by Blair Drake
“Can you beat him?” Elijah demanded.
A hesitation. “Yes.”
“Have you ever beaten him before?” Elijah stroked his thumb against her arm. “Zora?”
She pushed him away, lashes fluttering over those dark eyes. “Once. In practice.”
Elijah’s mouth tasted like ash, but then Zandui was there, drawing him away.
“Don’t put doubt in her mind,” the older hunter said. “She can do this. She is destined to do this. The Current will be with her.”
“Any time you’re ready,” Zora called to Garrimore, stepping over the line that marked the orange circle.
Drumbeats erupted into life, as several drummers hammered on their drums. The crowd drew back from the circle, though they watched with hungry eyes. The princess observed from the throne, her face expressionless. She was barely the same age as he was, but Ismene looked like she was carved from pure stone.
Zora had called the princess her friend.
If this was what she considered friendship, then what had her life been like? The ribbons in Zora's hair caught his eye. Thanasi blue, he realized, for her people, her clan. She’d ridden into this city today to serve her people, and she’d wanted them to be proud of her. She wanted her parents to be proud of her, wherever they were.
Everything she’d done in the past twelve years had been building up to this moment. She’d sacrificed her childhood, so she could be her people’s champion. She’d fought her way onto the team she’d been forced to turn her back upon, and now she was fighting for their right to enter the games.
“Zora,” Elijah called, unable to leave it a moment longer.
She looked at him.
“I’m sorry,” he called. “For what I said last night. I was wrong. You're a good friend.”
Color flushed through her cheeks, but Garrimore entered the circle at that moment, sneering at the pair of them. “Is this how he convinced you to betray your team? Just what have you been up to these past few days, Zora? Canoodling with the enemy?”
Canoodling. Jesus.
“Zora,” Elijah said, drawing her attention back to him. “Ignore him. He’s a bag of dicks. Go kick his ass.”
A faint smile curved her lips.
Garrimore suddenly lunged, as if he couldn’t stand that he couldn’t get to her with his words. Zora sidestepped, as if she’d been waiting for this move all along, bringing her elbow up and driving it into Garrimore’s chin, even as she disengaged with her sword.
The crowd roared.
“Zora!” A girl cried, stomping her feet.
Garrimore pulled out of his stagger, touching his jaw. His eyes flashed with hate. Then he was swinging back at her, as Zora went on the defensive.
She countered each blow, her movements tight and graceful. But Garrimore was every inch her match. Elijah paced the circle nervously. This was nothing like their fight the night before. Zora hadn’t been lying.
She’d been generous with him.
Steel rang on steel as the pair of warriors slashed and jabbed at each other, and Zora’s feet danced in a rhythm he could barely see, she was so swift. But she couldn’t break inside Garrimore’s guard. His reach was longer than hers, and as he kicked her in the chest, Zora hit the ground hard.
She rolled instantly, bringing her sword up in two hands to deflect Garrimore’s blow. The shock of it shivered along Elijah’s skin as if something was waking up inside him.
"Come on," Zandui muttered, his fists clenched at his side.
Zora swept her foot around, but Garrimore leapt over it. The move allowed her to gain her feet, and she drove at the taller blond, fighting fiercely. Swords clashed. Zora ducked under a blow, her attention locked on the other warrior.
It was violent, and graceful, and thrilling to watch. Both warriors fought with utter concentration, exchanging blow after blow. Swords and fists, kicks and twists. Garrimore owned the edge when it came to the sword, but Zora fought with both steel and body, using her speed to her advantage. As long as she was in close, she hampered his longer reach.
Steel moved like lightning, until all he could see were two flashes of silver light. Garrimore hooked the blades together and drove them low, the tips rasping across the floor. Elijah saw the opening the second Zora did. Her knee drove up into Garrimore's groin, and Garrimore twisted, taking it in the upper thigh.
Zora leapt in the air, her entire body twisting with fluid grace as she followed through with a roundhouse kick, her boot slamming across Garrimore's jaw.
It was glorious.
