Page 23

CHAPTER TWENTY

T he heavenly scent of baking bread and grilled meat drifts through the air and fills my lungs as I draw in a deep breath.

Above us, the fresh green leaves rustle in the lone tree as a gentle breeze sweeps across the market square.

The other patrons at this outdoor tavern cast suspicious glances in our direction, but we are already sitting as far away from them as possible.

“Took three tries to get them to accept our order,” Lyra says as she plops down on the wooden chair next to Alistair. “Even though we paid up front.”

Galen, who claims the final remaining seat, rolls his eyes at her. “Can you blame them, though? We were literally sent to kill them every time one of them set so much as one foot outside the wards.”

“Still,” she huffs as she tosses her wavy brown hair, pulled up in a ponytail, back behind her shoulder. “It’s rude to let people starve.”

“You’re not starving.”

“Well, if I don’t…”

I tune out their good-natured squabbling as I instead study the market square before us.

It’s the same one that we saw from the windows of the training room earlier.

We had planned to return to our house once training was done, but Jocasta gave us some money and told us to go out and eat dinner and enjoy the city tonight.

Since I have never been allowed to own, let alone handle, money before, I had no idea how to use it without looking like a fool.

And neither did Alistair and Isera, of course.

So we sent Lyra and Galen to order for our entire table.

Though they apparently had trouble doing so for a different reason.

The massive walls of the grand arena loom above us, and I glance up at the windows of our training hall again, even though Jocasta is no longer there.

Once she learned of our powers, her entire demeanor changed. Gone was the amused and slightly mocking tone and the smug superiority. Instead, she began taking us seriously in a way that she never had before. And also rewarding us. Hence this dinner.

I still haven’t been able to truly grasp that we are apparently much more powerful magic users than the average Unseelie fae.

On the one hand, it makes sense because the Icehearts have been breeding us for millennia to create people with strong magic for them to drain.

Of course that would make our magical bloodlines stronger than the Unseelie fae, who have just been living normally and having as many children as they like.

But at the same time, if I’m supposed to be stronger than Jocasta, then why can she create emotions from nothing while I cannot? Is there something wrong with me? Despite having more raw power, am I somehow defective?

“Are you okay?”

I’m jolted back to reality as Draven leans closer and brushes his hand gently down my thigh. His casual touch sends a flood of warmth through my body and makes the uncomfortable storm of emotions inside me calm again. I let out a long sigh.

Tearing my gaze from the market before us, I instead meet Draven’s beautiful eyes. “Yes. I was just… lost in thought.”

He brushes his hand over my thigh again, making my spine tingle. But before he can say anything else, Isera surprises us all by speaking without being forced to.

“They’re restless,” she says, her cold eyes on the people strolling through the large market square. “Can you feel it?”

“Yes,” I reply immediately.

I don’t even need to use my magic to feel the restless tension that seems to hover over this entire city like a cloud.

I’ve spent my entire life reading the situation around me, always alert and on the lookout for that moment when the mood in the room shifts and someone is about to get angry, so that I can try to defuse the conflict before it happens.

“Isn’t it just anticipation?” Galen asks, glancing between me and Isera. “Excitement before the games?”

“No,” I reply. “This feels different. There is a tension in the air that isn’t there if it’s only positive emotions.”

Isera nods. “They’re bored. Restless. Crawling up the walls waiting for something to happen.”

“It’s why people are arguing so much about which faction will win,” I finish.

Alistair gives both of us a look as he drawls, “And why is this relevant again?”

I watch Isera, waiting for her to reply. She doesn’t. And that dangerous glint remains in her eyes as she just slides her gaze back to the restless market before us.

“Because we need to win these games,” I reply, shifting my attention to the others instead.

“This is entertainment for these people. Their favorite type of entertainment. The contestants on the regular teams, like the White Faction, are practically celebrities.” Resting my elbows on the wooden table before me, I draw both hands through my hair before heaving a sigh.

“You all heard what Jocasta said before we left. It’s not just about winning.

It’s about making sure the crowd is entertained. ”

“And everyone hates us,” Draven finishes with a shrug.

I shoot him a half-hearted glare at his awful peptalk. But he is in fact right, so I just sigh again and echo, “And everyone hates us.”

