Adrenaline floods my veins in a painful, heart-pounding rush. I search the room. She’s not here, of course. She’s in my head, and with the blood I’ve lost, my weakened state, and being geographically closer to Castle Fisa, it’s a wonder I didn’t hear from her before.
“I’m in it for the pot of gold.” I shouldn’t engage her in conversation. I should shut her out before she gets into my head in far worse ways than just the obvious.
Mother makes a tsking sound. “You have gold here.”
There’s a pinch and then a tug in my mind. I recognize it now, having done it myself to the spiders and the bird. This isn’t just communication. She’s trying to latch on. “Hoping to buy me, Mother?”
“Can you be bought?”
“If you must know, it’s the prestige I’m after.” Shockingly, that’s part truth. A win gets us an audience with the Tarvan royals. A spectacular win assures we’ll be talked about and even revered. What better way to begin our campaign than to capture the hearts and imaginations of people across the realms?
“My spies in Kitros reported a young Fisan woman of great magic, strength, and courage. Fearless, they say. I would have known it was you even before I tracked your blood.”
I hate the way her words affect me, that leap of pride in my stupid heart when all she’s ever tried to do is destroy me little by little.
“What do you want, Mother?”
“You, of course.”
A spasm entirely wrought of irrational emotions rips across my chest. How can she still do this to me? Am I really that weak? That needy? “You can’t sway me, buy me, punish me, or beat me into submission. You’ve already tried.”
“I can teach you to be a queen, powerful and feared. I’ll make you what you’re meant to be.”
What I’m meant to be doesn’t appear to be up for debate anymore, and it’s not what Mother thinks. “I’m already powerful, and I don’t crave anyone’s fear.”
“Come home, Talia.” Her command drags heavily through my mind, pulling at places I need to preserve. I push back, protecting them.
“Do you honestly think your compulsion will work on me?” Despite the scathing tone I sink into my question, I know it could—if she were closer. But even then, I would put up a colossal fight.
She pulls harder, and pain blossoms behind my eyes. I resist, and the sharpness of her invasion lessens until she redoubles her efforts. Slicing heat arcs under my skull, but I don’t make a sound. She’d hear it.
“You are Beta Fisa. You are the Kingmaker. You’ll be a queen. I’ll set you up in Tarva, and we’ll be allies. Come home where you can play your part. Don’t throw your life away on a Sintan dog, a usurper king only using you for your magic.”
And there’s the Mother I know and hate. “I am the Kingmaker, but the king made himself. And I’m not just a queen, Mother. I’m the Queen.”
A moment passes, a long, heavily charged beat of silence. The pain in my head lessens, probably as a result of her shock. I just declared myself her rival and hinted at our intentions.
Finally, she says, “You’re nothing as long as you dance to the tune of that mangy hound.”
I snort softly. That mangy hound is the only reason I’m doing anything. “What do you imagine would happen if I came home?” I ask bluntly. “That I’d dance to your tune? That I’d still let you abuse me and others, and that you’d eventually die peacefully in your own bed before I ever wore your crown? I knew you were insane. I didn’t think you were stupid.”
Her voice ices over. “You can’t rival me. Trying would be your undoing. With you in Tarva, we’ll both benefit.”
“We’ll both benefit from your getting out of my head before I squash your brain.”
Her laugh raises goose bumps on my arms. “That would take more power than you’ll ever have.”
I start pushing in earnest. “I’ve seen the Plain of Asphodel. It’s beyond dismal. I have a feeling you’re going to have a nice, long vacation there.”
Mother forces a cyclone of power through our connection, and my vision momentarily goes dark. I feel a trickle of blood slide from my nose as my body starts to twitch under conflicting information. A very convincing part of my brain is telling me to leave the arena, get on my horse, and race to Castle Fisa.
I curl my hand around Griffin’s arm. There’s no way in Hades I’m leaving him, and she can’t make me.
“I named my sword, Mother. I thought of you, and I named it.” I throw a veritable tidal wave of power back.
This time, her laugh sounds strained. “Is this where I’m supposed to ask what you named your paltry little sword, Talia?”
