Breath of Fire

by Amanda Bouchet

  The Cyclops cringes. Its head drops, and its massive shoulders lift toward its misshapen ears, trying to block the awful sound. I know, like the Cyclops must, that this is its fate. Not Tartarus, reserved for punishing those who defy the Gods, but Asphodel and lifetimes of nothing.

  An icy wave of seawater splashes over me, shocking a yell from me. Briny water stings my eyes and leaves the taste of salt and rocks between my lips. My whole arm jerks under the weight of the golden trident that suddenly appears in my right hand. The sleek shaft is as long as my own body, and so thick I can’t fully wrap my fingers around it. It’s incredibly heavy but balanced to perfection.

  I stare in rapt awe, blinking my spiked eyelashes and forgetting to breathe. Zeus, Hades, and Poseidon all answered my plea. My grandfather and my uncles. Lightning to blind, a future to terrify, and a weapon to kill.

  This time, I don’t even feel my squashed ribs as I haul back my arm and launch the weapon of a God into the Cyclops’s eye.

  CHAPTER 33

  The Cyclops’s enormous hand goes limp. The creature goes over backward, and I drop straight down. My stomach flies into my mouth. I might scream a little. Or a lot. I definitely make some noise.

  “Ooof!” Strong arms catch me, and the breath leaves my body with a hard jolt. Griffin grunts and staggers.

  I gasp for air. “Griffin! Oh my Gods! You caught me.”

  “Of course I caught you.” He sounds offended.

  I throw my aching arms around his neck. He lowers his head, and his lips cover mine. I kiss him back, ecstatic to be alive. Ecstatic he’s alive. Ecstatic the Games are over.

  We break apart, and Griffin sets me down. Wobbling a little, I look around. The amphitheater is as still as death and utterly silent.

  The Cyclops’s slack face sags toward the ground. Its huge, punctured eye is wide open, its broad, thick-lipped mouth slightly ajar. The trident glows white-hot and melts what’s left of the eye before disappearing with a sizzling pop, leaving a gaping hole in the Cyclops’s craggy forehead.

  The quiet starts to buzz. Murmurs fill the air.

  “It’s only a matter of seconds before the stories start.” Griffin glances around the venue. “Who saw what. How it happened. They’ll mushroom and spread.” He squeezes my hand, as if to ask if I’m ready for that.

  “I guess that’s a good thing at this point.” I try to sound convinced.

  “By nightfall, only half of it will be true.”

  A lot of people are already talking and gesticulating with enthusiasm. Even more are pointing at me.

  I chew on my bottom lip. “In that case, I hope they embellish my size.”

  Griffin doesn’t answer. His eyes are on his brother now, his expression grim. We start toward the gate before the first gong even sounds, gathering Flynn and Jocasta behind us. Griffin drops my hand and moves on without me as the second gong rings out, low and loud.

  I follow as fast as I can. The noise around us swells like an unchecked wave, turning deafening. By the time the last gong signals the end of the Agon Games, the audience is going wild, calling out our name.

  “El-pis! El-pis!” they scream, chanting for Hope, whether they realize it or not.

  My gaze sweeps the arena, taking in the excited expressions, the favor. We just proved ourselves in the face of almost impossible odds. Once they understand our goal, how many more people will stand behind us now that they don’t just hope we can win, they believe?

  Griffin lifts Carver into his arms as the gate begins to rise. Carver’s dark head lolls against Griffin’s shoulder. His long limbs dangle, frighteningly loose. I can’t tell if he’s breathing, but I think so. His skin is still too flushed and pliant for death. There’s a ghostly tinge to his lips, though, that sends a shock of fear straight to my heart.

  The moment he can fit under the gate, Griffin ducks beneath the pointed spikes. Selena pounces, unbuckling Carver’s leather armor and then ripping his tunic to get her hands on his bare skin. She starts chanting, something she almost never does out loud.

  I knew it was bad, but her frantic muttering confirms it. My lungs squeeze tight. We can’t lose him. I promised I wouldn’t lose anyone. He’s our family, and Griffin would never recover.

