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“Pretend we’re inside the smelly sauna from the school gym.”
“Oh, warmth. I would give one of my toes for a few minutes of heat—if I have any left. I can’t tell.”
I slow, frowning. “Should we stop and make a fire?”
“No.” She gives a stubborn shake of her head. “Not yet. We should be close.”
We’ve been running nonstop for at least two hours. Footsteps mar the otherwise perfect crust of snow ahead, which tells me we’re on the right path, at least.
It also says we’re not first.
How many have already passed through the second portal?
According to the map from my sigil pin, the next portal is on the other side of the mountain.
We quicken our pace. By the time we hit the gently sloping range, a soft drizzle of snow falls around us.
When we’re halfway up the mountain, I spot little fires drifting from below.
“Guess they didn’t bother with gloves,” Mack says, teeth chattering against the cold.
The last forty feet of the peak grows steep and treacherous. We take turns using the axe for a handhold, sinking the blade into the dark obsidian of the mountain. After what feels like an eternity, we hit the peak and begin our descent.
Mack’s breath clouds the air as she says, “Look.”
I glance at the horizon, assuming she means at the portal glowing like a beacon in the drizzly gray air. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a beautiful sight.”
“No, Summer.”
Something about her voice makes me turn, and I follow her gaze to the wide shoeprints below on our left. Whoever it was chose snowshoes as their item.
The wide prints end in a churned mess of earth, snow, and . . . blood. One snowshoe sits broken and abandoned.
“So much blood.” She rests a hand on the electric prod tied to her waist. “Should I check for tracks?”
I shake my head, and we fall into a quiet jog down the slope. No need to check for tracks. Only one animal could do that, and with that amount of blood . . .
No one could survive.
A hollow guilt fills my chest as we pass by the scene of the struggle.
Don’t think about it, Summer. Compartmentalize and mourn later. But my mind is a jerk and won’t let me get away with feeling nothing.
Who was it? Are their parents waiting for them to call and say they’re safe? Did they have a celebration party planned with a cake and everything?
My cold fingers ache as I curl them into fists. Hellebore is responsible for every death in the gauntlet.
Every. Single. One.
Hot anger surges through me, filling the hollow ache of grief for the nameless student and reminding me why I have to win this race.
So I can watch Hellebore’s face when he learns he lost the bargain and has to forget me, right before they send that mofo to the Seven Fae Hells for collaborating with the Darken.
“Screw you, ass face!” I yell, turning in a circle as my voice echoes off the mountains.
Mack stares at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Who are you talking to?”
“Oh, he knows who he is.” I thrust my gloved hand in the air, my middle finger on display. Somewhere, Hellebore is watching the gauntlet unfold. I can only hope that he’s so intent on watching me fail that he doesn’t notice Valerian and Asher are gone.
