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“Let’s go,” Legion says, walking in my direction with the others.
Bodin wears the same curiosity I’d glimpsed before. Emrys still looks at me with seething hatred. As Fox draws near, I find an echo of something I’ve been searching for—recognition. The Wild Hunt must decide it’s more interesting this way because he starts racing after them to nip at the heels of the Keeper with the bowl.
As the group approaches, the others in my troop stir. Some in fear, some in excitement. But the House of Shadow is interested in the one who doesn’t move. The one who is as quiet as them.
Me.
Chapter
Fourteen
WILLOW
The baby dragon races toward me, eyes wide, tongue flapping beside its fangs from the speed. I brace as it leaps. Pain peppers my body as tiny talons pierce my clothes. It scurries up my front to climb onto my head, circles, and plucks my hair, reminding me of how I prepare my bed. Just as I’m about to stop it from making my head a nest, a scratch on my cheek gets licked, and then it races down my front, takes a running leap from the ground, and launches back into the sky, flapping its wings.
Tiny things are capable of great catastrophe. The Wild Hunt terrorizes the crowd, triggering a stampede. Ignoring the chaos, Legion, Bodin, and Emrys stop a few yards from me and watch Fox continue alone.
He arrives at my side with a broad, heart-stopping smile, yet his murmur is for my ears only. “Hello, our queen. We’ve been waiting for you.”
I am swept up in an escort toward the center of the arena. Blood drips down the inside of my pants from the Wild Hunt’s talons, but I refuse to wince in pain. Legion and Bodin flank my front, Emrys and Fox at my rear. They don’t speak. Their cool, stoic façade remains frozen on their faces.
My eyes scream for rescue at every person I pass, but I dare not raise my voice. The troops look on with jealous eyes, half the crowd is in bedlam, and the Radiants are poised and follow protocol. Yet their pleasantry hangs on by a thread.
I have no allies here. None, except Alfie, and he has just taken his vow to follow the Old Code articles relating to the exhibition. I’m suddenly struck with the notion that I could be crawling to him on my knees, bloody entrails dragging behind me, and he’d be as composed as the Radiants, a horrific smile plastered on his face.
The five mortal protégés appear dull next to the radiant faerie gentry. We are their shadows because we cannot be anything else.
Legion pins me with his unwavering gaze and removes a black satin scarf from his trouser pocket, snubbing the Keeper. He could be plotting my doom or dancing a jig in his mind. He is impossible to read. But when his fingers brush my inner wrist, a familiar tug at my chest threatens to ignite my blood. His hitched intake of breath is audible.
Does he feel something, too?
His elegant fingers are hypnotic as he expertly wraps the silk around our wrists, using a figure-eight motion to lock us together. Once. Twice. Three times is all it takes, and I am manacled. His fingers interlace with mine, and he lifts our hands above our heads as if we’ve already won—something the others didn’t do with their Shadows.
The ego of that action vibrates outward, hitting each spectator with a different result. The Sluagh give slow, self-satisfied smiles while the Radiants lose their battle to remain pleasant. Steam emits from Ignarius. Sylvanar grinds his teeth. The ladies purse their lips.
Disappointment, envy, and bitter hatred are splashed across the faces of every unchosen, watching from their troop. But thechosen Shadows, the protégés... we stare at each other like enemies.
I can no longer slip through this Gentle Interlude unnoticed. Everyone will have their eyes on me, which means it’s not a game anymore. This is reality.
I’m still unsure exactly what this exhibition entails, but I sense it will come down to us Shadows in the end. I feel it in my bones.
The best warriors study their enemiesbeforeengaging in battle, and I am acutely aware that I’m late to the party. The final tournament isn’t for a few turns of the moon, but it’s clear by the competitive expressions of my peers that the battle has already begun.
The lyrical announcer continues speaking, but her words are drowned out by the roaring of my pulse and the heat of Legion’s fingers. He clings to me through the ensuing madness. The Wild Hunt screeches again, causing more pandemonium.
Troops return to the dorms in a rushed, barely coordinated march. The tiers above us empty at an alarming rate. From the twitch lifting the corner of Bodin’s lips, I can’t help but think this was all part of their plan.
The problem is, these people think the Sluagh are faerie gentry—the Good Folk, the People ofPeace. But I know the depth of depravity in their chaotic souls. They’re the pretty devils who ruined my life.
Goodfellow’s unimpressed mood remains as he stares for a long, hard minute before reluctantly turning to address the circle of the elite.
“Shadows, you must now embody the pinnacle of decorum that your newfound station commands. Confrontations that might soil the Radiants’ refined image are strictly prohibited. We do not escalate into disorder. We are not savage Nightmares. Understood?”
“Yes, Your Radiance,” they respond in unison.
I neglect to answer out of ignorance, yet I catch Fox’s dimples flashing as though he’s proud of my perceived ill manners.
“You are now subject to the same Old Code accords as your fellow Radiants, and thus, you will also be subjected to a similar fate if you break them. If you feel the subterranean desire to sow chaos, exhibitors may flex their newly acquired warrior’s skills strictly within these Nexus walls.” He pauses for effect. “I will not warn you twice. If you’re caught violating the code, you will be punished.”