  I hardly feel my own aches and pains as we fly through the underbelly of the arena, leaving the fevered roar of the crowd above and behind us. In our quarters, Flynn and Jocasta set about frantically lighting torches and oil lamps. Kato bellows for hot water, not looking at all well himself. Sweat rolls down the sides of his pallid, grit-streaked face. He cradles the weight of his crushed arm against his middle.

  Griffin lays Carver on a cot. His muscles tense as he tries to be gentle, but Carver doesn’t feel anything at this point. His upper body isn’t just injured, it’s destroyed. A large pocket of blood swells on his side, distending already tight skin.

  Selena doesn’t let up for a second. Her beautiful face shows the terrible strain, and her hands shake from the sheer amount of magic pouring from them. Her lips move so fast I can’t keep up with her chant. She sometimes throws in powerful words from the old language, many of which I don’t recognize, but which send magic exploding through the room. It ricochets off the stone walls, both biting and energizing when it hits my skin.

  Long, horrible minutes pass with no visible change in Carver. Selena’s voice grows hoarse as her healing power drains from her, and she pales until her blue eyes stand out like twin eruptions of luminosity in her face.

  “Cat!” she snaps.

  I race to her side.

  “Hold on to me.”

  I clamp my hands around her shoulders and immediately feel an ungodly pull. Magic, life, energy—everything races from me and into her. She rips my insides out with one rough yank, and I scream. Selena screams. Carver wakes up with a yell.

  I let go and stagger back, curling in on myself to guard what’s left after the sudden, intense drain. Dizziness crashes over me, and I reach out, grabbing the nearest person—Flynn—for balance.

  Across Carver’s still shattered body, Griffin looks crazed. His eyes are big and dark, stark with panic. He looks back and forth between his brother and me, and I can practically see him ripping in two.

  “I’m all right,” I assure him. Or I will be. I think.

  Griffin circles the cot and replaces me next to Selena, taking hold of her shoulders. Her hands never leave Carver’s chest. She inhales, bows her head, and then pulls from Griffin like she pulled from me.

  Griffin jerks. His eyes close, and his face takes on a grayish hue. A shudder runs through him.

  “Stop.” I don’t like this. Taking from Griffin shouldn’t even be possible.

  No one listens. Carver groans, falling in and out of consciousness. Jocasta starts to cry.

  “Stop!” I say more sharply, dragging on Griffin’s arm.

  He hunches his shoulders, ignoring me. A muscle ticks harshly in his jaw. His head drops forward, and his face twists under the shadow of his hair. He angles himself away from me, but he can’t hide his agony. I pull harder when he starts to shake. His grip on Selena tightens. He won’t let go. He’ll leave bruises, but she doesn’t seem aware.

  “Help me!” I cry. Griffin is huge, and Selena left me weak.

  Flynn bands his thick arms around Griffin’s middle and then picks him up with a grunt, hauling him back. Griffin snarls. He stays latched on to Selena, and the two men end up pulling her back, too, breaking her contact with Carver.

  Selena straightens and looks around as if coming out of a trance. Her eyes focus again, and I’ve never seen them so radiant or so eerily blue. All pallor gone now, her skin glows, illuminated by some magic from deep within. She sinks into a chair. Her hands tremble in her lap, but I don’t think she’s shaking with fatigue; I think she’s jittery with power—and Griffin’s life force.

  Griffin slumps in Flynn’s ho
ld, his breathing shallow and irregular. His face is ashen. I’ve seen it that color once before, and it scares the living magic out of me. He collapses, and his weight drags both him and Flynn to the floor.

  Fear exploding in my chest, I drop down next to him and take his face in my hands. “Griffin?”

  He blinks. That’s it. My great, strong, indomitable husband can’t even move.

  I spin on my knees, terrified and furious. “What happened?” I demand of Selena.

  She holds my livid gaze, her expression inscrutable. Not sorry. Not belligerent. Almost cold. “I lost track,” she says.

  “You lost track? You nearly killed my husband because you lost track!” I fling my hand toward Griffin. “Look at him! Look what you’ve done!”

  Her perfect features remain disturbingly smooth, but Selena reaches down and puts her hand on Griffin’s chest. Griffin’s back arches off the floor. The breath he drags in seems to last a lifetime, and then his big body settles.