"Yes," Elijah hissed, shaking a clenched fist.
The crowd roared as Garrimore went down on one knee, shaking his head. Zora pressed the attack, and her blade sliced across Garrimore's sleeve, drawing blood, as he tried to fight her off.
This was better than front row seat watching the Canucks win the Stanley Cup. The drums hummed, and Elijah felt an answering vibration begin to whisper through his veins.
Garrimore surged to his feet, forced to change his sword hand as his other arm hung limp. He barely deflected Zora's next strike, and a surge of exhilaration went through her eyes. Now the advantage was hers.
"She's got him," Elijah whispered hoarsely, moving as someone pushed him.
"Come on, lass," Zandui muttered, just as energized.
The crowd seemed to sense the battle was turning. People pushed and shoved each other, yelling for their favorite. Blood splashed across a girl's face as Zora scored another blow, this time across Garrimore's cheek.
And then the unthinkable seemed to happen.
Zora stepped back—
—And kept going, staggering for balance. A boot slid back into the crowd, but Elijah's gaze jerked to Kohen's face.
“He tripped her,” Elijah growled, starting forward.
Zandui hauled him up short. “She’s a warrior. She should have been aware of her surroundings.”
This was not his world. Nor his rules.
Garrimore cut her across the forearm, and Zora cried out.
Zandui’s fist curled in Elijah’s tunic as he forced him to still. “One for one,” Zandui said, as if to tell him something. “If one of Garrimore’s team helps him, then we are allowed to retaliate. Once.”
Zora cried out, jerking his attention back to the proceedings. The trip had jolted her, and she was on the defensive now, as Garrimore pressed her. Steel flashed, but Zora couldn’t get her feet beneath her. Garrimore took a chance and kicked her in the chest.
Zora slammed flat on her back onto the tiles, as the crowd howled. Her sword slid several feet away from her outstretched hand. Elijah’s heart jerked into his throat. Get up.
Everything seemed to slow down, the whine of the sword cutting through him like a saw, as the Current chased along the skin of his arms, suddenly awake again.
He saw Garrimore’s sword descend in a glistening arc, and knew—knew—Zora couldn’t reach her own blade in time. Her eyes widened, and she rolled desperately, even as Garrimore’s sword began to swing down.
He couldn’t just stand there.
He’d never reach her in time.
Zora. Elijah felt the vibration slam through him, as if some door inside him suddenly opened, and then he was hurling his arm forward, ice springing from his fingertips.
It hit the end of Garrimore’s sword, icing the steel and starting up his arm. Garrimore screamed as his entire arm was encased in ice, the hilt welded to his hand.
The room froze.
Shocked faces turned his way, as the ice slowed to a crawl, locking Garrimore's arm in a downward slash.
The princess was on her feet, her face pale.
Voices cried out, as people moved away from him.
"It's about cursed time," Zora growled, and Elijah realized what this whole scene had been about, in her mind.
She'd forced his hand.
She'd known she couldn't win, and every time Elijah had been able to summon his wild magic, either he, one of the hunters, or Zora had been in d
anger.
The princess needed to believe he was a mage.
Elijah stared at his hands, at the frozen sword, and all he could hear was Garrimore's enraged scream.
Zora gave the frozen sword a vicious kick, and shards of ice broke apart, spraying across the floor as the sword simply snapped. Garrimore screamed in agony as he lost several fingers. Then Zora kicked his feet out from under him, and lunged forward with her sword, pressing it to Garrimore's throat.
"Your choice," she whispered.
They glared at each other, and Zora pushed, the tip of her blade opening a line of blood across Garrimore’s throat.
But his lips pressed firmly together, and despite his pain, his shock, Elijah could see he wasn't going to say it.
“Mercy!” his friend, Kohen, cried.
Zora paused, her eyes flashing as she turned toward him, seeing the man who'd tripped her. Blood slid in a crimson current down Garrimore's throat.
Then she pushed away from Garrimore, leaving his friends to slide to his sides, trying to see to his arm.
"Zora," the princess barked.
