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CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

M y heart slams against my ribs, drowning out the sound of my pounding feet, as we hurtle through the corridors and deserted rooms. We don’t even know where we’re going.

We just need to put as much distance between us and our previous location as possible.

Otherwise, we’re going to have to fight three teams at once. And we won’t survive that.

I keep my magic attached to the excitement in their chests as we run, but it doesn’t matter that I decrease it. They’re still coming. I can feel them. Three entire teams. All eighteen of them, converging on us.

Shit .

Picking up speed, I throw myself around the corner after my friends.

The farther into the arena we get, the more decorated the rooms and corridors become.

Where we started, they were all empty. But now, furniture has started to pop up.

Tables and chairs and pedestals with ceramic pottery and even full-length statues of Unseelie fae warriors now line the walls at various locations.

They haven’t been arranged like someone would decorate a real room or hallway.

Instead, the mismatched furniture just stands in random spots.

As if they’re meant to be used as tools to create a more interesting fight.

We sprint through the next opening and into a room full of chairs.

They have been placed all across the room, and I slam right into one before I even realize it.

Wooden clattering echoes between the walls as the chair crashes into another one, but it’s barely audible over the cheers and mocking laughter from the crowd above.

Shoving the chairs out of the way, I ignore the jeering of the audience and instead whip my head from side to side.

There are three openings inside this room.

Those glittering silver sparks of excitement in our opponents’ chests are still getting closer.

My pulse pounds in my ears as I snap my gaze to the right.

The group in that direction has picked up speed.

“Left,” I yell to my own team.

They don’t even hesitate a second. Isera leaps over a cluster of chairs while Galen tries to shove another one out of his way. A growl of frustration rips from Draven’s throat, and a moment later, storm winds whirl through the room.

A deafening sound of snapping and clanking wood echoes around us as Draven blows the sea of chairs straight into the stone wall and the opening to the right.

The chairs hit the stone with a crash, wooden legs and armrests snapping in half from the force, until the cluster blocks the entrance from that side.

Above us, a few cheers of approval rise from the audience. But most of them call out curses and threats that we’ll be wiped out by whatever other team they’re rooting for.

With the mass of chairs finally out of the way, we dart towards the opening on the left unhindered. The yells from the crowd grow louder, as if they’re furious that we got out before the team hunting us from the right could reach the room.

Skidding out through the opening, we find ourselves in a long and wide corridor, which is completely empty.

Strangely, the crowd above us roars in excitement.

Damn. Was this a trap? Did they actually want us to go left?

We sprint down the corridor.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” I yell to my friends. “We should?—”

A slab of stone shoots out from the wall behind us. I yelp as it slams into the wall on the other side of the corridor, blocking off our way back into the room with the chairs. The crowd cheers again.

While still hurtling down the corridor towards the next opening, I cast a quick glance behind me. I have a really, really bad feeling about this.

“Isera,” I call. “Create another staircase! We need to get out of this corridor. Right now!”

Stone grinds against stone.

I gasp as a flat slab of stone shoots out from the wall to our right again. But this time, it’s above us. Dread crackles through my every nerve as a thick ceiling made of stone shoots out and then slams in place against the other wall. It blocks out the previously open sky above us entirely.

It also blocks out the light.

Air escapes my lungs in a huff as I slam right into someone.

The corridor is now pitch black around us except for the faint light coming from the opening up ahead.

I stumble, throwing out my hands to steady myself as I try to regain my balance.

My hands meet a slim body wearing fighting leathers. Isera.

I frown at her in the darkness. Why did she stop like that? We need to make it to the opening.

Grabbing her by the arm, I start pulling her with me towards that faint light from the doorway up ahead. “Come on.”

A low whimper comes from her throat.

The pitiful sound, coming from someone as strong as Isera, stuns me so much that I whip my head towards her. But I can barely see her face in this darkness. The others are still running up ahead, getting closer to the opening.

“Come on,” I repeat. “We need to?—”

Stone slams against stone.

And then all light disappears.

Isera lets out a strangled noise.

“Fuck!” Draven screams from up ahead.

