He’s at the edge of the ring, where the sand is looser and there aren’t as many people. My heart is already beating fast. I tell myself it’s just from trudging through the grit, but the truth is, I’m scared. I have no idea what’s going to happen today.
“You’re late,” he gripes.
I could argue and remind him that I had at least three minutes, but it would be a waste of breath. “I’m here now.”
“That you are.” His eyes roam over me from head to toe. It doesn’t feel smarmy like it did when I first arrived at Frostburn. I don’t know if the change is in him or me. He takes a step closer to me, and I stiffen, fighting the urge to pull away from him. I may no longer think he wants to bed me, but I still don’t like the idea of him being all up in my space.
“The die has already been cast. There’s no stopping it. You have one objective—survive.” The second he finishes speaking, a sound rips through the room that makes the hair on my arms and the back of my neck stand on end. With our eyes still locked, Mick mouths, “Survive,” again as he backs away and jogs toward the center of the circle, leaving me alone at the edge of the sand.
I try to spot Moros through the crowd, but it’s impossible with this many people in the arena, and my senses feel dulled. I’m certain it has something to do with the noise that thundered through the space.
I find myself inching backward a little more to make sure no one can get behind me as my gaze is drawn to the front of the ring. I can’t be certain, but it seems as if every tutor is present, surrounding Foley. The headmaster is wearing a deep emerald robe with the hood peeled back to expose his small, rat-like features.
The urge to open my mouth wide and pop my ears from the pressure filling the expansive space is almost disorienting, but I’m afraid I might miss something if I do.
“Greetings, trainees.” Foley peers around the room. Even from this distance, I can see the wild sheen in his eyes. Mick almost seemed nervous, but the headmaster looks positively ecstatic. What the hell did Mick mean that the die has already been cast?
As the charged seconds tick by, I realize I’m no longer fighting the sudden pressure change in the room. Either my body adapted, or the unseen force dissipated—I’m betting it’s the former.
I don’t take my eyes off the group at the front of the ring. I know I need to hear whatever he’s about to say if I want to survive. “Today is the qualifier, your final test to see which of you will go to the Undertaking as a contender for Frostburn, and which of you will become the fodder.”
An audible gasp comes from too many people to count, but the sentiment can’t be ignored so easily. I’m not the only one caught off guard by this information, and what does he mean by fodder?
“Now don’t give up just yet. Even the prey can make it out of the games alive if you’re cunning.” His jovial tone is so at odds with the sinister topic, my mind has a hard time with the contrast. I shouldn’t be surprised. We’re nothing more to him than pawns, but I didn’t realize he was a sadist and would be so damn happy about it.
My hands ball into fists. It’s the first hint of anger I’ve felt in days. I embrace the simmering fury, letting it fill me in a way that eclipses the fear I wallowed in when I walked into this arena.
The trainees’ heads start to swivel, as if they are searching for someone or something, but clarity strikes, and I realize they are sensing something I can’t—magic. My stomach tightens in anticipation. If the magic is strong enough for everyone to feel it at once, then is it going to overload me?
It’s strange to realize the one thing I wanted so badly when I first got here is the last thing I want now. If I disappear for even a few hours, there’s a chance I won’t make it to the selection. I can’t let that happen, especially now when the possibility of seeing Kage and Ziv is at my fingertips.
Every door in the arena slams closed at the exact same time, causing quite a few of us to jump in response to the startling noise. When the din dies down, Foley makes a final announcement. “The wards are in place. Those of you who are left standing once they drop in twelve hours will move on to represent Frostburn in the next step of the selection process. Remember, with the games comes glory, now more than ever.” The sand they are standing on begins shifting, and I realize they are positioned on some sort of dais that is rising, leaving awaterfall of sand to drip from the circle until it reaches a perch high above the arena. They file off and into an enclosed glass box where they’ll be able to witness the qualifier from a safe distance. It’s sickening, and I can’t stand to look at it for another second.
Trainees start assessing their neighbors with open suspicion while I do the same. I’m distracted by the elites as they gather together to form a unit while searching for Moros when the first scream splits the air.
My eyes jump over the large group, trying to find where it came from, but all hell breaks loose in the next moment, like the shriek served as the opening bell of the battle.
Magic I can’t feel, but I can blessedly see, explodes in the room. The glint of a golden whip flashes, catching my attention just in time for me to see it lick at the neck of a large male. Time seems to slow as he narrows his eyes on the wielder—a petite female with purple hair. The male takes one sluggish step forward before he lifts his hand as if to reach for his neck. That’s when I notice the long slit that formed where the whip struck. Blood spurts out and sprays the bystanders near them, creating a macabre sight. The male collapses to his knees then pitches face-first into the sand where he doesn’t move again. The first of us is dead.
The female who controlled the whip glances over her shoulder before taking off in a sprint and getting swallowed by the throng of trainees around her. By the time I look away, there are a few more bodies in the sand, but the trainees seem to be converging into sects, as if there might be protection in numbers.
The elites slide into their typical formation. I’ve never been welcomed into their group or their training sessions, but Sunny took the time to explain their methods to me in detail. Basically, they work as a unit, defending each other to up their chances of survival. I scan their ranks for Moros, even knowing he wouldnever leave me to fend for myself, but I don’t see his snow-white hair among them. I’m going to have to trust him to take care of himself and find me when he can.
That realization comes much too late, because the moment I start focusing on what’s closest to me, I see Hawk, his arms outstretched with his fingers splayed wide, brushing over anyone stupid enough to let him get close. One female goes so far as to rip her top off and start massaging her breasts as if a fight to the death is her biggest turn-on. It turns my stomach to know he’s taken her will from her and left her completely exposed to any attack.
Trepidation fills my chest, making it hard to breathe because my heart is beating so fast. I knew there was no way Hawk had forgotten about me. His hate-filled stares made it obvious that he would like nothing more than to make me pay for humiliating him every time I saw him in the ring.
Unfortunately, I don’t have surprise on my side to defend myself against his attack this time. Hawk has watched me train for months, so he probably knows my weaknesses better than I do, but he isn’t the only one who prepared. I knew if given half the chance, he would come for me.
While he’s still twenty feet away, but approaching quickly, I reach behind my back and palm one of my knives. Other than reacquainting myself with them in our room, I’ve kept them in the box they arrived in two weeks ago, courtesy of Ziv, until today. I don’t know how he got them to Frostburn and, in turn, to Sunny. I didn’t ask questions the next time we communicated after receiving them, but I did tear up when I opened the box that was locked in a way so not even Moros could access it. My knives were surrounded in silver silk that somehow reminded me of the fallen god’s shifting eyes.
“You think that will save you?” Hawk smirks, but he can’t hold the expression long, because he’s far too enraged for even a half-assed smile.
I don’t waste my breath responding. I’m certain only one of us will walk away from this encounter, and I’m more than okay with that. I’m fucking tired of living with an anvil over my head, and he’s just the first obstacle to freedom.
He lets out a roar as he breaks into a run, heading straight for me. Even though I’ve been training for this exact moment, the urge to run and get the hell away from him is hard to suppress. I lean forward and soften my knees before rushing straight forward to meet him head-on.
If the move surprises him, his expression doesn’t give it away. His lips are curled back in a snarl that promises retribution. I stop looking at his fucked up face and watch the way his limbs move as he makes his way through the sand. Hawk is many things, like a monster and a waste of space, but there are just as many things he isn’t—smooth and graceful come to mind. He has the finesse of a troll.
