Skylar turns her attention from the mark to Astrid herself. She is watching Skylar, and although her face is tight with shock, there is something fierce and bright in her eyes. Something that makes Skylar’s own eyes burn.
Pride.
Then there is a whisper from someone far away.
Mates.
And this silence, this stillness, breaks.
Around them there is a horrible creaking. Metal giving way. The bars of the cage disintegrate, falling to the ground. Freeing them.
They are both alive. The cage has broken, but they are both alive.
Together, they look toward the dais. Gwen’s mouth is open, her hand gripping her bear’s fur. Ottilie’s face is pale, and she looks almost sick. The king’s expression is pure anger, his lip curled, hands clenched into fists at his sides.
Only when two become one will the cage open.
Skylar wonders if anyone is going to step forward, offer an explanation to the crowd. Wonders ifsheis supposed to say something here. But she has no idea what that would be. She glances at Astrid, but she looks just as dumbfounded—neither of them have any fucking clue how to play this.
It doesn’t matter. Because at that moment, the Flame Thrower, one of the queen’s menagerie, steps forward. And without any hesitation, he aims a blaze of fire toward her.
No, Skylar realizes—too late, as she’s already spinning away. Not toward her.
Toward Astrid.
52Astrid
She’s my mate. She’s my mate. She’s mymate.
The words run through her head, the enormity of what’s just happened distracting her so that she doesn’t notice the Flame Thrower at first. Not until she feels Skylar move, hears Gwen’s scream and the piercing cry of Bastet, does she realize that a wall of burning-hot fire is coming straight for her. Heat sears her skin, the power of it staggering. It is too late to run.
She throws her arms up, calls to something low in her gut, her Gift and her magic, and pushes back against the Blooded power that’s about to swallow her whole.
“Forsvare!” she yells, shutting her eyes against the flame.
Burning flesh fills her nostrils, her own skin sizzling under the onslaught, and she thinks the spell has failed her once again, just as it did six years ago. But then the heat recedes, the pain with it. Her eyes fly open. Shouting erupts from the crowd—onlookers all on their feet, some running now—as the white-hot wall of fire smashes up against the invisible wall she’s created and rebounds toward the dais. It rushes its maker, who, with only fire at his disposal, has no way of stopping it from incinerating him and the two Dreki at his back. He barely has time to scream.
Astrid collapses to the ground, panting. She did it, she castForsvare. She’s never cast a defensive spell that powerful, and she almost laughs. It failed her six years ago; it failed her father. It did not fail her today.
She is not useless.
Arms wrap around her as Skylar collapses on her, crying like Astrid has never seen her before. Her heart is beating wildly and she hugs Skylar’s waist, clinging to her, drawing strength from her as she gets her breath back. She can feel it then, this link between them. The mark that has formed on her head tingles as though pleased with the contact with its other half. The wording of the Covenant—it must have been a loophole. Because when the mating bond formed, two did become one. Just not in the way people expected.
Two souls forged together to become one.
“Let me see your hands.” Skylar pulls back to look at Astrid’s fingers, which are blistering. Pulling out a healing solution, Astrid downs half and offers the rest to Skylar, who drinks it, then throws it to one side.
Astrid stares at Skylar. At hermate. “What the fuck is going on?”
Skylar chokes out a laugh. For a moment Astrid laughs with her until a large body pummels into her, knocking her to the ground and licking her cheek.
“Bastet!” She grasps him about the neck and hugs him as tightly as she can. She’s alive, Bastet’s alive, Skylar’s alive, Kaida’s alive. They’re allalive. Excitement bubbles inside her, and she opens her mouth to speak to Skylar, but then she notices Kaida’s fearful squeaks. The fear in her mate’s eyes.
“Astrid,” Skylar says, her voice a whisper. The fear in it has Astrid’s stomach dropping. Skylar’s eyes are focused over Astrid’s shoulder, at the main gates to the arena. “Shit just got a whole lot worse.”
Astrid spins and the blood leaves her face. Pouring inside are dozens and dozens of Vatran soldiers, nearly all of them bearing the mark of the Blooded. She feels Skylar’s fingers tighten around her arm until it’s painful.
“They’re lining the stadium,” Skylar murmurs. “They’re surrounding us.”