The crowd cleared, as two of the princess's guards stepped forward, slamming the butts of their spears onto the tiles.
Elijah found himself standing along in a circle of empty space, as if no one wanted to be near him. It was one thing to kill a wyvern, another to ice a man's arm. He felt like he was going to be sick.
Then Yeorfac stepped up to his side. And Zandui.
"Buck up, lad," Zandui muttered. "You did exactly what we needed you to do."
Together, the four of them faced Princess Ismene.
"The prophecy has spoken." She tilted her head. "I name the four of you the official tributes of Thanasi. See to your wounds, Zora, and then go to the Well of Hope with all haste. You need to be in Yasmene by morning, or you'll forfeit your position."
Chapter 13
The Well of Hope.
"Something that's desperately needed," Elijah breathed, as he watched Zandui wield the glyphs that set the well churning.
The only problem was, the well was half empty. He peered in, wondering if he'd hit the bottom of it, if he jumped in.
Above them, massive oak trees stretched to the sky, bare arms ravaged by winter. Snow skirted their enormous trunks, and lingered on the top of the stone walls. The gardens behind the palace were enormous, and green hedges dotted the landscape. He could see echoes of Agramorh here, as if the ancient Thanasi had tried to rebuild something of their city when they fled the ruins in the wake of Dameron's rage.
He didn't know what to think.
They'd been named tributes by the Thanasi Princess. Tomorrow he'd be in the sun-warmed city of Yasmene, in the heartlands of Pasternak, bowing before the incense-scented braziers, as Eloa's priests blessed the contenders. Each of the Nine Lands would send their own tributes, and thirty-six people would enter the massive, underground labyrinth of Yasmene, with its moving walls and hidden traps.
Four would exit.
Or maybe five, if his suspicions about Dameron's 'resurrection' were correct.
Four bodies. Five souls.
I think I'm going to be sick again.
Wrapping his hand around the amulet Headmistress Lalane had slipped in his pocket, Elijah prayed desperately for help. What do I do? If he went to Yasmene, he'd be giving Dameron everything he wanted.
A hand seemed to settle on his shoulder, and he could almost smell Zoe's perfume, as something brushed against his cheek.
A pair of ghostly lips.
"I know you've got this, Eli," Zoe whispered in his head. "First rule of Orynthica: evil mages don't go breaking into your head, unless they're scared of you too. You're the Catalyst, E. Kick some undead mage ass."
Elijah's hand broke from the amulet in shock.
He looked around.
Wind swept through the gardens, but there was no sign of her. He picked up the amulet, eyeing it warily. But this time there was no whisper, no touch. Just a feeling of warmth sweeping through him, as if she sensed him reaching for her, across time and space.
The amulet was magic too.
He could link to Zoe with this. Why hadn't he tried it before?
"Are you ready?" Zora asked behind him, and Elijah turned abruptly.
She strode across the snowy grounds with Yeorfac, wearing a full-length cloak of royal blue. They'd all been given them upon the princess's pronouncement, but Zora wore hers with flare.
She'd finally achieved what she'd spent her entire life fighting for. Or half of it anyway. It was the other half that worried him.
"I'm fancying a rest from these cursed wells," Yeorfac muttered, looking as grim as ever.
"One more," Zora said, "and then we're in Yasmene."
"Nearly ready." Zandui twisted his hands, bringing the glyphs to life.
They sprang into being above the well, a pair of circles of golden light, one inside the other. Strange glyphs slashed through both circles, as the mark slowly turned, and the well began to thrum.
"Are you sure it's working?" Elijah asked, hearing the faint, underlying hum of discord beneath the well's surface.
"We'll get through," Zandui said. "Hopefully."
Elijah stared at him.
"Is that supposed to be funny?" He could never truly tell with the Ice Fang hunters. What would happen if they were stuck inside the well—wherever that might be—if the well stopped working?
"Trust the Current," Yeorfac said, clapping a hand on his shoulder.
"No, seriously," Elijah protested. "Are you joking or not?"
