Chapter 3

T he midnight black cloak was too heavy for this kind of heat, but as she required the hood to hide behind, it was non-negotiable, especially for where she was headed. The weight of the material pressed into her sweltering skin as threads of hair began sticking to her neck, weighing down her shoulders.

She took a breath—and wished she hadn't.

The smell was repugnant, and this was only the opening to the underground tunnels. What would it be like under there?

Artem Stryker—her only working guard—walked towards the opening, where protectors stood in armour, strapped head to toe in weaponry. They were not Hunters, but guards of the Minister of Coin.

Of course he facilitated this place.

As Artem spoke in hushed tones to them, Gideon nudged her gently. "Are you sure you want to do this?" He moved to stand in front of her, and she was secretly glad that they had both decided to join her on her mission to speak with Torin. "An empress should not be seen in a place like this. We can turn back."

Emara finally lowered her hood, and a dry breeze kissed her skin, but it wasn't enough to take the edge of the stifling night air. "As the Empress of Air, I will decide where I should be seen and where I shouldn't."

Gideon's lips clamped together, and he took a moment before he answered her. "I don't know if it's a good idea for you to see him like this. He's not in a good way, Emara. He is different when he's down here."

For a second, she wondered when Gideon had last seen him down here, and maybe that had been why Torin had been sporting all sorts of cuts and bruises yesterday when she had seen him heading to his chambers.

Emara lifted her chin, like Naya had taught her. "Then all the more reason for us to get him out of here."

The silence was broken between them when the protectors opened the doors to the underground and Artem let out a whistle for them to move forward. Whatever he had said to get them in, Emara would never know.

"Keep your hood up," Artem advised as he pulled at her hood, taking the first steps to descend into the darkness. "There could be creatures down here that would sell you to the Dark King for a shot of whiskey."

A crash of nervous waves hit into Emara's stomach, churning like an emptying bath.

Exactly how terrible was the underground?

Surely, it couldn't be more tortuous than her own mind at this point.

Viktir Blacksteel wasn't only punishing Torin by announcing Gideon as her suitor, but her too. It had been six full moons since that horrendous moment when Torin declared war against his father, and it had taken four full moons to stop the tears from falling down her cheeks every time she thought of it.

The thought of marrying Gideon should feel right, but it didn't.

He was understanding and patient. Of course, that made her feel worse. He was a good man. He had his flaws, but overall, anyone would be lucky to have him. He had tried so terribly hard with her after Viktir made the announcement to the prime that his second son would marry for the alliance. And just to be a total bastard, the commander had sent out the news by fireletter to every hunting family in the kingdom.

Poor Gideon had done everything he could to help mend the relationship they had once had. Strawberries in the morning with a note to wake up to,. gifts of flowers and dinners of courtship. He was…

Not Torin Blacksteel.

Just before she was taken by Silas and Ethan, the Supreme's guards at winter solstice, she had given everything to Torin. Her heart, her virtue, her soul. She had chosen him and he had chosen her and would always choose her. He had vowed to protect her with his life. He had vowed to worship her until the sun overtook the moon every morning. Her heart had chosen, no longer conflicted by how she felt about the Blacksteel brothers, one fire and one ice. The heart wanted what the soul truly craved, and after shedding her emotional barrier at the Waterfall of Uttara, she knew in her gut that she craved Torin Blacksteel. His crystal-blue eyes, his golden skin, his inky black hair. The way his soft lips curved into a wicked grin every time he taunted her. His lethal darkness. Her soul knew his. Her darkness knew his, too.

She had seen the pain in his face for weeks after his father's announcement, the longing in his eyes and the yearning to have her. He wanted to be close to her any time he was on duty or they were in the same room. Fear broke through her heart for him when she started to notice his pain turn to anger and then into nothing.

She knew that was why he had been disappearing so often. It had been too much. Too much to see her every day, knowing they could never be together.

She had understood for some time that he was taking it hard, but after a few moons passed and his behaviour morphed into something so destructive, she'd felt enraged. They had built something together. He had vowed to protect her. He had taken an oath to be her guard and she was supposed to trust him with her life. And here she was, going down into some seedy fighting pit to pull him out of it before someone from the prime noticed that he was avoiding her and he was exiled altogether.

Being an empress, she had to make political moves, and fast. She was running out of time to choose another guard for her trio after Magin's death, and she didn't want to have to replace Torin too.

