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I look back over one shoulder at the monster. Much of its hair is singed. Blood trickles from where my knife is still embedded in its side. It stalks back and forth, growling and roaring with what can only be hate.
My chest goes tight.I’m sorry.
“Wren?” Galen’s hand flexes on mine. I don’t even know when he grabbed it.
With a nod, we’re off and running after Lysandir.
The tunnel spits us out into a miniature jungle full of thick trees, looping vines, large pointed leaves, and who knows what else.
“May I?” Lysandir looks back at me, one brow raised. Sparks float above his open palm.
“Do it.” I won’t endanger us again, not when there’s an easier way.
But please don’t let there be any animals—or worse, any people—in there.
He grins and turns toward the foliage. In moments, it’s engulfed in a wave of fire. Heat draws beads of sweat on my skin. I squint against the gleam as Galen’s hand tightens on mine.
The crowd is full of oohs and ahs, mixed with gasps. Such power. Such raw elemental strength. It doesn’t just burn; it incinerates with a heat I can hardly fathom.
Lysandir unleashes it as if it’s as natural as breathing.
A shiver races down my spine.
The wall of flames recedes, but the jungle still burns. Smoke rises in great clouds above us. Charred remains drift through the air.
The men glance at one another then me, and we’re off, racing across the ash and smoldering remains. Smoke burns my lungs, sending me into a coughing fit. My eyes water.
Then crisp, cool air surrounds me, tugging at my braid and piercing the smoke ahead of us. But it doesn’t terrify. It’s not the whirlwind of before, but something calm and nourishing. I glance at Galen to see sweat mingling with blood and dirt on his face. His brows crease in concentration.
He’s doing this, all the while never letting me go.
I push harder, stretching my legs and lungs to their limits.
Moments later, we race onto flat stone ground. Other paths spill out around us, all headed for the same spot: the stage.
Only open pathway lies before us.
I pull my hand from Galen’s. “Go!” I gesture to the stage. Lysandir looks over where he keeps pace at my other side. “You too. Go!”
I held them back before.
I won’t now.
They can run faster than me, beat me there. They deserve to.
“Go!” I say again.
Finally, they do, sprinting ahead at a dizzying speed.
My legs ache. My lungs burn. Sweat trickles down my skin everywhere. All I want to do is lie down and never get up, but I can’t.
Not yet, not when I’m so close.
Galen and Lysandir reach the platform at almost the same time. Cheers rise from the massive crowd gathered in the stands just beyond and above the stage. So many fae. Multiples more than any of the other games. Maybe even more than the opening ceremony.
Some sections are framed off and covered. I have no doubt who lingers in one of them. Watching, probably grimacing in fury that I’ve made it so far. Or anger at who I emerged with.
Probably both.
