I smiled. “And what exactly will happen in the amphitheater?”
“You and Salem will enter the ring to fight the glashtin. He’s being led to another entrance, is all—the one for the nobility. You’re heading to the old peasant entrance. We only know what we heard in the hall. She said you must kill the glashtin to remove his curse, didn’t she? She told us to bring you here to the amphitheater to fight the monster.”
I took a deep breath, frustrated that I hadn’t uncovered any new information. But at least I knew I wasn’t being led to a prison. I folded my arms, thinking. “And how do I kill the glashtin? Every creature has a weakness.”
The guard shook his head. “Well, that’s the thing. This one has no weakness. You can’t kill a glashtin, or we’d have done it. It’s not a normal creature. It’s made of dark magic. The glashtin’s magic is so powerful that nothing could kill it but itself, were it so inclined.”
“So, Salem and I are being sent to our deaths.”
The guard frowned. “I don’t know. I don’t understand. Our lady wants to marry Salem, of course. I’m sure of it. She can’t want him to die. Maybe she’s hoping you alone will be caught in the crossfire. I don’t think she likes… women of your reputation, as it were.”
The question was, how much did I trust Salem? Did he really have a way out of here? Was I just supposed to play along?
I thought so. It was instinct that made me believe him, nothing more. I’d play along a while longer.
I motioned for the guards to rise, then turned to start walking in front of them. “Let’s go, my servants.”
The walk was much more peaceful now, and I had only the glashtin to worry about.
At the end of the hall, moonlight pierced a barred window in a door up ahead. As I approached, I peered between the bars at the amphitheater. It seemed I was standing behind a gate within a semicircular arena. One half of it was a curved stone wall—with two more gates. The other side was a six-foot-tall wall with a stage on top.
And behind the platform was nothing but the dark sky. Crumbling columns jutted from the stone stage, framing the night sky. All this looked like a relic of a more prosperous time in the Court of Silks.
Above the semicircle, rising high to my left, were rows of spectators in their grimmest woolen garb.
Standing in here, I felt like some kind of ill-equipped gladiator. No—more like a sacrifice. That was what I was supposed to be, wasn’t it?
I shoved my comb back into my little leather satchel.
Taking a deep breath, I tried to think through some sort of strategy.
I turned back to the guards. “Okay, friends. So, you think it can’t be killed, but we’re supposed to kill it. Is that right?”
All five guards nodded, eyes on me.
“What else can you tell me about it? Does it like anything? Does anything soothe it?”
“It likes when others die,” said one of the guards grimly. “Blood. Killing. That’s the sort of thing it likes.”
“Where did it come from?” I asked.
“One of the ice witches created it long ago. She’d wanted us to pay her protection money, and when we didn’t, she created the glashtin. Then the bitch went and died, so no one could reverse the spell. So, we’re stuck with this shit.”
The blond guard stared at me. “I’ve sometimes thought that Lady Richelle secretly controlled it. I don’t know why. It’s just… She’s a witch, isn’t she? And just the way she looks at it, when we make the sacrifices… So intent, like she’s connected to it.” He waved a hand. “I don’t know. My brother says that’s treason and I should be hanged.”
I nodded. “Interesting.” I reached into the leather bag for my dagger.
Ice witches… So, perhaps Salem’s fire magic could come into play, then. Would fire melt the icy magic of the glashtin? Maybe that was his plan.
I turned back to the gated window, breathing deeply. The crowds in the stony seats were chattering excitedly, and moonlight washed over them. I supposed this was all they had for fun around here. Fire in the sconces wavered over the ground before us, and shadows darkened the stones in odd shapes.
With a sharp jolt of dread, I realized those weren’t shadows but dark bloodstains on the ground. A cold sweat beaded on my skin.
As I gripped the bars, staring out at the pit, I realized the guards were arguing behind me.
“We can’t let her out there,” one of them said.
“She’ll be fine, won’t she? Clearly, the gods have blessed her. She will emerge victorious.”
