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A door was opening at the top of the cliff where there had been only plain stone a moment ago. Lyrastra and Vespera turned and went through, then it closed again.
There was a tittering sound from the crowd behind us and I turned to see the two women enter the gallery.
Lyrastra’s head was held high, but I caught a glint of unmistakable pride in her serpentine eyes.
She had come out in first place. And what was more, she had earned it. She hadn't shoved anyone to the goblins to get there. She had even helped her fellow contenders–more than I’d ever expected her to.
Behind her Vespera was nodding to nobles she knew, her face set in a tight-lipped smile. Perhaps the challenge had been more brutal than she’d expected it to be. Still, she had made it through.
I turned back quickly to see how the others were doing. Draven and Selwyn were on the opposite side of the cliffside from Brasad and Avriel. If all went well, they should reach the top soon–and be able to keep far away from Avriel while doing it.
Brasad was not so lucky.
Avriel was climbing with preternatural speed. His gold-scaled forearms shooting out over and over to grab subtle hand holds, his strong legs moving up and up.
Soon he was parallel with Brasad.
Another moment, and he was above him.
And then, the crowd around us gasped as Avriel ascended the clifftop, pulling himself up and over the edge.
He stood there for a moment, breathing hard, his hands on his hips.
Then he grinned, leaned down to say something to Brasad, and held out his hand–just like Lyrastra had done.
I held my breath. Was Avriel actually going to show some fucking sportsmanship?
The murmurs around me said the crowd of Siabra were as surprised as I.
Brasad was grinning back. He reached a hand out to take Avriel’s extended one.
Avriel gave a sharp yank and suddenly Brasad was hanging in the air, suspended by Avriel’s arm.
His face seemed frozen in terror.
Then Avriel leaned forward, his teeth bared like the goblins. With a quick movement, he slashed at Brasad’s wrist with his teeth, drawing blood.
Brasad let out a sharp yelp, but didn’t fall. He hung suspended as Avriel placed his mouth over the bloody wrist and, to my horror, seemed to begin to suck.
When he lifted his head, Avriel’s mouth was rimmed red. He grinned up at the crowd.
Then he let go of Brasad.
Shouts of shock erupted around me. I heard murmurs of anger, too.
“What the fuck was that?” I hissed, turning my head back and forth between Odessa and Crescent.
They were looking at one another, too, I realized. The brother and sister held each other’s gaze. Finally, “It’s symbolic,” Odessa said slowly.
I stared at her. “Symbolic? What the hell does that mean?” Abruptly, I recalled one of my worst fears about my fae heritage. “I thought fae bloodlust was a myth.”
“It is,” Crescent said quickly. “At least, fae don’t require blood in any sense. Especially the blood of other fae.”
“Which isn’t to say that some don’t want it.” Odessa’s voice was biting.
“Your prince approaches,” Javer cut in. “Perhaps you wish to watch this bit?”
My heart hammered as I watched Draven put his hand over the top of the cliff, mere feet away from where Avriel stood, his mouth still painted with blood.
