by Tracy Wolff
Chills slide down my spine, and the cold wind whipping through the whole arena with the dome open has fear settling in my stomach like a fifty-pound weight. It drags me down, makes me realize just how impossible a task I’ve set for myself. Just how impossibly tired I already am.
I want to turn around, want to run away, want to be anywhere but here, doing anything but this.
The feeling is so overwhelming that it all but smothers me as I try desperately to get it under control. But it just grows and grows and grows until I can barely breathe, barely think. As I finally find the strength to start the formidable job of fighting it back, I can’t help wondering if the grayness is coming from inside me or if Cyrus has done something to the arena to make me feel like this.
Just the idea that he—or some member of the Circle—is messing with my emotions pisses me off beyond words. And makes me even more determined not to cave to these people. They think they can do whatever they want, that they can run over anyone in their path.
But they aren’t running over me. Not anymore.
Besides, they may be pulling this with me now, but if it works, I won’t be the only one. If I don’t take a stand, if I don’t make a point of showing them that they can’t do whatever they want to whomever they want, then what’s to say they won’t do this again? I can’t be the only person they’re threatened by, can’t be the only paranormal the king hates just because of who I am. If I don’t stop this, now, he’ll lock up a lot more people in that dungeon of his before he’s through.
So I don’t turn around. I don’t run away. I don’t even falter in my steps as I stride to the center of the field. Instead, I keep walking as I ignore the ominous feelings pressing in on me from all sides. I might very well die in this ridiculous quest today, but if I do, I’m going to die fighting. For now, that’s all I can promise myself.
But it’s enough. It carries me right up to the king.
Right up to the Circle, who are standing behind Cyrus in a semicircle of support as he whips the crowd into a frenzy.
Right up to the bloodred line that I have to stand on all alone.
I’m not going to lie. It’s scary as fuck.
Then again, nearly everything has been scary as fuck since I got to this school, so why not just embrace it?
“Nice of you to join us, Grace,” Cyrus says in a voice so barbed, it feels like he’s flaying my flesh from my bones. “We were just about ready to give up on you.”
“Sorry, I was unavoidably detained,” I tell him as I look straight across the field to Cole, who is lined up directly across from me.
Our gazes meet, and the malevolent glee in his makes me want to scream. But it also gives me the strength I need to not look away. Because no way am I giving that jerk the satisfaction of letting him know just how deeply he’s hurt me. Just how much he’s torn me apart.
Cyrus looks me over, fake concern on his face as he plays for the crowd. “Are you all right, Grace? You look like you’ve had a very rough start to the day.”
“I’m fine.”
My answer is dismissive, and for a breath, something flashes in his eyes: Surprise? Rage? Annoyance? I don’t know and, honestly, I don’t care. This is going to go how it’s going to go, and everything else is just window dressing that I don’t have the energy to analyze…or participate in right now.
“Welcome, students and faculty of Katmere Academy, to the rarest of occurrences—one of your own challenging for inclusion on the Circle. And not just any student, mind you, but the first gargoyle student Katmere Academy has ever had. It is a truly thrilling and auspicious day.”
Everyone cheers in response, but there’s a malicious edge to it that I wasn’t expecting, considering these are the people who cheered for me and the rest of my team a few short days ago. Then again, maybe I’m just imagining it—seeing something that isn’t there because I’m so freaked out.
It’s lonely out here by myself, lonely in this stadium, when the last time I was here I had all the support in the world. But right now, it feels like there’s no one in the entire place who is rooting for me. The lone gargoyle.
Jaxon, Flint, and Eden are injured and awaiting help.
Macy is trying to bring that help.
Mekhi and Gwen are in the infirmary.
Even my uncle Finn was powerless to do much more than clap for me as I entered the arena.
And Hudson is probably outside, trying to keep a low profile now that he’s mortal. Not that I blame him. I have my powers and his, and I still wish I was outside…or anywhere else but on this field.
Still, the last thing I want is to spend the rest of my life locked in a dungeon, praying Cyrus won’t kill me. There’s no one else to do this right now, no one else to challenge Cyrus and Delilah’s power. No one else to do what has to be done.
So what I want doesn’t matter. Only winning matters, because winning is the sole way I’ll be able to stop this mess from unfolding.
Cyrus turns back to the crowd, arms open wide like a carnival barker as he begins to weave them a tale in his very proper British accent.
“The eight of us here”—he turns to look at the members of the Circle behind him—“are very excited to see if she measures up, has what it takes to serve on your ruling body. And I know some of you are probably wondering how this happened, how a girl new to your school and new to our world could possibly be afforded an opportunity like this. Where does Grace Foster get the audacity to believe she deserves to rule?”
The stadium fills with an uneasy silence—and a dark one—as the students and faculty turn to look my way. Again, I can’t help feeling like something isn’t right. Like there’s something more at work here than these people suddenly thrilled at the idea of seeing me taken down.
I mean, I know Jaxon’s not my mate anymore. Ostensibly, so does the Circle and all of Cole’s team. After all, Cyrus hasn’t yet asked me where my partner is for this Trial. But I doubt they announced it to the entire stadium in the time it took me to get in here.