Yes. “I named it Thanatos.” Death.
I shove with all my might. There’s a hiss of pain on the other side of our connection as I hurl my mother from my mind.
CHAPTER 32
I glimpse Ianthe out of the corner of my eye. Nervous as a sailor in siren-infested waters doesn’t even begin to describe my little sister. Her eyes are wide and round, her hands clenched tightly in her lap. She’s as stiff and straight as a cypress, and I have to wonder: Is she scared for me, or of me?
I want to race up the stone steps and drag her from the Tarvan royal box. Why is she even with them? Gods forbid she’s betrothed to Alpha Tarva. As the only Fisan princess left, or so most people think, it’s entirely possible. Galen is more than twice her age. He’s a widower and a sneaky bastard who probably likes to poison people, including—if the rumors are true—his former wife.
But that’s not my only problem. At the moment, it’s not even my worst. There’s a Cyclops on the other side of the sand. A bloody Cyclops! Why did anyone agree to this? No one should listen to me!
No wonder there’s been so much blood in the arena. So many body parts all over the place. The creature is a house-sized colossus that tears people limb from limb. I’d be petrified even at full strength and with combat magic. All I have today are my knives, collected by the Gameskeepers after our last round, my sword, and about a hundred and ten pounds to put behind swinging it.
That and compulsion. Maybe. The episode with Mother this morning drained me, but after inhaling food like air, I might be strong enough again to manage creature driving. Cyclops driving, I very much doubt. And I don’t want to take that road anyway. It’s a slippery moral slope.
Griffin forms a plan while I’m still standing there with my mouth wide open. “Most people use knives like swords, to slice and jab in close combat. They won’t expect us to attack from a distance. Throw the second the gong sounds. Keep them back and keep them down, even if it means the kill. Then we take on the Cyclops.”
I already have a knife in each hand. “I’ve got the two on the right.” Instinct tells me they’re powerful Magoi.
Griffin claims the burly one in the middle.
Carver shakes his head. “No good with a knife.”
“Not from this distance.” Kato grimaces. “I don’t have the arm for it today.”
Flynn’s mouth turns down in a hard frown. He doesn’t look confident, but he switches his ax to his left hand and then draws a knife with his right. “Far left. Then whoever can gets the last woman.”
“The woman,” Jocasta practically snarls, staking her claim.
Flynn’s eyes flick to her. “No one’s asking you to become a murderer, Jo.”
“I already am,” she says tightly. “And no one asked for your opinion.”
“You’ll get it anyway,” he grates out.
Jocasta snorts. “That would require your talking to me instead of just glowering all the time.”
He glares. She glares back.
“And on that happy note,” I mutter under my breath, “we all might die.”
Griffin slants me a pointed look. “Not today, Catalia Eileithyia.”
He’s confident and calm, even in the face of terrible o
dds. Griffin doesn’t add Fisa to my name this time. Apparently, I’m universal now.
I take a deep breath. It straightens my spine. “Not today.” Because we all know saying it out loud makes it true.
The gong sounds. My pulse leaps, and my heart kicks me in the ribs. Instinct takes over, shoving aside nerves and leaving only the will to protect and survive. I let fly my first blade before our opponents even take a step. The woman I aimed for goes down, a knife in her throat. My second target is looking right at me, and in the time it takes me to cock back my hand and throw, he dives out of the way. Now, I’ll have to get him on the run.
Griffin hits his mark. The stout man falls, Griffin’s knife in his heart. Flynn misses his moving target and curses as he draws a second knife. Jocasta has yet to throw, and her target is charging, a wooden shield now blocking most of her torso.
The Cyclops hasn’t moved. It doesn’t have to. It’s terrifying everyone just by being there.
I lock on to the way my man is moving. Quick steps, agile. Every three to four paces, he moves right while Jocasta’s woman fans left. Are they trying to get around us? Herd us toward their monster?
One, two, three—throw! My knife sticks in my target’s well-muscled shoulder. He wheels around to face me, more enraged than damaged, and I immediately throw again.