“I’m going out there,” I cut in. “If it looks like I’m about to die, feel free to step in. But I’m going out there. Like Lady Richelle said, this is the way to remove Salem’s curse, and that is the only way she’ll remove mine. Right? You want me to live, don’t you? So, I need to help Salem kill this thing.”
The blond one nodded. “We will do whatever you say.”
From the arena walls, two round hatches opened between the gates. Seawater began pouring out over the stone, filling the pit.
Good. If I was going to fight, it was better that I fight in water.
I watched as the gate across from me opened and Salem sauntered out into the rising water. He moved with a languid air of insouciance, and dancing torchlight gilded his white shirt and his skin. Lightbringer hung at his waist, the hilt glinting. If I hadn’t known him so well by now, I’d have probably loathed him on sight. He certainly looked like a god, and he certainly looked full of himself.
I wanted to get close to him again. “I’m ready.”
By my side, one of the guards pressed his hand against the door, and magic rippled over the metal. Then it slid open with a rusty groan. Cold seawater rushed into the tunnel, up to my ankles.
I crossed out into the open, my nerves sparking. When I got into fights, I liked to do it in the privacy of back alleys behind pubs. I was discreet like that. But in front of a crowd of thousands of strangers? Not my style. I stepped out into the shallow water of the arena anyway.
From across the amphitheater, I tried to catch Salem’s eye. But he wasn’t looking at me. No, he was looking up into the stone seats. When I followed the direction of his gaze, I saw Lady Richelle. The woman was sitting in a central throne within the amphitheater seats, a smug smile on her face.
Salem returned her smile, and their expressions made my blood run cold. It was like they shared some sort of inside joke, and the look between them made my stomach tighten, like I’d been locked outside their gates.
Do you know what it’s like to wander in the wastelands and the wilderness?
I closed my eyes, marshaling my resolve.
I’d survive this, no matter what.
When the third gate started to groan open, a hush fell over the crowd. It creaked and heaved upward until darkness yawned at the opening.
I felt the glashtin’s magic first—cold and wet, like primordial sludge over my skin. The hair rose on the back of my arms. When the creature snorted from inside the tunnel, my heart kicked up a notch. Shimmering steam rose from the opening, and I heard deep, rumbling breathing.
But Salem’s eyes weren’t even on the thing. No, he was still looking at Lady Richelle, flashing her an infuriating smirk that made me want to whip my glass shard out and threaten him with it.
I pulled my gaze away. If the bull gored me to death because jealousy had turned my head the wrong way—well, frankly, I would deserve to die.
I gripped my dagger, suddenly struck by the thought that the thin blade would do jack against an enormous magical creature. But it felt better than standing there empty-handed.
Ice-cold magic pulsed out from the empty gate. A low growl trembled over the ground, making the water ripple and sending shock waves through my gut.
I stole another glance at Salem, but it was like I no longer existed. I wanted to tell him that he should use his fire, that it could work on a creature of ice. But given how assured he looked, maybe he’d already worked it out.
<
br /> While he was busy making eyes at Lady Richelle, I started taking a few steps back, my feet splashing through the water. I was moving closer to the raised stage area, calculating that Salem should take the initial attack. At this point, he had several fighting advantages over me—fire magic, wings, godlike strength. An ancient magical sword.
Me? I had a comb, some fog, and teeny dagger meant for cutting throats.
I took another step back, closer to the stage. The splashing of my feet was the only sound in the amphitheater now, and somehow, it seemed deafening.
When two glowing eyes appeared in the gate’s entrance, my stomach fell. The thing looked fifteen feet tall, and its snorting breath echoed off the stone walls.
And as it finally stepped out of its tunnel, fear stole my breath. I was looking into the face of death itself across the arena. Its form seemed to be made of shifting silver smoke, apart from the two enormous horns that curved from its head—solid, shining in the night like crescent moons. Pale gold eyes glared at me, full of malice.
