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Chapter 10
UncleMarkandHawkemet me on the field shortly after the first game concluded and took me back to Sigurd’s quarters via that horrible teleportation thing they do.
“The future rounds will not be so easy,” Hawke told me.
Easy? Okay, I didn’t actually have to do anything, but I’d rather have my fate in my own hands than left up to chance. I said as much.
“You’ll have to be careful,” Uncle Mark said. “Some games can be dangerous. If there’s a duel or, worse, a test of magic…” He shook his head.
Yeah, I’d be screwed. “You don’t know what they are?”
They looked at one another.
“The games must be fair to all,” Hawke said. So, they did know or at least had some idea, and neither looked optimistic.
Just peachy.
That’s how I ended up raiding what I can only describe as the liquor cabinet once they left me alone. I could be miserable, stewing in the adrenaline that barely lets me sit still and the racing thoughts that make me want to vomit off the balcony, or I could drink and hope it calms something.
I sip at a crystal glass containing a smooth whiskey that practically begged me to drink it the moment I took the cap off.
Stored in fancy crystal bottles marked with swirls I can’t begin to make out, I have no idea what kind it is or the age—some fae vintage, no doubt—but it would impress the socks off anyone who stepped into Jolene’s.
My bare feet dangle off the edge of the sofa as I watch the light fade and the sun sink further behind the mountains. The eagle who’d kept me company returned the moment I sat down. At least, I think it’s him. He’s been sitting here listening to the worries that started to slip out after my first sip of whiskey. The only person I’ve seen since Mark and Hawke left was a skinny fae woman with a dinner tray, and she had little to say.
“Feed the human but don’t talk to her,” I say to the eagle. “She might give you bad luck or confuse you with her simple, human ways.”
The main doors groan open, and I jolt in the seat, nearly spilling my glass.
Sigurd marches in, still dressed in the same clothes he wore earlier today. Where he’s been, I can only guess. But, oh wait, that’s right, I don’t care.
Except, maybe I do. Darn it.
His step falters for the briefest moment when he spies me on the couch. His gaze darkens, and I sip my whiskey, waiting for storm clouds to manifest around his head.
They don’t. But my eagle friend swoops across the room to perch on his outstretched arm. My lips purse. Traitor.
Every step Sigurd takes toward me, my back stiffens one piece of my spine at a time. When he finally stops a foot away, we lock into a staring contest that I refuse to lose.
“You entered the games,” he says.
I blink. “Obviously.”
“How—” He bares his teeth before wrinkling his nose and looking away. “Never mind. I think I know.”
And the win goes to me. My body relaxes as I cross my legs and sink into the cushions. “Why should it bother you if I enter the games or not?”
“It could be dangerous,” he bites out.
“And you care?”
He opens his mouth, closes it, then finally speaks. “I might.”
I swirl the remnants of my drink in the glass. “Worried it’ll hurt your reputation if your poor little captive human gets hurt in a game?”
Sigurd visibly bristles before throwing himself down on the other end of the sofa from me. “It’s not just the games themselves that can be dangerous. Your competition will be fierce. They saw you at my side. They may think you have an advantage through me, though I would not defile the games by showing such obvious bias.”
My fingers press hard into the glass. Of course he wouldn’t. Why help me now? “I get it,” I snap. “Wouldn’t want to damage your spotless reputation any further.”