She had been so lucky to have her friend, Sybil, stay within the Huntswood Tower because at this rate, they were practically sharing guards. Artem and Marcus had been taking turns in Torin's absence to train her with almost every weapon possible. However, the weapon that still called to her was her spear— the Agnes . Funnily enough, the present that Torin had gotten her for winter solstice was currently strapped to the outside of her leg. Unknown to the prime, she had used it a few times on demons in Huntswood or the Ashdale forest when she joined in on the hunting from the shadows.

"Can you see all right?" Gideon asked from behind her, his voice wafer thin as they made their way through a dark, damp tunnel. Both guards having hunter blood meant they could see in the dark much clearer than she could. However, Artem seemed to know the way a little too well.

Emara sparked a flame on one finger and then rolled her hand to make a ball of light, her own beacon. "I can now."

The flame burned bright in the middle of her hand, steady and composed. It was easy for her now. Natural. But she wasn't anywhere near discovering half of what she could do, a fact that Naya Blacksteel liked to remind her of every day.

After a while of walking down a tiny path that looked like it could crumble at any given minute, a rowdy crowd could be heard in the distance. It sounded too animalistic for any of them to be human.

"We're close." Artem turned to face her and stilled for a second. The light from the small beacon of fire danced up to reach his under eye. "Whatever you do, don't get involved in any gambling or fighting. Leave that to us. But if you must use your weapon to protect yourself, don't falter. I mean it, take them out. The men down here are foul. Do. Not. Hesitate." He looked at Gideon too, and he nodded. "Okay, let's move."

Emara snuffed out the flame in her palm and followed Artem Stryker until a murky light could be seen at the end of the tunnel.

The boisterous roars of the crowd were like nothing Emara had ever heard before—and she had been in La Luna on a full moon with the Baxgroll wolves. They could be rather savage in the tavern, but this place did not have the security of the wolves she now called friends. Emara couldn't see the fighting pit yet due to her oversized hood and lack of height, but she could hear where the noise—grunts of pain and the thuds of punches and kicks—was coming from.

The noise of two men destroying each other for a crowd. For coin. For sport.

A spiral of utter dread worked its way into the pit of her stomach.

As much as she didn't want to look, she had to know if it was him fighting. Why else would he be here?

Making her way through the crowd, pushing past the heavy muscle and stale ale, Emara saw a space in the thronged crowd, a table littered with glasses but unoccupied. They claimed it before anyone else could.

The crowd erupted as a punch landed properly, forcing her attention to the fight in the pit.

Her heart stopped.

It was him.

The warrior who owned her heart.

Torin Blacksteel.

An overwhelming urge to run to him pushed into her legs, almost taking over, but she rooted her feet to the floor. Almost instantly, she noticed how badly he was hurt. Her heart rate doubled. Tripled. Her stomach hit rock bottom. There was a cut above his left eye that was now swelling in size, shoving down upon his eyelid. Crimson blood poured from his open wound, and instead of wiping it away, he corrected his stance, unfazed by the amount of gore. He was slick with sweat, and his skin looked darker under the gloomy moon lamps that hung overhead in a dark orange glass casing. They swung back and forth like a pendulum as the vibrations from the fight and atmosphere caused the whole place to quiver. He was in nothing but fighting leathers on the bottom. His feet were as bare as his torso, and the only thing that could be spotted on his top half was the tape that bound his hands. His inky black hair was soaking with sweat and possibly blood. As he lunged for his opponent, Emara saw the bruising on his ribs, his back, his arms…

Sick crept up her throat.

"Kill him," one man roared from nearby, banging a heavy fist on a rickety table that threatened to break.

"Finish him, Blacksteel," another bellowed, spit spraying from his mouth.

Gideon shifted uncomfortably beside her, and it was then she placed a hand on his arm. It was his brother in the ring, after all. She knew he would be feeling this too. This thunder would be in his heart like it was in hers now.

Torin moved like a winter wind, cold and deadly, and hit the silver-haired male right on the chin. His jaw snapped, his head wrenching to one side, and the crowd flared up like a toxic flame as he spat out blood and possibly teeth.

"He's Fae," Artem shouted to Gideon across the standing table as Emara noticed the slight point in his ears. "And a big bastard. But he doesn't have the skills Blacksteel does. He's slower. Tired. And the guy has one eye, for Gods' sake. Torin should win."

"Let's hope." Gideon watched on again as he cracked his neck. "The Fae, he's probably an ex-guard of the king's court. Probably committed a crime against the king and found himself here."

The Fae landed a punch on Torin's cheek and then a knee smashed against his ribs.

Emara flinched as shouts and terrible taunts were hurled from the crowd that was hungry for blood.

"Try not to do that down here," Artem told her.

"Do what?" she quizzed, finally peeling her eyes away from Torin.

"Flinch." He looked around, scouting for trouble. "It makes you an easy target."

