His smile was all teeth and no warmth. “Among other things.”
“Like embroidery?”
“No. But I do know a dozen ways to sew a mouth shut.”
I couldn’t help myself. “Name four.”
He drew back. “What?”
I lifted a shoulder, walking toward the door. “You said you knew twelve, and that seems like an awful lot. So go on. Name four.”
His stare was a blade, but I pretended not to notice.
“Witch,” he warned.
“That doesn’t count,” I said, shaking my head. “Threatening me isn’t stitching. Unless you mean metaphorical stitching, in which case, two points for creativity.”
His jaw flexed. “You’re insufferable.”
I grinned over my shoulder. “And yet you’re still talking to me. Fascinating, isn’t it?”
His response was nothing more than a grunt. Fitting.
There was a craft to seeing how far someone could be pushed. Humanizing myself to my future murderer was going to be tricky. If witches knew how to do anything but hide, beg and plead, this man had long ago forgotten the fact.
In the underbelly of the Nexus arena, the corridors leading to the dining hall were carved from rock. Like everything built to last, the arena was fashioned of stone. Stone that weathered the Burnings when wood and cloth turned to ash. Across the four continents, many old castles still stood for this reason alone, their walls scarred by war and water and time, but unbroken by flame.
Sprites darted overhead, carrying messages between floors, some of their wings leaving trails of silver dust that shone briefly before fading. One zipped past carrying a scroll marked with the Magistrate’s seal, his face pale with the terror that came from bearing bad news.
“Move faster,” Wickett said, his hand not quite touching my back, but still close enough I could feel the heat.
“I’m not your hunting hound,” I replied, but picked up the pace, anyway. The alternative was letting him literally drag me along, and I’d had enough humiliation for one day.
The dining hall rose before us like a cathedral of appetite and politics. Vaulted ceilings disappeared into shadow, supported by columns carved with the faces of ancient leaders whose names had been forgotten when history books burned. Though their stern expressions remained. Candles provided warm light that danced across tables laden with more food than most people in the Crook saw in a month.
The survivors had been seated according to their teams, whether they liked it or not. The binding magic ensured compliance, pulling teammates together with invisible threads.
Our table sat in the center of the hall. Wickett had probably picked it strategically. The other diners—those in government that Tiberius had invited down—could watch us, study us, place their bets on who would survive the next trial. I took the seat that kept the crowd to my back, hoping for some small measure ofprivacy. Wickett sat beside me without ceremony, close enough that our shoulders nearly touched.
Lucette Varrow claimed the seat across from us. When she looked at me, I saw calculation in those dark eyes, as if she were measuring threat levels, determining which of us would be the weak link.
“I’m not your enemy,” I said, quietly enough that only those closest could hear. “One from each race, remember? You want to size up the competition, better focus on that giant fucker over there.”
The shifter named Marcus scowled in our direction as if he’d somehow heard me. Maybe he had. Animal qualities and all that. Pip was the only one left on his team, and she was a guarantee, like Calder. So he was a lone wolf. Pun intended, though I was pretty sure he was some kind of weird bear-like beast shifter.
“Well, isn’t this cozy?” Pip said, settling into the remaining chair with forced cheer. The little sprite’s optimism felt brittle. She adjusted the two little blue buns on the top of her head as she surveyed the room. “I... uh, I guess I won my spot in the hunt.”
I didn’t quite know how to answer her, so I didn’t.
Further down, on the other side of the shifter Lucette, sat the rest of her team. My counterpart was Katarina, and Wickett’s was Felix. That was it. Two shifters, two witches and two hunters. Still, the onlookers’ whispers seeped into my veins as they sized us up. Most cared about Lucette and Marcus. She hadn’t shifted, and he was enormous. Even I struggled to see how she’d beat him.
I couldn’t bring myself to look at Kat. Even when I could feel the burn of her gaze on me, I couldn’t do it. No matter the outcome of this, I’d left her in the Bloodwood to die.
Everyone knew an imprisoned witch was a dead witch. She was here for the show. Perhaps she could best me in whatevertomorrow would bring. She would then join the hunt and tell them everything she knew of Vitoria.
And still she would die in the end. It wasn’t until I had crossed the room that I finally broke and turned to face her. The earth witch had suffered in the trial. Dirt still clung to her hair, and her hands shook with exhaustion.
“How noble of you to volunteer to save the world from the Phoenix.” Katarina’s voice was conversational, loud enough for Wickett to hear, casual enough to sound like friendly concern. “If only we’d known just how close she was to us. Some... closer than others.”
