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CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

T he door is thrown open and then slammed shut so hard that I nearly leap out of my skin. Whirling around, I face the intruder while dropping into a fight stance. My five companions do the same.

Surprise flickers through me when I realize that it’s Jocasta. I start to relax my stance but then hesitate when I take in her face. Rage crackles across her beautiful features like lightning. It’s so intense that the air around her practically vibrates with it.

“What the fuck did you do?” she screams at us as she stalks forward.

The small stone room is empty except for the seven of us.

No other people. And no furniture either.

Just a door with a long rectangular slot running horizontally across it at face height.

Beyond it, the vast arena floor awaits. The crowd is already there.

Thousands of people packed into the stands that slope down towards the flat sand ground in the middle, eagerly awaiting the start of the final game.

Their excitement is a steady rumble that echoes through the entire stone structure.

“What in Malachi’s fucking name did you do?” Jocasta repeats, her voice cracking through the room like a lightning strike.

We exchange a confused glance. We haven’t done anything this entire week except train with Jocasta almost all hours of the day. And those few hours when we weren’t training, we’ve only had time to inhale some food and then crash into bed for an exhausted and dreamless sleep.

“What do you mean?” Galen asks, frowning at her.

“This final game was supposed to be a team game,” she snarls at us, fury still pulsing across her face, as she comes to a halt in front of us.

“Some kind of scavenger hunt. But by royal decree, it was changed last minute to a fucking one-on-one battle tournament! We had one of those during the last set of games, so it shouldn’t have been used again for months.

But his Majesty the King has now decided that it will be the final game this time as well to supposedly give the people what they want .

” She says the words mockingly, as if she doesn’t believe it for a second.

“But the king never does anything without a reason.” Her eyes flash as she stabs an accusing hand at us.

“So what the fuck did you do to piss him off?”

Confused, I just frown at her for a few seconds. We haven’t done anything to him. What could he possibly?—

Then it hits me.

I snap my gaze to Isera, who is just looking back at Jocasta with that usual chilly expression on her beautiful features, before I shift my gaze to Draven. He meets my gaze, and I can tell that he is thinking the same thing.

The dragon steel. Orion has at last realized that we’ve stolen back the dragon steel.

But we can’t exactly tell Jocasta that, so after exchanging an unfortunately very conspicuous glance, the six of us just shift our attention back to Jocasta in silence.

When no one responds, she growls, “Malachi’s fucking balls!”

Draven crosses his arms and pins her with a stare. “Why is the one-on-one game a problem?”

“Because you’re going to lose !” The words rip out of her chest in a scream.

Dragging in a breath, she rakes both hands through her hair while she starts pacing back and forth in front of us.

Her chest heaves, and panic bleeds into her voice as she snaps, “Fuck! I bet everything on you after I saw your raw power because I knew that there would only be team games this time around. And in team games, the strongest of you would be able to make up for the weakest of you.” Her gaze flits to Galen and Lyra as she says that.

“Don’t you dare call them weak,” Draven growls at her, his voice dropping low and vicious.

“It’s not an insult,” she snaps back, frustrated.

Looking to Lyra and Galen again, she adds, “You’re excellent sword wielders.

There’s no question about that. And in your dragon forms, I’m sure you’re fucking lethal.

But in here, you can’t shift into dragons.

” That panic seeps into her voice again, almost cracking it, as she all but screams, “And you can’t win a magic battle with a sword! ”

Her chest heaves as she rakes her hands through her hair once more. We say nothing, because we all know that she’s right. Lyra and Galen are skilled, but in a one-on-one against a magic user, they’re going to be at a severe disadvantage.

“And then there is you .” Jocasta’s pink and gold eyes are desperate as they lock on me. “Who still haven’t figured out how to create emotions.”

My stomach twists. Next to me, Draven opens his mouth to no doubt defend me as well, but I grab his wrist and give it a quick squeeze. Because once again, Jocasta is right.

“The White Faction has never lost a one-on-one battle game,” she says, stopping her pacing to instead stare at each of us in turn. “And only three of you have actual battle magic.”

