He hands the amplifier to the woman he referred to as Beta Egith and she raises a hand.
“Move out, recruits! Let the Ascent begin.”
Immediately, chaos erupts. The group from the Bonded City takes off like a shot. Meanwhile, dozens of common-born recruits have descended on the gear tables. Some grab the piece or two they’ve been eyeing and then clear out, but others attempt to sort through the gear, and fights erupt over the tables as two or three people try to grab the same item.
Somewhere by one of the tables, a pained scream rings out, then is suddenly muffled.
I take a steadying breath as the bleak truth of this day is brought into sharp relief: people are going to die.
Alessandra looks at me in panic and then starts to move, trying to push her way through the crowd. I grab her arm.
“Stop, Alessandra,” I say. “Think for a minute. We should stick together, look out for each other.” Her skin is already frosty below her flimsy coat.
“Absolutely not,” she says with a sharp edge. I fall back at the tone. Her voice is full of fear and something darker, something like despair. “I can’t put my life in anyone’s hands, not even yours.”
She’s gone before I can say anything else. I stare at the spot where she disappeared in shock. Bodies swarm after her, others seeking that slower path up that Henrey told us about.
“Goddess keep you,” I mutter, then turn away, looking to find the best path forward for myself, away from the melee of bodies.
Skirting around the edges of the clearing, I watch as the flow of recruits noticeably splits in two, with the tall and handsomely outfitted headed straight for a rocky incline that tips sharply up and up, and many others headed for what looks like a path of to the left.
I press back against a tree, waiting for the way to clear a bit more. I’m not trying to race, I don’t care about getting to the top fast.
Idocare about staying out of the way of some idiot who’s so afraid of what’s coming that they accidentally swing an ice pick into my face.
Or maybe not so accidentally. To my left, a sharp wail catches my attention, followed by a choked sound.
It’s a sound I’ve heard a few times before, in the fighting ring—that sound when someone gives up hope after an especially brutal hit. And it sounded like a woman.
Shit.
Against my better judgment, I leave the safety of my cover and turn back, checking to find the source.
My eyes dart between the running bodies, searching for a breath or two before I see them. It’s the beautiful girl from last night, one of the twins from a Bonded family, the one with the longer hair. She’s down on the ground, and there’s a dark-haired man atop her, also one of the wealthy Bonded.
He’s holding her down by her throat.
I see white, and I’m running toward her without thinking, my body instinctively preparing to fight, muscles tensing.
“I’m going to enjoy this, you little bitch,” the man’s voice says as I near, though his back is still turned to me. The woman is wheezing below him as he holds her down with one hand, strangling her with the other. “You think you’re too good for me? That’ll be the last thing you think.”
The last word is barely out of his mouth when my foot slams into his face.
I forgot about the metal crampons on my boot—they tear into the meat of his cheek viciously, gouging a hole and ripping the top of his ear. The impact jolts him to the side and he falls to the ground, freeing the woman.
“What thefuck,” he snarls, turning to face me as he rises. His gorgeous face is wrecked, his cheek like pulped meat. I’d say that I feel bad about it, but I really, really don’t.
He reaches under his furs for what I can only assume is his knife. Before he can grab it, my other foot is already flying around, and the toe of my boot connects with his groin.
His strangled wheeze is the most satisfying thing I’ve heard all year.
Letting my momentum carry me forward, I slam him down to the ground, holding him firmly down with both knees and tucking my own small dagger, always at the ready in my sleeve, neatly against his neck.
“When you get up, you better fucking run.” My voice is calm, almost pleasant. “Or I’ll gut you.”
I hop off of him and back up, eager to check on the woman to be sure she’s not seriously injured, but keeping an eye on him in case he still wants to try something.
He’s gotten the message, though. He scrambles away, blood dripping out the wound in his cheek, dotting the neck of his furs in a thick, viscous crimson.
