Page 113

QUILL

Clusters of creatures barricade the entrance to the Sanctum of the Seven. News of the Challenge spread far and wide after last night’s party, and it seems everyone—friend and foe—has traveled to the heart of the Wyldelands to witness my inevitable rise.

Or my inevitable fall.

Rory cuts me a sharp glance, and I tighten my hold around her waist. “Don’t look at me like that, tiny monster. We all have doubts sometimes.”

She frowns. “To have doubts now, though?”

I bend to kiss the corners of her mouth. “You’ll just have to believe in me enough for the both of us.”

Several guards meet us at the side of the building and escort us inside. The halls are lit by torches, our steps the only sound beyond the clamoring of creatures outside.

Rory edges closer to me, her hand tightening in mine.

My kindred fall into formation behind me as we’re led into the center of the Seven’s council room. Engraved into the marble flooring is the seven-pointed star, the same marking each of the Seven receives when they ascend as supreme. I’ve been here many times before with Godrick, but never after his death.

It feels so different. Has sunlight always slanted through the windows in such a brutal slash of gold? Was the air always laced with the scent of despair?

The Seven, along with their Seconds, stand solemnly as we’re let into the room.

Cress manages a worried smile from where she perches behind Alyvia, as do Avaline and Cora behind their own supremes.

Outside, the crowd rages on, demanding they be admitted. And they will be. As soon as the Challenge parameters are set, the benches in the arena will be overflowing with creatures and bets on who will prevail as victor.

My gaze snaps to the seat Mihal stole from Godrick, the seat I will claim as my own.

The seat filled with the current vampire supreme.

His glare is as deadly as his fangs, as his power. It promises death for me and all those I hold dear. I meet it in kind. Letting the mask of the Mors Soluta slide into place, clearing my mind of everything but my task at hand—kill Mihal.

Nerissa’s grin is savage. “Mihal Enache, you have been Challenged by Quill Godrickson for your seat on the Seven. What are your parameters for this Challenge?”

“Does he bear the blade?” asks Tallis, her mouth a thin line.

I withdraw my dagger, palming the hilt. Sunlight glints off the blade through the skylight in flecks of gold. Power courses through me as I lift my chin.

Mihal’s words drift back to me from the night he first forced me to kneel.

You are far too stubborn and defiant for your own good, Quill. It makes you weak.

He has always underestimated me.

I am many things, but I am not weak.

“Traitors among us, indeed,” Mihal snarls. He pins his dangerous glare on Nerissa, Alyvia, Eliphas, and Riven. “Do you forget his blood is tainted by the affliction? Would you truly risk seating such a creature?”

“Yes,” Nerissa says simply. “It’s about time your reign of terror came to an end.”

From my peripheral, Rory smirks, and I love her all the more for it.

“Nonsense.” A sinister grin. “I’ve only just begun, and once I’m finished with Quill, I’ll⁠—”

“Enough.” Riven leans back in his seat, a picture-perfect image of boredom. “The Challenge has been initiated, and it is time to set the parameters. As always, anything goes, and if we’re going to waste our morning dallying with your dramatics, Mihal, you better make it worth our time.”

“Oh, I have a spectacle planned for all of you.” Mihal extends a hand toward the shadows. “The conditions are simple. My childe and I challenge Quill and his childe to a fight to the death.”

A boulder of dread sinks into my stomach as his words register one by one.