She swallowed any fear that started to creep in and looked back to where Torin was standing in the ring with a smile full of sin, his hands up, ready to punch. Even as blood gushed from his lip and his eyes were dark with monstrous danger, she couldn't help but feel her heart swell and threaten to burst for him.

He was glorified violence. Her heart should not connect with that.

But maybe that was her darkness.

It had been coming to the surface a little more. It was harder to control than all her other elements. Even now, it buzzed around her fingertips for release. Ever since the chains broke from her neck in the Amethyst Palace, and the black tendrils of smoke emerged from her hands, she had been desperate to use her darkness. She shouldn't think like that; she couldn't think of the very element that grew in her blood from the underworld. The more she acknowledged it, the more it came alive, and she had a meeting with the prime just around the corner. She had to focus on getting Torin back in some form of order. She wouldn't let this place destroy him. He was her lead guard, and if he was taken from that post…

She wasn't going to let that happen.

The crowd roared as Torin struck again, and this time, he kept striking, like a starving snake who had found its prey. Blood and teeth flew across the room before the Fae went tumbling down to the mat.

"Get up, you lousy Fae prick, and end that Blacksteel bastard," a man beside Gideon roared. "Kill the Hunter. Make him bleed out."

Before Emara could even clutch Gideon's uniform, he punched the man on the nose. Blood burst everywhere. Emara gasped a little as a fully fledged riot broke out around her.

"Fucking knew this would happen." Artem sighed and rolled his eyes. "No one talks badly about the Blacksteels but the Blacksteels," he said before turning and landing a booted foot in the face of a man who had come at Gideon with a small sword.

Emara had trained like a true hunter these last few months, and she was ready to fight anyone who came at her. She braced herself.

"I thought we would be in here a little longer than five minutes before I had to break noses, G," Artem shouted over the commotion, pulling another man off Gideon.

Gideon came up for air after landing two punches and turned to Emara. "Get out of here. We will get you at the entrance. Follow the tunnel to the stop and wait for us there."

Emara shook her head and dug her nails into her palms. "Absolutely not. I didn't come here for nothing."

It was then she unsheathed her favourite weapon from her leg and pressed in the beautiful ruby that lay in the middle of it. The stunning spear turned into something longer and more dangerous and she felt a rush of adrenaline fill her muscles as it elongated in her hand.

A bald man with an eye patch that looked like it had been dipped in tea made his way towards her. As he bared his teeth that looked like rows of condemned buildings, broken and neglected, a revolting smile pulled his lips apart.

Artem came closer to her as he pushed a man out of his way like he weighed nothing at all. "Don't—"

She pushed out her hand that held the Agnes . "I've got this, Artem."

"Oh, I know, I was only coming to say do not let anyone harm you, or the Blacksteels will boil my head and bathe in my blood." He winked and leaped to his next victim in the crowd.

It wasn't long before a mob had stopped watching the actual fight in the ring and began wondering what was happening in the hordes of fights breaking out on the floor. If they weren't getting in on the action, they were passing around coin, making another bet on the ongoing brawl.

"Three gold coins on them not making it out here alive," she heard a man roar.

"I'll bet ye four," confirmed another.

The bald man standing in front of Emara was now laughing at her as she held up Agnes, showing them how lethal she was.

She would give him something to snigger about.

"Do you know how to work that pole, sugar?" He laughed, and the men standing at his back did too. "Should you not be dancing around that instead of holding it, pretending like you know how to use it?"

Emara gave him an unimpressed glare.

His vile tongue licked his cracked lips as he said, "Are you going to stand there and wave your little stick, or are you going to take off your cloak and show us a good time?" His beady little eyes wormed their way across her body, and the other men all hastily agreed.

Say nothing, she thought. Keep him thinking that I'm intimidated by him.

She pouted a little. "You see, I could dance here with this pole for you," she said as the crowd got a little heavier where she stood. "Or I could just knock your disgusting little teeth out with it." She raised an eyebrow as a cruel smile broached her lips, and the corners of his mouth pulled down in confusion.

She moved, finding a weakness in his confusion—always finding a weakness—and struck.

She whacked the spear so hard across his face that stars dazzled in his eyes as his body fell to the floor.

The men around her roared in laughter and shock, some already dipping into their pockets for more coin to wager.

Finally, she looked up, knowing magic was swirling in her eyes. But she knew she wouldn't gain any respect down here if she fought with magic. No. She had to fight the old-fashioned way. She looked at all the men who were standing ogling her. She found that terrible smile on her lips again. "Anyone else wanna see me dance with my pole? I'm pretty good."