Lady Richelle’s gaze was locked on the bull, an ecstatic smile on her face. And then I saw what the guard had meant. It did look like she had some sort of connection to the thing.
I was the sacrifice here, wasn’t I?
And as she started to move her lips, the bull charged—directly for me.
Aenor
I turned, rushing for the stage that loomed a bit taller than me. And as soon as I reached it, I leapt up, catching the edge of the stone platform with my fingertips.
I was barely holding on, the knife in my hand making the grip awkward, but I managed to hoist myself up just in time. I whirled to find the water bull roaring closer, sea spray clouding in the air around him. Given his height, his chin would clear the platform, and he’d be able to pull me off with his teeth.
I took another step back. When I turned away from the bull to peer down the other side of the stage, my heart skipped a beat. Now, I had a view behind the wall.
We were at the top of a cliff, and the craggy shore was hundreds of feet beneath me. I stared down at the rough waves crashing against the rock.
On one side, a water bull was trying to kill me. On the other side, I faced a cliff.
My heart hammering, I inched away from the edge.
But the monster was at the stage, roaring—a low sound that tightened my stomach. Enraged, the glashtin began battering the wall with his shoulder. Despite looking like he was made of smoke, he was apparently very solid.
As he slammed into the platform, it felt like an earthquake beneath my feet. The columns on either side of me were shaking, torches rumbling from the force. I lost my balance and fell to the ground, my dagger slipping out of my fingers. It spun over the stone stage.
Fear shot through me, and I half wondered what the fuck Salem was doing—but I tried to keep my concentration.
I scrambled to my feet and snatched the dagger up just as the bull made a swing for me with his horned head. I lurched out of the way, nearly avoiding a goring. Its horn had caught on the hem of my dress, tearing it open.
I backed up against the column. The glashtin’s nostrils flared, and steam rose into the air.
I gripped my little dagger, scanning the world around me for something better I could use as a weapon.
Another slam of the glashtin had me steadying myself with an arm around the column. My heart thrumming, I shot another glance behind me at the cliff. My mind flickered with unwelcome images of the man I’d executed, broken on the rocks.
As I gripped the column tighter, I searched for Salem, desperate to know what he was about to do. He stood about forty feet away, as far off as could be.
He looked… bored.
He pulled his sword from its sheath, walking languidly toward the monster.
“Use your fire, Salem!” I shouted.
He didn’t react. In fact, it was like he didn’t even hear me, or didn’t care. Unnerving. I couldn’t see an ounce of fear in him, despite the fact that his mate was between a lethal monster and a lethal cliff.
The glashtin hammered the wall again, bits of stone breaking off. I hung on to that column for dear life, but it was crooked now. From one of the torches above, a bit of hot pitch fell onto my arm, burning my skin.
I glared at Salem. “I’ll handle this myself, shall I?” I shouted.
And I could handle this myself. Like Salem, there was a darkness in me—a wild will to live, vibrant as blood across pale skin. I’d kill to protect my kingdom, to protect myself, to save the weak. And I’d do it gladly.
So if Salem wasn’t going to help me, I’d take this monster down myself.
I glanced up at the burning torch, then shoved my dagger into it, heating the blade. I didn’t have fire magic, but I could at least make my dagger hot.
My brain whirred with calculations as I watched the bull battering the stage with one of its shoulders, desperate to reach me, steam billowing around it. I widened my stance for stability, one hand still heating the dagger. If this monster kept going, even the column would crumble down the steep cliff into the sea.
When I thought the blade was burning hot, I made my move, bounding across the stage. My blood pounded in my ears as I leapt for the bull’s back, frantically grasping for a good grip.
Instead of fur, its muscled body had a slimy texture, slick with seawater. I struggled to stay on, frantically grabbing for one of its horns. I had to act fast, or he’d throw me off in moments. Clenching my thighs, I gripped the beast as tightly as possible.