  I lean over him, almost afraid to breathe. “Griffin?”

  His gray eyes meet mine, and his hand rises to cup my cheek. In a voice as rough as a rockslide, he asks, “Did we do it?”

  Relief pushes tears to my eyes. But he wants to know if we saved Carver, and my heart breaks because… “I don’t know.”

  I turn back to Selena. She’s not luminous anymore. She looks awful, so pale I can almost see right through her. For the first time since I’ve known her, she looks like she’s aged. She gave Griffin his considerable life force back—at the expense of her own.

  I reach for her hands. “That’s not what I wanted.”

  She squeezes my hands back with the strength of a butterfly. “Of course it is.”

  “But you—”

  “Will be fine,” she interrupts. “I just need to rest.” She looks at Kato and then frowns.

  “I can wait,” he says stoically, reading the hesitation on her face.

  I’m not sure he can. There’s a feverish gleam in his cobalt eyes. I could help, but the only healing magic I’m capable of involves running water, and we don’t have any here.

  Selena beckons limply. “We’ll just start. Then we’ll both rest.”

  My heart does a terrible flip. I think she might actually care about him—about all of them—and not just for my sake.

  Carver groans, drawing us to his bedside while Selena starts on Kato’s arm. Jocasta brushes Carver’s dark hair away from his forehead, her tear-streaked face bleak and marked by shock. Lying there, Carver looks like a younger version of Griffin, and parts of me I was only just holding together start falling apart at the seams.

  Events overtake me in a rush, and my pulse starts pounding too fast. Sweat prickles different places around my body, and saliva floods my mouth. I swallow, battling queasiness and trying not to picture Griffin in Carver’s place. I see it anyway. I can’t seem to stop.

  I reach for Griffin’s hand and squeeze, assuring myself he’s warm and alive. I understand how he feels now, about me and my recklessness. I’ve driven a sword through his heart so many times.

  Griffin leans over his brother. “Carver?”

  Carver slowly opens his eyes. Gray irises glint in the torchlight, their granite color another visceral reminder of what I could lose.

  “No. No!” Carver’s hands ball into fists at his sides. His face crumples, and he lets out a broken sound. “Send me back.”

  Griffin shakes his head, frowning. “It’s all right. You’re going to be all right.”

  With surprising force, Carver pushes Griffin away. “I saw her.” His voice breaks, and he clears his throat. “Konstantina.”

  Griffin pales. Jocasta’s eyes blur with tears again.

  “She wouldn’t let me cross the river.” Carver swallows hard, but his voice comes out even rougher. “She still didn’t want—” He stops talking, fighting something raw and awful inside of him. His eyes close, and tears slip from their edges. “She turned her back.”

  I can only guess at what’s happening here, but sorrow climbs from my feet to the top of my head until my hair tingles at the roots, and a chill ripples over me. I can picture the scene all too easily for having been there and seen someone I wanted very badly wave me away from the other side of the Styx.

  The pain inside Carver erupts on a heart-wrenching sob. An answering sob rises in my breast, and I fight it with a sharp breath.

  Carver. The constant flirt. The easy smile. It’s all a lie, an elaborate act, because he’s been dying inside, and it doesn’t take a genius to see he wishes he’d died on the outside, too.

  “You should have let me go!” His barely healed body trembles with furious emotion. Bitter tears slide from his eyes. He’s in pain, inside and out, and my heart hurts just looking at him. I feel so helpless. I want to do something, but I know I can’t. What can anyone do?

  “No!” Griffin slams his fist down on the wooden table next to the cot, startling us all. “That’s not what she would have wanted. That’s not what you want, either.”

  Carver abruptly stops crying. I think he stops breathing. Then, low and angry, “Don’t tell me what I want. Not when you have everything you’ve ever dreamed of!”

  Griffin flinches. I’ve never seen a moment of jealousy between them. Griffin gets possessive and overprotective about me, but this is something entirely different. Jocasta lets out a shocked gasp, turning as white as humanly possible. Flynn doesn’t move, becoming a big, stiff, auburn-haired statue by her side. I’m starting to think emotion terrifies him. I can utterly relate.