So why do they suddenly hate me so much? What’s happened to turn everything so dark? To make it seem like every person in the arena is suddenly against me? And how does Cyrus know to play on it unless he’s causing it?
“It’s okay,” Cyrus continues as the crowd whispers awkwardly among itself. “It’s okay to ask yourself these questions. Every member of the Circle certainly has.”
He gives his best attempt at a sincere laugh, but it just comes across as creepy. Then again, nearly everything about the man comes across as creepy. I swear, how he managed to father two of the most heroic guys I’ve ever met, I’ll never know.
“But whether it seems strange or not, rules are rules. Challenges are challenges, and we here at the Circle strive to always do the right thing. The rules of inclusion state that anyone who is from a faction with an unfilled seat on the Circle may challenge for inclusion. So we are, on this dark and gloomy day, waiting for the—very late—Grace to prove she is worthy.” He laughs again.
“But no matter, no matter. Outsiders can’t be expected to know all the rules, can they? Normally, members of the Circle themselves would fight, or choose champions from their armies, but your headmaster Finn Foster has rightly pointed out that we’re on school grounds and must abide by the covenant of the school. Therefore, instead of bringing in generals, or sadly watch Grace fall quickly were one of the Circle to enter the Trial, we have agreed to choose our champions from the student body.” Cheers go up in the arena as my opponents wave at the stands.
“And since these are but mere students, the magical safeguards against mortal injury have also been instituted—for everyone except Grace, of course.” His smile stretches wide and reminds me of an alligator as he delivers this bit of good news.
He thinks by not being able to kill an opponent he’s made me weaker—because that’s how someone like him would think. But
actually, he’s done me a huge favor. Now that I don’t have to worry about killing anyone, I can come full force with every ounce of power I have and not worry about doing something horrible. I offer him a smile even slyer than his own, not even trying to hide the satisfaction crinkling my eyes as Cyrus falters at my reaction.
But he quickly recovers and continues. “In the interest of being as fair as possible”—I give a snort-laugh that would make Hudson proud—“and to ensure that there is no outside interference on either side, Imogen and Linden have shielded the arena.
“The players inside will be able to hear you cheering for them, but none of your powers can get through to them, which guarantees this is a totally fair Trial—for both sides. Rest assured, no one will be allowed to cheat their way onto the Circle.”
He pauses and lets that sink in, holding my gaze for a reaction. But again, he thinks he’s limiting my chances when he’s only further emboldened me now that I don’t need to worry his team will cheat. Uncle Finn is the only person left here to cheer for me, and he’s certainly not about to help me cheat, so this is no handicap.
I give him, and the whole stadium, a wide smile that has his gaze narrowing and his jaw clenching. But the show must go on, so he forces a condescending smile as he adds, “And no one on the opposing team will be able to get extra help to defeat our little gargoyle, either.”
As I stand here, listening to him go on about how magnanimous he is to organize today—like it’s not a part of the Circle’s fucking charter—I realize for the first time why Hudson originally wanted me to challenge them. Not because he doesn’t believe in me. But because he knows there’s no way his father is going to give me, or anyone else, a fair chance—all his words to the contrary.
My heart beats wildly at the thought. I mean, I knew walking in here that I might not walk out again. But recognizing just how stacked against me this damn Trial is infuriates me. And only makes me more determined to survive. I just hope I have enough cunning and physical strength left to back up that determination.
“And finally,” Cyrus says, the words drawing my attention because it sounds like he is finally tired of hearing his own voice, “to prove the Circle’s impartiality regarding the outcome of this test, Grace will start with the ball, giving her a powerful advantage here at the beginning of the Trial.”
He waits for Nuri to hold up the ball—which she does with an approving wink to me that seems both sweet and completely out of place in this ever-darkening arena—then turns back to the crowd.
Cyrus lifts his arms in a wide arc that sweeps through the air as he orders, “Let the Trial begin!”
113
A Match Played
in Hell
I wasn’t expecting to have the ball first—I didn’t think Cyrus would give me anything that even resembles an advantage—and as Nuri walks to the center square with it, I start to panic a little because I’m not sure what to do. Jaxon and I would have just continually passed it back and forth (well, unless he’d managed to fade all the way to the end and win immediately like he’d apparently planned), but now that it’s just me, that strategy is worthless.
Plus, I figured with two of them jumping for the ball at tip-off, I wouldn’t have a chance. So I’d been hoping to let them do some of the initial work as I got to see what a few of the portals might do this time.
Now, though…now I have about fifteen seconds before that ball is in my hands and thirty seconds after that to get rid of it before I start losing pieces of my stone to its out-of-control vibration. Which, now that I think about it, might be exactly what Cyrus had planned—no advantage here after all.
As the fifteen seconds tick by between one long breath and the next, a dozen strategies enter my mind, and I discard them all. I briefly consider using Hudson’s gift of persuasion right away—just end this Trial early and walk the ball in. But sadly, the other team is too spread out. I’m not sure how much time I’ll have once I tap into his power, but surely not long enough to chase them all down and persuade each to take a nap instead of trying to kill me. I can’t even bring myself to consider turning everyone to dust—even if I know the magic of mortal injury will save them. Plus, Hudson’s worked so hard to keep that particular gift a secret, convince Cyrus it’s dormant, and it’s not my right to expose it now.