“How does it work then?” I ask. “We fight one-on-one, but how is the winner decided?”

“The faction with the most match wins combined will win the game. If each of you were to win your individual matches, the Black Faction would have six wins, which would be a guaranteed game win.”

Above us, the crowd continues cheering and yelling in excitement.

Jocasta heaves an endless sigh. “But that’s never going to happen.

” She looks to Draven. “You have been matched against a member of the Red Faction. And they are notorious for using whips, so it’s probably to stop you from using your wings.

” She slides her gaze to Lyra and Galen.

“You have been matched against the other two members of the Red Faction.” Her eyes shift to me, Alistair, and Isera.

“And you three have been matched against the three members of the White Faction.”

And the White Faction has never lost a game like this.

Great .

Jocasta’s rage seems to have bled away into hopeless desperation as she shakes her head at us.

“It’s the worst possible match selection for you, which means that you have been deliberately set up to lose.

” Panic and fear pulse in her eyes as she looks at us.

“But you have to win anyway. Please. Please , you have to win.”

Her begging stuns me so much that all I can do is to stare at her. She has always seemed so strong and confident. But now…

“I’ve bet everything on this. On you.” She draws in an unsteady breath.

“Not just my entire fortune and my houses. I’ve bet my life on this.

” She stabs a hand in the direction of the remaining waiting rooms, where the other teams are located.

“Kossian, the owner of the Red Faction, was so smug and insufferable about how his team was going to beat mine, so when I found out about your raw power, I made a personal bet with him. The one who loses has to serve the other. And I can’t…

” She shakes her head desperately. “So please, please, you have to win.”

My heart aches for her. For the pain and fear I can see in her eyes. But I can’t for the life of me figure out what to say, because I have no idea if we will actually be able to win.

“Yeah, well, you’re not the only one whose life depends on this,” Alistair says, though not unkindly. “If we don’t win, we will be stuck here as prisoners too. So we’ll win.” His tone is confident, and his gaze is steady as he sweeps it over the rest of us. “Right?”

“Of course we will,” Isera replies, her voice as smooth and cool as ever.

I want to reply too, but the words get stuck in my throat. My pulse thrums in my ears, and my chest is starting to constrict.

“Good,” Jocasta says while nodding. It sounds as if she’s trying to convince herself more than us. “Good. I’ll see you on the other side then.”

Then she turns and walks back out the door. She shuts it much more gently than when she stormed inside. Once she’s gone, we turn to face each other.

“We need to—” Draven begins.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” a voice booms from outside in the arena.

It’s Rosea, the organizer who oversaw the team selection.

“Welcome to this round’s final game. Since you loved the one-on-one battle game we played during the last Great Games, our magnificent king has decided to give you a mighty gift.

We will be playing that game again today! ”

The crowd roars in excitement and approval.

“Fucking Orion,” Draven growls under his breath.

“In our first match, Draven Ryat from the Black Faction will be facing the unstoppable beast himself,” Rosea calls across the sand. “The Red Faction’s Fergai Bloodworth!”

Ecstatic screams erupt through the arena.

The door that leads out onto the sand swings open. Bright sunlight pours in through the opening, illuminating the floor of our room. Draven blows out an annoyed sigh and shakes his head. Then he shifts his gaze to us.

“You can do this,” is all he says. Confident. Certain. As if there is no doubt in his mind that we will all win our matches.

Then he strides out the door. It swings shut behind him with a thud that is almost entirely drowned out by the excited roar of the crowd.

I hurry over to the now closed door, positioning myself so that I can see out through the horizontal slot. The others do the same.

Draven is striding towards the center of the arena with confident steps.

Sunlight glints against parts of his black dragon scale armor and the scabbard strapped to his spine.

But he doesn’t shift into his half-shift form.

Lingering fury ripples through me as I slide my gaze to the male fae in red fighting leathers who is stalking towards the middle of the arena as well.

Because just as I remember from the last game, he carries a whip on his belt.