatened, the Mortalis may be called. For those unaware, the Mortalis is a competition so brutal that survival is the only measure of worth. Five races will be chosen at random from among you. If your race is called, three volunteers must step forward to compete. Only one from each race will survive to claim victory. These five victors will be declared Venatori—our chosen champions, bound by blood oath to track down the Phoenix who threatens our world. Fifteen will enter. Five will emerge for this sacred hunt.”
Sacred hunt.
Rage grew as I stared at the man who would ruin my world. This was wrong. They were lying. And no competition would draw out the truth.
The crowd’s energy shifted. Horror bleeding into something else. Disgusting anticipation. The Nexus championship would pause for this, and nothing had stopped the games in decades. Nothing could except the Magistrate’s law or another leader in another country demanding it so.
Tiberius raised his hand, gesturing to the witch standing at the back of the platform. Though she kept her face down, she knew his demands of her. She knew her role. She was his to command. She mouthed a word and the rain above the platform began to move strangely, swirling into a sphere of water that hung suspended. Inside it, the names of races appeared written in light.
“The die has been cast!” he announced. “Let fate choose our competitors.”
The sphere spun faster as we waited to learn which races would be selected. Light leaked from it in streams that painted the crowd’s upturned faces gold and silver and copper, then stopped.
A name blazed forward: HUNTER.
“Hunters, send forth your three.”
The Ripper stepped forward first. Of course he did. Two others flanked him, both young, both eager for glory they’d never taste. He stood between them like death given form, patient and certain.
Their names were called unceremoniously. “Darius Crane, Felix Steele, and Wickett Veyne.”
Wickett... The Ripper.
When his eyes swept the crowd, they found me again. Damnit. Something passed between us in that heartbeat of contact. Anger. Challenge. Even pride.
I looked away first. Had to.
The sphere spun again.