  “If she pushed you away, it’s because she wants you to live.” Griffin’s voice is even, soothingly level. If I were Carver, I’d want to punch him in the face for trying to calm me down, but all the fight drains from Carver instead, leaving me even more uncomfortable than the tears and anger did.

  Carver stares at the ceiling. “She is my life.”

  “She was your life,” Griffin says. “Not anymore. And not for a long time.”

  Carver snorts, turning his head toward his brother. “What would you do if Cat died and I told you that?”

  Griffin’s mouth flattens. He looks down.

  “That’s what I thought,” Carver says, but there’s not much heat behind his words.

  “It’s been four years,” Griffin says quietly, meeting his brother’s eyes again. “Doesn’t the pain lessen with time?”

  Carver shrugs, then winces, seeming to regret the movement. “Sometimes. But then…” He swallows, and his throat bobs violently. “I saw her, and I didn’t want to let her go.”

  “She let you go,” Jocasta says fiercely. There’s sympathy in her eyes, but iron in her tone. “She didn’t choose you when she had the chance. She chose someone else. You don’t have to choose her now. Again. Not in this life, or in the next.”

  Carver’s mouth twists. It’s not a smile. It’s too sad and bitter by far. He doesn’t respond and stares at the ceiling again.

  On their knees on either side of his cot, Griffin and Jocasta hold Carver’s hands. Flynn stands next to Jocasta, a motionless, masculine mountain of silence—and pent-up feelings, if I had to guess.

  My heart heavy, I turn to find Kato and Selena asleep in their chairs. They don’t need me, so I stay next to Griffin, side by side.

  He loops his free arm over my shoulders, and I lean in to him, my aches and pains announcing themselves again with exhausting insistence. Fatigue rolls over me like a heavy fog, gradually obliterating my surroundings until I finally close my eyes.

  I breathe in. Slowly. Cautiously. We did it. We won the Agon Games. We’ll be invited to Castle Tarva. I didn’t let Jocasta get hurt, not seriously at least. Carver and Kato are definitely the worse for wear, but we all lived.

  Something lurches in my chest as I remember Cassandra and her eagerness to help, her belief in Griffin and me. She’s gone, bur
ied along with the other casualties of these bloody and brutal Games.

  I open my eyes and don’t try to find sleep again. I made choices. Now I have to live with them.

  CHAPTER 34

  We’re “invited” to Castle Tarva not a handful of hours later by a contingent of armed guards.

  Tradition obliges the Tarvan royals to see us. Tradition also usually leaves the combatants nearly a week to recover before arriving at the castle in full battle regalia amid glory and fanfare. Being herded on foot and weaponless through the silent, predawn streets of Kitros and Tarva City and then being left to bake in the autumn sun without food or water in a secured courtyard wasn’t part of the plan.

  My head throbs behind my eyes. There isn’t a pocket of shade now that the sun is high overhead and beating straight down. Not permitted to come, Selena is waiting for us back at the arena. Both she and Kato slept during the hours before the royal guards pounded on our door, which means Kato’s arm is only partially healed. Carver can barely keep himself upright, and my injuries never got tended at all.

  This isn’t how we expected to face the Tarvan royals. They aren’t stupid—unfortunately. Galen Tarva might not be known as the brightest bolt in the lightning storm, but he got this right. Galen and his sneaky sister Acantha watched us fight. So did Galen’s two sons and his other sisters, Appoline, Bellanca, and Lystra. Now the whole family has “danger!” flashing through their brains on repeat.

  I’m almost surprised they’re going through with this meeting at all, if they think they have to do it not even a day after our hard-won victory and after leaving us to starve and wilt in the sun. Not only that, but the royal guards led us straight through the blackened neighborhood in northern Kitros that Galen destroyed after becoming Alpha. No one’s touched the rubble or vermin-picked bones since the day of the massacre, and I felt the sight of so much senseless death and destruction like the hard kick in the gut it was meant to be.

  Galen’s nearly inexplicable, vicious attack on his own people was either a one-time phenomenon he hasn’t been able to repeat, or he keeps his magic on a very tight leash. Most people agree it’s the former. That day, though, he didn’t stop shaking the earth until every man, woman, and child he could see or hear was dead and silenced. All in return for a few shouted protests. Maybe a raised fist.