The small, round shield strapped to his left arm stops my knife at his eye-level. He rips my blade from the wood and then throws it back so fast he nearly catches me off guard. I twist, and the blade lands tip-first in the sand behind me.
A pained, feminine gasp makes my stomach take an anxious plunge. I spin, my eyes landing first on Jocasta and then on the woman she struck. They both look stunned, like neither of them quite believes what happened. Jocasta’s knife is in the woman’s pelvis, just beside her hip bone.
I wince. What a place.
“Got him!” Flynn shouts.
I whirl. An upper torso wound. Not fatal, although it might make breathing hard.
Griffin scoops up the Kobaloi knife near my feet and then throws it from down low. It hits Flynn’s target under his chin, driving up into his head. The man drops, on his way to an abrupt heart-to-heart with Hades.
Three down.
Two humans left, both wounded.
One Cyclops.
Raising his battle-ax, Flynn closes in on Jocasta’s woman. She’s Tarvan, tattooed but not in the southern style, and a Magoi. Her eyes spark with magic an instant before Flynn’s ax flies from his hand and lands at her feet, splashing sand up her legs.
A Metal Mage. Son of a Cyclops! She can take our weapons.
Surprised, but still moving toward her, Flynn draws his short sword before I can warn him to keep it sheathed. The Metal Mage makes a grasping move, wrenches it from his grip, and then sweeps her hand out with a quick, violent snap. The sword flies straight for Jocasta.
“Jo!” Flynn’s cry is nearly lost in the deafening gasp of the crowd.
Jocasta dives to the sand and then pops back up with a shallow slice and a splash of blood on her arm. She doesn’t look terribly injured. She looks livid. She draws a knife, and it immediately starts vibrating in her hand. Looking at the blade like it might bite her, she shoves it back into the loop on her belt, securing it.
Griffin and Carver both step in front of their sister. Flynn backs up until all three of them are between Jocasta and the Tarvan woman.
“Cat!”
I turn at Kato’s frantic call, realizing I’d lost track of him.
My eyes widen, and I leap back, swallowing a scream. A massive snake looms over me. I draw my sword, and it rattles in my hand. I tighten my grip. I am not losing Thanatos with a gargantuan snake on top of me.
Its fangs elongate, curving into lethally sharp points. A bead of venom drips off one side, smoking when it hits the sand. I wheel back, finally getting a look at where it’s coming from. The serpent sprang from the male Magoi’s chest. I failed to kill him, and he hatched a snake out of his breast!
There’s a pop and a rip. I cringe at the sound of splitting flesh. A second snake forms, growing fast in scaly fractals. The thick, muscled body hits the ground, taking its weight from the Magoi’s chest while its already huge head lunges for me, quick as a whip.
I dive right, cartwheel with my sword in my hand, and then come up swinging.
Both snake heads rear back, hissing at me. The long necks twist, winding around each other, and then drop as one. I barely sidestep the reptilian bomb and then take a two-handed swing, hitting a fang and slicing it off halfway down.
Venom splashes my hands. Mighty Gods on Olympus! That burns! My skin smokes, turning an angry, cratered red.
Kato slams into the snake heads from the side, jarring them away from me. They lift and untwist. One strikes at him and the other at me. I swing my sword again, but the venom weakened my grip, and Thanatos flies from my hands before it can connect, collected by the Metal Mage.
I snarl a curse and scoot out of the snake’s path, rolling along the scaly side of its head. As I turn, I whip out a knife and backhand it into the snake’s eye. Both the man and the serpent jerk in pain.
Kato leaves his mace in its harness, not risking losing it. Shouting, he draws the second serpent farther away from me. It lunges and eats air. It attacks again, its giant jaws slamming shut just inches from Kato’s leg. He scrambles from side to side, and it follows.
The pit floor suddenly shudders, and I risk a glance over my shoulder. The Cyclops just decided to get involved.
Griffin, Carver, Flynn, and Jocasta scatter, their weapons either gone or locked down. The Cyclops swings its massive club for the first time, missing Griffin by inches. Griffin races across the sand, forced in the opposite direction from me.
