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CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

S tone slams out in front of us as the wall to our right spins as if it has been secured to a pole in the middle of it.

It makes the section ahead of us rotate into our corridor while the section behind moves in through the space on the other side.

And it happens so fast that it crashes into us, shoving us with it as it whirls half a turn before slamming back to a halt.

The maneuver pushes us out of the corridor we were in and deposits us in the room that was on the other side of the wall.

We stumble into each other from the force of the shove, and Isera and I go sprawling on the ground as I crash into her from behind. Draven lands on his hands and knees above us, barely managing not to crush us with his body.

For a second, the three of us just stare at each other, trying to process what just happened. Then Draven quickly climbs off us. I toss my hair out of my face as Isera and I disentangle our limbs.

“Assholes,” I growl while shooting a glare up at the audience.

The entire section around us is now laughing and pointing in our direction.

“We need to get back through the wall,” I say as I struggle to my feet. “The others made it into the room and the other team is?—”

“Here,” Draven interrupts, sounding exasperated. “The other team is… here.”

Straightening, I whirl around to stare in the direction he is looking.

My stomach drops.

Just like he said, the team we were tracking is standing there on the sand right in front of us.

All six of them are scrambling to their feet as well, casting confused glances at the wall.

They must have been shoved into this room from the other room that Galen, Lyra, and Alistair are now waiting in alone.

I whip my head from side to side.

There are no openings inside this room. Only tall walls on all four sides. No way out. And a full team of six Unseelie fae facing us while our team was split in half.

Narrowing my eyes, I stifle another snarl as I shoot a glare at the laughing and whooping audience. Fucking assholes .

The team before us, all dressed in yellow fighting leathers, at last notices us as well and quickly forms up into an attack formation.

“You’re outnumbered,” the leader, a man with dark brown hair, calls in a shockingly loud voice. “How about you crawl up to us and surrender your key, and we’ll consider not maiming you too badly.”

The people waving yellow banners in the audience above us whoop and cheer. And even some people wearing green and red scarves yell and clap as well.

That’s when I realize why the team leader of the Yellow Faction is screaming so loudly even though the room we’re in is not that big. He’s putting on a show. Not for us. For them .

Of course. Jocasta’s words yet again echo through my brain. It’s not just about winning. It’s about entertaining the crowd.

Next to me, Draven gives the six Unseelie fae before us an unimpressed look while saying to me and Isera, “Well then, shall we?”

Isera throws a block of ice at them.

Half of them start in surprise at the sudden attack, and I don’t waste a single second. Shoving my magic out, I lock on to those sparks of surprise and fan it into full-blown shock. They gasp, and the unnatural shock that I just forced them to feel makes them just stand there and stare.

The other three throw themselves out of the way and summon their own magic. Fire roars through the air towards Isera’s block of ice, but it only manages to melt part of it. The rest slams into their three stunned companions.

A flash of smug victory pulses through me as they cry out when the ice crashes right into them.

But the other three are already moving.

Water blasts through the air straight towards us.

I dive sideways, cutting off my magic, as I roll across the sand to escape the torrent. Draven did the same, but dove in the other direction, while Isera just raised an ice wall in front of her. The water smacks into it with enough force to send chips of ice flying.

Rolling to my feet, I yank out my dagger. The three people I stunned in the beginning have recovered from both my magic and Isera’s ice, and they are charging towards us.

Draven summons his storm magic, shoving a blast of wind at them long enough for us to get to our feet. I leap back, barely managing to get out of the way before a stream of fire crackles through the air where I used to be. My heart slams against my ribs and blood rushes in my ears.

Dread suddenly curls around my spine.

Yes, our raw magic might be stronger than the average Unseelie fae, but it makes no difference in here.

In an open space, where magic needs to reach far and wide, the power difference would be vital.

But here, in a small cramped room where it doesn’t need to reach too far, their magic is just as deadly as ours.

And we are outnumbered two to one.

Fuck .

I duck and summon my magic again as another blast of water hurtles towards me. A few steps away, Draven is shooting lightning at three of the players while Isera is throwing spears of ice at the other two.