"He's joking," Zora replied.
Orynthican humor. Ha, ha.
"I swear...." Elijah muttered, digging his thumb under the arch of his eyebrow. "You guys kill me."
The two hunters set about checking through their packs as they waited for the well's power to flourish. Elijah found himself standing silently next to Zora.
"Not going to ask?"
"About what?" he asked abruptly.
"About what happened in the throne room."
"I thought you were going to die," he said, and for the first time in his life, he had no words.
Zora stared into the well. "I suffered a moment of doubt too. Thank Eloa, Kohen tripped me. I didn't think you were ever going to reveal your hand."
"I don't cheat," he said stiffly.
Zora rolled her eyes. "Whoever would have thought it? A mage with scruples."
"So that whole show was for my benefit?"
"And the princess's," Zora said. "Ismene needed a reason to send us as her tribute's, and Garrimore was playing the crowd too well. She couldn't overrule him without defying the crowd."
"I thought she was the one in charge?"
"She is. But her parents were killed six years ago, and she's only just reached her majority. She overthrew her evil uncle, the Regent, last spring. Her rule is too new, and Thanasi is barely a kingdom anymore. She holds the Ice Fang clan and the Storm Shadow clan together with a thin chain. A single hint she was weak, and someone might rescue her uncle from the dungeon and try to overthrow her." Zora looked up. "You had to use your magic for them to believe us, Elijah. The people needed to see the prophecy fall into place. And if you couldn't wield it, then I needed to give you a reason to try."
Elijah shook his head. He was so mad at her. "I thought—"
"I know."
"You nearly—"
"I know."
"And it was all a trick," he said bitterly.
Zora's hand settled on his sleeve. "It wasn't a trick. Not... completely. I've never beaten Garrimore, not in combat. Only in a training match, and he was distracted."
Elijah looked at her.
"This is my world. And it's dying. What would you not do to save your Zoe's life?" she whispered, and then took a shuddering breath. "If I gave my life for a chance to save my world, then I would do it, Elijah. I finally understand. The Nine Lands needs you. No one else can face Dameron and destroy him. You had to be sent to Yasmene."
"We had to be sent to Yasmene," he corrected. "The Keeper said it would take the four of us."
"I'm sorry," she said softly, and he had the feeling she didn't say the word very often.
If at all.
Zora hurried on, "You were right last night. I treated you poorly when this all began. I didn't want it to be you. I didn't want to work with a mage. But I'm starting to realize I've been prejudiced. I've only ever known the Pasternakian mages. I've seen them burn the villages along the border, and use their magic against my people. One of them killed my aunt. I couldn't imagine a mage would ever help us. But you have a good heart. I am honored to fight at your side, Elijah Iceborn. If you will fight at mine."
"Of course I'll fight at your side." He was terrible at holding grudges anyway. "But...."
"But?"
"I can't even use my magic at will," he said hoarsely. "What happens if I get there and nothing happens?"
"You're not going to falter," Zora promised. "And if you do, then I promise I'll throw myself into the fray and you'll have to rescue me. Friends?"
Elijah stared down at her hand. Then clasped it. "Friends."
She gave him a sweet smile.
"I think you have a visitor," Zandui said, interrupting them.
A scurry of feet echoed across the snow. A hooded figure came into view through the trees, wearing a brown homespun cloak, though her skirts were blue. She paused on the edge of the clearing.
"Ismene," Zora whispered, and strode to meet the princess.
Oh.
Knowing what he knew now about the princess's position, he could see the events in the throne room in a different light.
The two girls clasped hands together, and Zora smiled as Ismene said something to her.
"Who's going first?" Zandui asked, and Elijah felt that discordant hum echo through the well as if it was running out of juice.
He shuddered, and climbed up onto the ledge.
"Come at me, Well of Hope," he muttered, and stepped off into the well.
The school bell buzzed.
Elijah found himself inside Gray Cliffs Academy, as dozens of students suddenly scurried for class. Shoulders bumped against him, and he found himself carried in the tide like a piece of flotsam.