Far away from the school, in the freezing air, Claudia starts to come back to herself, down from the indulgent high of Dolericym. In the distance, torches emerge from the exit of the grand ballroom. Her head start is over. The chase has begun.
What does she need to do? What does she even want? She thinks about throwing the whole thing just to spite Cassius, losing on purpose only because he so badly wants her to win.
“Iphigenia! Wherefore art thou, daughter for slaughter?” someone bellows from far away.
“Come out, come out, little bride!”
Braced against a thick oak tree, she sighs. She’s come so far from her home, only to end up in the exact same place with the exact same instinct—shiver, wait, pray for rescue.
Her breathing speeds up. Her heart slams against her ribs. A hot, angry breath slices through her teeth.
There are no heroes coming her way. There never are.
Fuck this. Fuck waiting for anyone or anything. She doesn’t need anyone anymore. Claudia knows how to hurt people all on her own. She knows how to kill.
If all her gifts can turn into curses, maybe all her flaws and mistakes and rage can become something else, too. They’re not wounds—they’re weapons.
“You want Iphigenia?” she whispers to herself while she watches torch-lit Agamemnons crest the hill. Tearing off the bottom of her dress, she growls, “Come and fucking get her.”
She takes the white ribbon from her neck and carefully weaves it into the tight twist of her hair. Touching the pearls that decorate her curls, she whispers, “Cassiopeia, protect me.”
When three Agamemnons come close, she holds up the torn piece from her dress and says, “Is this what you want?”
One red-haired Agamemnon laughs. “Oh, Iphigenia, you’ve made this too easy.”
Another tall one says, “You’re not even going to try to run?”
The shortest one says, “It’s almost not fun this way.”
“We’re going to make it fun,” she says. She’s on her toes, light on her feet in case one of them charges. “See, only one of you can have my white ribbon.”
Torchlight washes over their faces as the Agamemnons eye one another up. Their eyes are dark and heavy with extreme emotions. She’s terrified, but she won’t show it. She’ll lose all her ground if she so much as shivers.
Steeling her spine, Claudia holds out the white strip, letting it whip and crack in the wind like a flame. White light spills from an orb above, descending upon them. “Are you willing to kill one another for it?”
There is a small pause. Then the redhead lunges forward, reaching for the ribbon, but Claudia is too quick. She leaps out of the way, and he falls onto his stomach with a grunt. The others laugh. Before he can catch his breath, Claudia swoops in and rips his red ribbon from his throat so hard that it leaves friction burns behind.
He stands, gasping and clutching his throat.
One down.
He looks at his kingly companions over his shoulder, his face twisted with embarrassment and shame.
Wiping the dirt from his front, he sighs and says, “I guess I’m out, boys. She’s all yours.” He pats them both on the shoulder and walks away, rubbing along his neck, muttering, “Godsdamn, that fucking hurts.”
The others stare at her with shock in their eyes.
Straightening up and dusting herself off, Claudia says to the other Agamemnons, “The competition just got easier for you two. Now you only have to duel each other. The winner gets my ribbon.”
The tall one says, “You’ll just give it to us?”
She belts the fallen Agamemnon’s ribbon around her waist. “There is nous. I’ll give it to one of you. The last man standing.”
The two of them are frozen until Claudia says, “Go.”
On command like dogs, they turn on each other, bloodlust flaring in their wide, wet eyes. The tall king swings a shockingly hard punch into the other’s face, and the shorter one collapses onto the ground. Coughing, he spits out a splatter of blood and a single tooth.
“What the fuck, Bode?”
