We didn’t. Seth and Haldron’s guards had taken them all.
Ciaran leaned down toward us. “The other people here have weapons,” he said in a low voice. “Not great ones. But better than nothing.”
I held his gaze, understanding his meaning. We might have to take them from the other survivors if we were going to survive the last part of the trial. Or maybe even the next one. Thankfully, the Nyxwraiths hadn’t required weapons to defeat them.
The sound of grinding stone echoed above us. A monstrous, mechanical groan.
The doors were opening.
I looked up just as water began to spill through the seams of the wooden doors above, dripping in steady, rhythmic beats.
Then the drips became rivulets as the doors inched open.
Then a steady stream.
Tara stood, helping Seren. “How much water do you think is up there?”
I surveyed the room. “Probably enough to flood this area. And more.”
“Surfacing,” Seren breathed, closing her eyes as she rested against Tara. “Of course. They’re going to try to drown us out. They probably filled the Havamal with water and it’s going to inundate us as soon as those doors open fully.”
Amahle frowned. “I know better than to argue, but how in the hell are we supposed to get into the Havamal if we don’t know how to swim?”
Ciaran removed his belt. “Latch yourself on to me, Amahle. I can swim us both to the surface.”
That wasn’t a half-bad idea. “Mind if I take my wife off you?” I asked Tara, reaching for Seren.
“I wouldn’t dare try to get between you.” Tara gripped my elbow, tugging me closer. “But she might have a hard time holding her breath, Rykr. That bolt went into her lung.”
Dammit, she’s right.
A low groan, then a crack. The water gushed in like waterfalls.
A woman near the far wall whimpered, then the first real scream tore through the chamber.
“We’re going to drown!” A man shoved past another, nearly knocking him to the ground. He bolted for the far end of the room, hands scrabbling at the slick, crumbling walls like there was some hidden door he could force open.
The ground rumbled again, but this time, it wasn’t from the doors.
A thick, gnarled tendril shot out, twisting around a man’s ankle. His scream was cut short as the vines yanked him under, the thorns slicing through his flesh like razors. His body spasmed, jerking once—twice—before he was pulled deeper into the water, his mouth opening in a silent cry. Then he was gone, leaving only a crimson stain that spread through the water.
“It’s vodavine,” Seren gasped. “They’re carnivorous water plants that grow rapidly in fresh water.”
A woman near the far wall let out a panicked scream. “I can’t—I can’t—” Her hands clawed at the walls, slipping on the wet stone. Another man shoved past her, scrambling for a foothold, his wild eyes darting between the dripping ceiling and the vines creeping along the ground.
The boulder was the only temporary reprieve, and the others knew it. The remaining survivors rushed us, clawing at the rock, their desperation turning feral. This wasn’t about honor. It wasn’t about trials.
This was about survival.
No wonder no one survived this damned trial. It was a feat just to make it into the damned amphitheater.
I grabbed Seren and hoisted her onto the boulder as the flood of water crashed around us, a deafening roar filling the chamber. “Get on the damned boulder,” I shouted to Seren’s friends. “Before you can’t.”
As Amahle and Ciaran scrambled onto it, a cascade of water burst through the widening cracks above, slamming into the ground like a beast breaking free of its cage. The rush of it swept two people clean off their feet, sending them crashing against the jagged stone wall.
Then the room exploded into chaos.
A man near the center turned on us, wild-eyed, brandishing a blade.