I turn in his direction while still keeping my hand around Isera’s wrist. Her hand, and her entire arm, has started shaking uncontrollably.

In the thick darkness, I can’t see anything. But I can hear someone pound against a stone wall.

“The bastards blocked off our only way out!” Draven calls back to us.

Isera starts hyperventilating.

Then light returns as Alistair summons flames along his arms. Yellow and orange firelight illuminates the corridor, which has now become radically shorter. Stone walls box us in from every direction, and with the ceiling now in place over the corridor, we’re trapped in here.

“Can you break through it?” Galen asks, looking at Draven. “With your lightning or wind?”

“I can try,” Draven replies, dark storm clouds gathering around him. “But if the lightning hits wrong, it could cause the whole stone ceiling to collapse right on top of us.” He turns in our direction. “Isera, create another ceiling of ice above us to protect us in case that happens.”

But Isera doesn’t answer. She just stands there next to me, her eyes wide with terror, as she stares at the stone enclosing us. Her breathing comes in short shallow bursts.

Releasing her wrist, I gently stroke her arm instead. “Isera, can you?—”

A low rumbling starts. The sound of rock scraping and gears grinding.

Then the walls on our left and right start to move.

Fear drops like a stone in my stomach as the corridor begins to shrink .

Isera’s knees buckle.

“No, no, no, please,” she gasps out, throwing her hands up over her head and rocking back and forth in panic. “Make it stop. Make it stop.”

“Hold the walls!” Draven bellows.

Leaving Isera there on the ground, I rush over to the wall on my right and throw my weight against it. Alistair joins me while Galen and Lyra do the same on the other wall.

White lightning cracks through the air as Draven tries to break through the unmoving wall up ahead. The lightning bolt slams into the stone, leaving a charred mark on the wall, but doesn’t break through. He shoots a blast of wind at it.

My heart pounds in my ears as I press my palms against the right wall, but it just keeps moving inwards, making me slide across the sand. I try to dig my heels in, but the soft sand provides little support.

“Isera!” I call. “You need to create a block of ice between the walls to stop them!”

She just shakes uncontrollably while hyperventilating on the ground.

“Isera!” I scream. “Please! We need you!”

Lightning slams into the stone wall again, the sound ricocheting through the shrinking corridor. Draven shoots another bolt.

The stone cracks.

Ice spreads through my veins as that crack spreads across the wall and up through the ceiling. Stone groans above us.

“Mabona’s fucking tits,” Alistair growls.

And then he releases the wall.

I cry out as the wall starts moving faster without Alistair pushing against it too. Spinning around, I press my back against it and try to dig my heels in instead to get a better grip.

“Alistair,” I call as he darts away. “What are you?—”

“Stand aside,” he snaps at Draven, ignoring my question.

Draven leaps aside as Alistair stalks up to the wall.

“Farther back,” Alistair says as he comes to a halt. “And use your wind to direct the heat away from the five of you.”

My boots slide across the ground, leaving deep ruts in the sand, as the wall pushes ever closer. There are only a few strides left now before it reaches the other wall. Panic pulses inside me like shock waves. We’re going to be crushed between them.

“Fuck,” Alistair growls as the fire along his arms shifts down to his palms instead. “This is going to take everything I have.”

Draven runs back to me, throwing his weight against the wall next to me. It stops the rapid sliding and forces the wall to move slower. But it’s still not enough.

“Wind!” Alistair snaps. “Now!”

While still bracing the wall, Draven summons his magic and sends gusts of wind rippling in the space between us and Alistair. Once Alistair’s curly blond hair is whipping with it, he positions both hands so that they’re facing the unmoving wall in front of him.

I just stare at him in disbelief. This will never work. If it was wood, sure. But it’s stone, for Mabona’s sake! It’s not even flammable.

Fire erupts through the corridor.

It bursts from his palms and streams through the air in one thick torrent before it hits the stone wall in front of him. Orange and yellow flames crash against the stone. Alistair clenches his jaw. Then the color of the fire starts changing. First towards white. Then the fire turns blue.