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He hums to tell me he’s listening, pressing a kiss to my shoulder that makes my skin tingle.

“You know you can’t be involved in this game, right? We said you need to keep your distance from the others until Maidar finds a way to help you.”

I feel his muscles tighten beside me. He doesn’t like that.

“No matter what you say, I will be there in some form, making sure you’re safe. I suggest you accept that.” He pulls me closer to him, enveloping me in his arms. “Because it’s not open for debate.”

I might feel a prickle of annoyance at his bossiness, but instead his words, and his arms around me, just make me feel secure and wanted.

“All right, but you’re not allowed to play, agreed? There’s too much risk of you slipping up about your memory.”

He groans, the sound of frustration sending vibrations through my body.

“It’s a crime, you know, letting all my talents go to waste because of one simple secret. Whatever this game involves, I’m sure I could show these Unseelie a thing or two.”

“There’ll be other times to show off,” I say with a grin. “And you have other talents.” I emphasize what I mean my wriggling against him, enjoying the way his body responds.

He groans again, more deeply this time.

“Behave yourself, Eleanor,” he orders. “Or I’ll be too distracted tomorrow to make sure you don’t die.”

I think he’s joking. I hope he is. Because it occurs to me that when it comes to the game tomorrow, I have no idea exactly what I’ve gotten myself into.

Chapter 10

The wind pulls my hair in front of my eyes and I tug it back, tying it up to keep my face clear. Pyromey hadn’t been joking about the height. Gordmoor is one of the Unseelie Kingdom’s tallest peaks and the bastet grounds are literally carved into the side of it. The unobscured view doesn’t do anything for my rising nerves, as large High Fae file past onto the flat stretch of playing ground in front of me.

I stare across the huge plateau, my throat dry. Vaccia talked about getting the ball out of the circle, which is represented by a red line painted onto the stone ground, but what she didn’t mention was that on one side of that circle there’s a hundred-foot drop, just a few feet from the painted line. At opposite ends there’s pairs of stone pillars, one decorated with animal skulls and the other with bones. I hope those are also from animals, but I have no way of knowing.

I scan the crowds gathering in the stands fixed to the rock face above the plateau. It’s easy to spot Destan in his colorful clothes, though I have a sneaking suspicion he’s going to watch most of this game through his fingers. I would too, if I wasn’t playing in the damn thing. Jagged rock lines the sides of the arena, with several dark stains splashed across their surfaces. I don’t need to ask anyone to guess what they are.

I can’t see Ruskin, which is at least one thing to be glad about. Destan and I argued with him about it this morning, telling him that if he was going to be present, he had to be inconspicuous. Otherwise, there was too much risk the Unseelie would try to goad him into participating in some way or another. I reach down the bond and feel a familiar tug. He’s here somewhere, nearby. I just don’t know where.

The size of the Unseelie beginning to collect on the plateau seem to vary from large to huge. I watch from the sidelines as they’re divided into teams, marked with a colorful band around their wrists: green or yellow.

“Here,” Pyromey says, striding over and handing me a green band. “You’re on our team.”

“I am?”

“Jasand and Wistal got you into this. In the cold light of day, they feel responsible.” I don’t miss the unspoken implication: ‘responsible for what happens to you.’

“How dangerous does this game get, exactly?” I ask.

She flashes her snake eyes at me. “You didn’t think to ask that yesterday before you said you’d join in?”

I shrug, though I don’t think the nonchalance fools her.

“No,” she says knowingly. “You were too busy thinking about that spot on the king’s council.”

“Because it’s too important to pass up,” I say honestly. “I don’t think you realize how important.”

She shakes her head. “I understand it very well. All season, I’ve heard the stories of Turis whispering poison in the king’s ear about how Seelie and Unseelie don’t mix, about the superiority of a few select members of our court. It’s one of the reasons King Lisinder won’t give your prince what he wants. He might not hate the Seelie like Turis, but Turis and his cronies have the king convinced that the rest of the court would never support a risky alliance with a half-Seelie.”

“Then I’m in the right place,” I say. “Regardless of the danger. But…” I hesitate. “I’m just curious. Has anyone actually died playing this?”

She smirks. “Not for a long time. Though there’s usually some nasty injuries.” She points up to familiar robed figures waiting at the end of the stands. “The healers are on standby, but be warned. If you use them, that’s it—you’ve tapped out, and you’re out of the game. And only those who are still on the field all the way to the end are eligible for the king’s council. So if you get hurt, try to stick it out, if you can.” She seems to reconsider her own words. “But also keep in mind, the delay in healing sometimes means that injuries go past the point of no return. And either way, some injuries just aren’t fixable. Someone lost an eye playing last year. They got a spell to the face and the thing popped like a grape. There’s not much anyone could do about that.”

“You’re not just telling me this to scare me, are you?” I say with dreadful realization.