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Taegen launched his metal spear at the creature’s head, trying to impale it between the eyes, but the spear bounced off the creature’s strong, bony carapace. The Souldirge scrambled across the top of the ice rock, snapped its jaws, and moved around the ice peak, away from the Fae. As it did so, it exposed the blue gemstone caught between two of the layers of its crown.
Only by the time Taegen realized where it was, he also realized he had not a snowflake’s chance in the Summer Kingdom of grabbing it in time.
The Souldirge readied itself to pounce. They were so close to each other, the chain attached to its neck wasn’t taut enough to stop it from leaping onto the Fae and biting into his collarbone. I heard a crunch, a scream, and the crowd held its breath as the creature’s entire body began to burn with blue fire.
Taegen’s scream rose ever higher. I jumped out of my seat and leapt toward the edge of the balcony, but my father grabbed my arm and stopped me. “What are you doing, Amara?” he hissed.
“That thing’s going to kill him!”
“It’s not your place to intervene. You know that.”
“You intervened during mum’s trials,” I snapped.
“That was different.”
“It’s always different when it’s you, isn’t it?”
By the time I turned around to look at the field once more, three of the soldiers waiting on the wings had rushed up to the creature and started waving their swords at it. The Souldirge retreated, dropping the injured Fae just long enough to allow the soldiers to grab him and pull him out of the monster’s reach.
Everyone watched, breaths held once more, until Taegen finally groaned and squirmed around on the ground.
“He’s still alive!” Bailen exclaimed, and the crowd cheered in response. Healers emerged from the sides of the arena to collect the badly injured Fae and take him away, giving the Souldirge a wide berth so as not to be attacked themselves.
Once the first contestant was safely out of the arena, Lord Bailen announced the arrival of the next one; another equally fresh-faced Fae who clearly had no idea he was going to go up against a creature as deadly as this one.
All I could do was hope this wasn’t going to turn into a blood sport, but judging by the frantic raving of the Winter Court, I could tell I was among the only ones.
CHAPTERSIX
No one could best the Souldirge. One by one, Royal Selection contestants filtered into the arena, each filled with confidence and bravado as they stepped through the doors. Each had that bubble pop as soon as they laid eyes on the creature that came scuttling out of the ice rock it crawled back into after defeating the previous one.
It wasn’t killing contestants, at least, but only because they needed to be alive so it could attempt to eat their souls. It wasn’t shy of mangling them badly enough that they needed magical healing though. There was blood on the ice, deep red stains scattered across the rock and on parts of the smooth, blue, marble ground underneath it.
A flick of the wrist and a bit of magic was all that was needed to make it go away in preparation for the next round, but Lord Bailen sometimes made mistakes. I doubted someone as highly trained and talented as Lord Bailen would leave blood stains lying around by accident. This was for the good of the crowd, for shock value, to make things even more interesting.
“That creature’s voice makes my ears hurt,” said Tallin.
I gently rubbed the tuft of fur between his eyes. “It’s alright,” I said, “It’s almost over. It has to be.”
“There are only two more contestants left,” said my mother. “Let’s just get through this.”
Looking across at her, I realized her expression had hardened over time. When she glanced at my father, it was with a hint of annoyance in her eyes. Was she annoyed at him? Maybe. She hadn’t wanted dangerous creatures like these running around during trials, and yet, there was one before us now—a creature that was single-handedly defeating every contestant that dared approach.
And my father was the one who had caught it and brought it here.
Looking over at him, I wasn’t able to tell if he was enjoying himself, or if he was also waiting for this to end. He was an enigma, his face cold, his stare distant, his elbow placed upon the armrest of his throne and propping his chin up. Occasionally, he would run his hand over his beard, and his eyes would narrow, but they’d never meet my mother’s.
I felt like he knew he was in the doghouse.
Lord Bailen perked up now that the arena was ready for the next contestant. With his hands raised and a song in his voice, he proclaimed. “And now, the moment you have all been waiting for!”
Trumpets blared; a glorious fanfare erupting followed closely by the roar of the crowd.
“Lords and Ladies,” he continued, “I present to you, Lord Cyr Mandrell of Lysa!”
The double doors at the end of the arena opened, and Lord Cyr came vaulting in like a gymnast, pulling three backflips over the smooth, marble floor and coming to a sliding halt on his knees, his arms extended, a big smile on his face.
His parents, who were sat next to us, got up off their seats and began screaming like overzealous fans. Lady Mandrell was his biggest fan, shouting, and waving, and blowing kisses at him from the royal balcony. His father was alittlemore reserved, but only a little. He held two thumbs up for his son, then clapped, and then gave him the thumbs up again before sitting back down.