My mind churns as I scramble upright again while trying to figure out how to help them while also taking down the sixth member of the enemy team.

The guy, his black and purple eyes locked on me, shoots another blast of water at me from across the room, forcing me yet again to leap to the side to evade it.

Panic and dread twist inside my stomach like cold snakes.

Because it’s with horrifying clarity that I’m coming to realize that I am practically useless in one-on-one fights like this.

I’m not a warrior. I’m a spy.

I have no magic that can kill or block attacks. The best I can do is to distract an opponent with my magic. Or to make them flee. But even that is difficult. Because first, they need to actually feel fear for me to be able to increase it so much that they flee or surrender.

Throwing myself to the side, I evade another water blast. A dull ache pulses through my body as my shoulder hits the ground yet again before I roll to my feet.

It would be different if I could create emotions from nothing. But this… The way my powers are now, it’s not enough.

Anger flares up inside me, shocking in its intensity. The rage that consumes me is so furious that my vision blacks out for a second. Fucking hell, I need to figure out how to create emotions the way Jocasta does. I need to get stronger. More powerful. I will not?—

Water slams into my chest.

The blinding rage distracted me so much that I wasn’t keeping track of my surroundings.

Pain pulses through my back as I crash into the stone wall behind me. My ears are ringing, with both anger and pain, but I still hear the crowd cheer above me. Rage sears through me, setting everything on fire. Fuck, I want to kill them all.

I jerk back, stunned by my own thoughts.

It distracts me enough that I manage to shove the rage back and focus properly on my surroundings again.

Draven has managed to knock out two of his opponents and is now fighting hand to hand with the final one.

A few steps away, Isera is still battling the other two.

Both of them are fire wielders, which is of course the worst kind of opponent for her.

They smirk as they shoot torrents of fire at her one after the other.

A sudden idea strikes me.

I summon my magic, but then have to yet again dive sideways as my own opponent tries to drown me with a wave of water. It slams into the stone wall behind me, creating a sloshing sound as it washes over the stone.

Rolling across the now wet sand, I leap to my feet and throw my magic across the room.

Just as I thought, my magic connects with the sky blue flames of confidence in the chests of both my opponent and Isera’s two. With a shove, I turn them into raging wildfires.

Their grins widen as the two fire wielders start attacking Isera with more fervor. But their attacks are sloppy now. Isera flicks a glance in my direction. I keep increasing their confidence until they start blocking Isera’s attacks far later than normal.

Across the sand, the water wielder who has been facing me abandons his ranged attacks and instead sprints towards me, a confident grin on his face.

I flex my fingers on the knife in my hand while still continuing to manipulate their emotions.

To my right, Isera shoots two sheets of ice consecutively, followed quickly by two smaller chunks.

Her opponents, overconfident in their own abilities, block the sheets with lazy waves of fire right before they can hit.

But when they lower their flames again, the two chunks of ice are far too close.

They crash into their faces with sickening cracks.

Blood gushes out of their noses as they collapse to the ground.

The water wielder before me draws a sword as he charges across the sand. I force out a calming breath, getting ready to fight him in close quarters, since that will significantly increase my odds.

He closes the final distance.

I grip my knife hard.

His head snaps to the side as a block of ice slams into it.

I jump out of the way as his feet continue taking him a few steps forward before his brain realizes that he is unconscious. He hits the sand next to me in a heap of limbs.

For a few seconds, I just stare down at him. Then I glance up at Isera. She gives me a nod, a knowing glint in her eyes. I flash her a smile back.

It worked.

Overconfidence will kill you faster than any blade.

Not that these people are dead. Just unconscious. But still. The insane levels of confidence I forced them to feel made them sloppy and arrogant, which ultimately led to their downfall.

A scream shatters through the air.

I turn to find Draven pinning the team leader, the one who told us to crawl earlier, to the stone wall across the room. Isera and I exchange a glance before starting in that direction.

“Last time I’m asking nicely,” Draven says. “Give me the key.”