“Alright, how should we play this, then?” Galen asks, looking from face to face.

“There are six teams with six people on each team. Our entire team needs to win these games.” He focuses on me, Alistair, and Isera.

“You three have done something like this before during the Atonement Trials. So, what’s the best move? ”

Alistair scowls at him and shakes his head. “How should I know?”

“You’re one of the few people who actually had a group of allies during the trials.”

“Allies. Right.” He snorts, as if the idea is laughable. Then a sharp glint appears in his eyes. “And where are those allies now?”

It takes me a second to realize.

“Dead,” I blurt out, staring at Alistair. “Maximus, Jeb, Tommen, and that other guy too… They all died during the Atonement Trials.”

Alistair meets our shocked stares with unapologetic eyes. “Yeah.”

Across the table, Galen watches him, his expression now slightly guarded.

“What?” Alistair challenges. Crossing his arms, he leans back in his chair. “I’m not a team player.”

Isera cuts Galen a flat look. “Neither am I.”

I shrug. “Yeah, I have no idea how to win properly either. I practically cheated my way through the whole thing.”

Draven lets out a huff of amusement. “Don’t I know it.”

Drawing my eyebrows down in a mock scowl, I elbow him in the ribs. But he’s still wearing his dragon scale armor, so it does absolutely nothing to make him wince. He grins at me, clearly pleased with his win.

“True,” Lyra muses, her gaze sliding to Alistair. “In terms of pure strength, I suppose Trevor should’ve been the third winner.”

“Don’t look at me,” Alistair says, raising his hands. “That one wasn’t actually my fault.” Then he nods at Isera instead. “She’s the one who almost cracked his head open with a block of ice so that he had to drop out.”

A sharp smile spreads across Isera’s lips.

Galen groans and throws his arms up in an exasperated gesture. “Great, so we have two people who are entirely incapable of teamwork and one who shouldn’t even have won.”

“You’re looking at it wrong,” Draven says.

A sly smile plays over his lips as he looks from me to Isera to Alistair before meeting Galen’s gaze again.

“We have two people who were strong enough to win completely on their own and one person who was smart enough to win even though she shouldn’t have. ”

“Ha!” Lyra exclaims, a wide grin on her face, as she points at Draven. “I knew there was a little optimist hiding underneath all that brooding.”

Draven begins turning towards her, but before he can even meet her gaze, panic and hesitation blow across her features. She swallows and clears her throat before awkwardly glancing away.

Tension starts settling over the table like a death shroud. Thankfully, the waitress chooses that exact moment to arrive with our food. I stifle a sigh of relief as the heavy atmosphere is forced out by the heavenly scents of food.

My stomach growls as the waitress sets down a plate full of grilled meat, fried potatoes with what smells like garlic and herbs, and a slice of fluffy white bread.

I didn’t realize how hungry I was until now.

These past two days, with the team selection, the escape attempt, Orion’s nightmare punishment, and this entire day of training, have felt like three weeks.

Not to mention the actual three weeks we spent in Orion’s dungeon.

Thuds drift through the air as the waitress sets down wooden tankards of ale in front of us. I glance down into mine while she sets the last one down in front of Draven.

“Thank you,” I say.

She doesn’t reply. Only shoots me a disapproving look and stalks away.

It makes my stomach twist uncomfortably, but I block out the emotion and instead dig into the food.

A moan escapes my lips as I put a bite of grilled meat and potatoes into my mouth. The meat is so perfectly cooked that it practically melts in my mouth. Closing my eyes, I savor the taste of garlic and herbs.

My eyes snap back open again as I suddenly feel a warm breath caress my ear, and I find that Draven has leaned in close. His lips brush the shell of my ear, sending lightning skittering across my skin.

“I thought only I could draw those sounds from you,” he whispers in my ear.

Warmth curls around my spine, and I give him a sly smile as he draws back and sits upright again.

While holding his gaze with eyes full of teasing challenge, I spear another piece of meat and put it in my mouth.

Then I close my eyes and moan softly again as if the food is the best thing I have ever tasted.

Draven’s hand grips my thigh under the table. And I, in turn, have to grip the table as he slides his strong hand up towards my hip and then sideways until it’s resting on my inner thigh. My clit practically tingles from the near touch. He leans in again.