Swallowing the knot of fear in my throat, I turn back around an instant too late. The half-blind snake rams its head into me with a hiss of sulfurous breath. I flail, grasping at anything, and my fingers hit my knife. I grab it and rip the blade from the snake’s eye before landing hard on my back under its neck. With the air still momentarily punched from my lungs, I jab upward and then slice along the yellowish scales.
Useless. They’re like armor.
I roll away and regain my feet, trying to find my breath again. I have to get the Magoi.
The snake swings back on me, and I jump, launching myself onto the back of its head and surprising us both. It rears up, nearly unseating me, but I grip hard with my thighs and hold on to the bony ridges above its eyes.
“You are mine,” I tell it forcefully, throwing all my mental energy behind the compulsion in one fierce, all-out grab. I dive straight for the spark I need—no hesitation. “You will obey me.”
The snake goes still. A rush of consciousness floods my mind, cold, slithery, and dark. Goose bumps shiver down my arms. There’s hunger. There’s hate. There’s obedience warring with a bitter longing to be free. I latch on to that last emotion because it’s familiar to me, and the connection solidifies, burning brightly behind my eyes.
The Magoi starts muttering. A half-dozen words into his frantic chant, I recognize a blocking spell, but it’s too late. This serpent is mine.
I glance at Kato, who is still keeping the second serpent distracted, and swallow hard. Now I have to make this snake kill its brother before its brother kills mine.
Kato is breathing hard, slowing down. He’s still keeping the creature away from me, but he’s not as strong or as fast as he needs to be—or usually is. With a lightning-fast strike, the second serpent seizes Kato’s arm. The venomous fangs just miss piercing his flesh, searing two bright-red, burning lines down the back of his biceps instead.
Dread explodes in my chest as the reptile lifts its huge head high into the air, its prize clamped brutally between its jaws. Kato’s legs dangle eight feet above the ground, all his considerable weight on his compressed arm. His face washes of b
lood and turns the color of pain.
Thump! Thump! Smack!
I whip my head around and see Griffin dive. The Cyclops’s club beats the sand where he just stood, spraying coarse, reddish grains into the air. Griffin somersaults to his feet, never slowing down as the monster swings its huge weapon again. On Griffin’s right, Flynn rattles the arena with his bellow, and the Cyclops changes target, rotating its huge body toward the noise. On the other side of the pit, my teammates run, weaponless and small.
I look on, horrified. I don’t know who to help first. Or if I can save anyone at all.
The Metal Mage limps toward Kato and me, leaving the Cyclops on its own. An arsenal of weapons hovers all around her, sharp ends pointing our way. Her lower half is soaked in her own blood.
I have to free Kato before she reaches us. “Bite the other snake’s neck,” I command.
My snake turns and clamps vice-like jaws down on its counterpart’s neck. The second snake drops Kato and starts writhing, fighting to break free.
Kato lands awkwardly in the sand. For a moment, he doesn’t move, and fear freezes me inside and out. Then he rocks onto his side, pushes up with his good arm, and limps away. His right arm is not only blistered and mangled, it’s completely crushed.
As the Metal Mage bears down on us, I take a deep breath and icily order, “Bite down.” Ruthlessness fills me, and I nurture it. It makes me hard. It makes me win. “Crush the bone.”
There’s a loud crunch. The second snake’s neck collapses, and its head hits the sand. The Magoi roars in pain. Then he coldly cuts the dead weight from his chest, slicing the serpent off like it wasn’t just a part of his own body. The moment it’s severed from him, the snake disintegrates into dust.
I focus on the Metal Mage next. All’s fair in war and war. “Eat her,” I order.
My snake lunges, dragging its Magoi creator behind it. The Magoi starts hacking at the scales, muscle, and sinew attaching the serpent to his chest. I pull a dagger from my belt and throw it at him, not aiming for the kill because I don’t want to end my snake just yet. The dagger stops a foot from his chest, flips in the air, and then races back toward me.
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