Other strategies come and go as well. All equally bad. And then it’s too late, because the whistle is blowing, and Nuri is throwing the comet straight at me.
I catch it and start to run—there’s not much else for me to do at the moment—then realize, not for the first time, that while my gargoyle form does a whole lot for me, one thing it doesn’t do is give me speed and maneuverability. So I switch to human on the fly, and just as Cole and Marc close in on me, teeth bared in their werewolf forms, I dive into a portal.
I’m prepared for the stretching feeling, tell myself to just breathe through it. But this portal doesn’t feel like that at all. Instead of stretching me out, it feels like I’m being poked with hundreds of thousands of pins all over my body at the same time. Each individual pin doesn’t hurt much, but when put altogether, it’s excruciating.
Even worse, the ball is getting warmer and warmer in my hands and this portal seems to be taking forever.
I tell myself it’s not any longer than the other ones, that I won’t go over the thirty seconds, which is the longest I’ve ever been able to hold the comet, but it’s hard to think through the pain of being jabbed a million different times.
Then again, the pain is nothing compared to losing Jaxon and losing my parents, nothing compared to the guilt I feel over Xavier’s death or not believing Hudson sooner about his father.
It’s nothing, I remind myself, even as every inch of my skin stings. Nothing that matters and nothing that I can’t handle. I just need to hold on and breathe.
Finally—finally—I start to experience the weird surfacing-through-water feeling that comes with the beginning and end of a portal, and I brace myself to be emptied onto the field.
I manage to land on my feet this time, but I’m still disoriented, because in the small amount of time I was in the portal, the arena has gone dark. Like really, really dark.
The stands are so dark, I can barely see the audience, which makes their shouts and cheers and gasps feel completely disembodied. Even the lights on either end of the field seem to be darker than they were just a few minutes ago.
I tell myself I’m imagining things, but when I look around, I can no longer see all of the field. I can only see the portion around me—at least in my human form—which can only mean Cyrus did this on purpose.
Of course he did.
It’s a huge advantage for my opponents, because the wolves, dragons, and vampires can see perfectly in the dark, while I’m stuck squinting and trying to figure out which way I’m supposed to go.
The portal let me out about twenty yards from my goal line, so now I’ve got one hundred thirty left to go to get across theirs. The stone is burning red-hot in my hands, though, so I do the only thing I can do—I throw the ball as high into the air as I can, then shift on the run and launch myself into the air after it.
The wolves and witches can’t get me up here, and the dragons are all the way down the field, blocking their goal line, so it works. I snatch the ball out of the air and start to fly as fast as I can toward the goal, thankful that my gargoyle eyes work slightly better than my human ones do.
I know I’ll have to go low eventually—the dragons are racing straight at me as fast as they can, and while their magic doesn’t work on me, they can still knock me right out of the sky. They’re massive, and the fall is a lot from up here—I’ll end up shattered, in human or gargoyle form, for sure.
But as they get closer, I realize one is going low—they obviously learned from the trick I pulled during the Ludares tournament—and the avenue of escape I had planned is cut off from me. The cl
ock on the side of the field says I’ve got fifteen more seconds before the ball starts to become untouchable again, which means I have to figure this out now.
I think about voluntarily turning the ball over to one of them—desperate times and all that—but I can’t bring myself to do it. So at the last minute, just when they start a pincher movement to squeeze me in, I shoot straight up, up, up into the air.
The dragons come chasing after me and I let them, bringing them in closer and closer the higher we get. I’m counting on the fact that Joaquin and Delphina have much bigger wings than I do—and are much heavier than I am—which means I should be able to turn around faster than they can. Or, here’s hoping, anyway…
Which is why, just as they’re about to get me—and just as the ball starts to turn superhot and vibrate—I drop it.
And then, as the crowd gasps and murmurs in surprise, I roll straight into a half somersault and go full-on diving after the ball.
The dragons bellow in rage, and blasts of fire and ice come shooting down after me. But I’m in my gargoyle form, so I barely notice as I race for the ball.
On the ground below me, one of the witches, Violet, tries to cast down the ball, but I get there before she manages to pull it to her. I swoop through her spell, causing her to shout—whether in rage or pain, I don’t know—and I scoop the ball up right out of the air again. Then I’m racing, racing, racing for the goal line with the dragons coming up fast behind me.
They’re closing in really fast, and though I’m immune to their powers, that doesn’t mean I can’t feel the brush of warmth as Joaquin’s fire sweeps past my leg. Much closer and they won’t have to use magic. They’ll be able to grab on to one of my feet and send me careening across the sky.
I’m not about to let that happen—not the grabbing on to me and definitely not the “sending me flying” thing. But a superfast glance over my shoulder shows me that pretty soon, I’m not going to have a choice. So I do the only thing I can think of—dart into one of the few midair portals.