I’d been to the rodeo many times in Tennessee, but I never imagined I’d be a rodeo queen, and yet here I was…
He slammed me against the wall, crushing one of my legs against the rock.
I grunted with the pain, trying to block it out. In the hollows of my mind, a question rang: Where is Salem?
But if I thought about that for longer than a second, I’d die.
I slammed the heated blade into the back of the monster’s head, and it roared, rearing up on its hind legs. Gritting my teeth, I held on with everything I could, clinging with desperation to one of its horns.
I’d just speared its brain, hadn’t I? I was hoping that would do it.
Instead, the glashtin’s front legs crashed down to the ground, and it started running. I tightened my thighs around it. If I fell, I’d be trampled within moments. I was not letting go of its horn.
Thankfully, the bull started to slow down. I had a moment to think again. But he was trotting for the stage, and I was sure he’d crush me against it again it again.
In the worst situations, my thoughts crystallized. And right now, the guards’ words were replaying in my mind.
Its magic is so powerful that only the glashtin itself could kill itself.
Turning monsters suicidal wasn’t in my skill set, regrettably. If I could convince him to leap over the edge of this cliff, I would. Maybe if I had more time, singing Elvis’s entire discography song by song would persuade him to end it all.
But I only had seconds here, and I needed something fast.
Holding on as tight as I could while the creature bucked, I clutched the top of one of its metallic horns, then slashed my hot knife through the base of the silver. Just as I’d hoped, the fire I’d used to heat the knife had a powerful effect on the ice magic, and the blade went through the horn like it was butter, separating it from the bull’s head. I pulled off the severed horn. It felt ice-cold in my hand, vibrating with a frigid magic.
The bull reared in pain and flung me off into the icy seawater at the bottom of the pit. I slammed down hard into the shallow water, landing on my back. Still, I had the horn. As I sprang up to face the monster again, I found that the bastard was charging for me, smoke curling from its nostrils.
Already, the horn I’d cut was growing back, and I saw what the guards had talked about. Formed of dark magic, nothing could kill the glashtin—except itself.
It was only moments away from me now.
As it charged f
or me, I jumped out of the way and slammed the horn into its neck.
And with that, the monster stumbled.
With a dazed look in its eyes, he staggered a few steps forward. One more step, and he disappeared into a poof of cold silver smoke.
As the adrenaline drained from my body, I started to feel again. Pain screamed up my leg where the glashtin had slammed it against the rock.
With a shaking hand, I slid my knife back into my satchel. I looked up to where Lady Richelle sat in her throne, expected to see her disappointed. She’d wanted that thing to kill me, hadn’t she?
But no… she looked pleased with the situation. She still had that smug smile on her face.
Meanwhile, Salem was staring at me with what looked like cold calculation. His sword—Lightbringer—was still drawn. Why was his sword drawn when the monster was dead? He was prowling toward me in the water, eyes locked on me like a hunter sizing up his prey. He was looking at me like he hardly knew me, and like maybe that blade was destined for my throat.
Lady Richelle rose in her throne, clapping her hands. “You see, my people? The higher powers told me this fae whore would help us kill our monster. And she has, hasn’t she? I brought her to our court to serve our needs, just as she has been serving Salem’s. And now, you will see that I’m going to serve the rest of your needs.”
In the cold seawater, I caught my breath, trying to block out the pain in my leg. I took a step, backing away from Salem.
“What about Salem’s curse?” I asked, my voice shaking. “You said if we killed the monster, you’d lift his curse. I thought you couldn’t lie.”
As Salem prowled closer, he cut his sword through the air, eyes locked on me with a wicked smile. And when his wings swooped out behind him, my stomach dropped. The moonlight silvered his powerful body, tinging his wings with pearly light. Why was he using his sword in that enraging, flashy style? Whipping it through the air like he was showing off?
Something was wrong.
Warning bells sounded in my mind, my primitive survival instinct telling me to run from him as fast as I could. I took another step back, trying to keep my weight on my good leg.
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