31. Crash

31

Crash

W e all watch Kami storm off.

After looking at one another in confusion, Oz turns and follows her. "Kami, wait."

Malkar sighs. "Tell me what I missed. I was occupied with the banshee and didn't see the fight."

Ries regales him with details while I move off to clean my new gems in the lake, a bit of the elf's blood still lingering.

I'm impressed at how easily Oz conquered the elf. And he did it without any power but his own physical gifts of speed and strength. He'll make a formidable enemy.

I need to keep an eye on him. To my chagrin, I'd put him on a threat level with Kami. She's small but can manipulate trees. Oz is large but can't do magic.

Yet he ripped off an elf's head.

I really need to revisit my attention to detail, because obviously I've been missing things.

Of my five forced companions, Malkar is the most dangerous.

His ice magic nullifies my fire. And he's hiding a lot of power. We can all tell, but my senses seem to hum when he's close.

I can feel him watching me even now, and I hate it. He keeps acting like he owns me because of some stupid life-debt I unknowingly acquired. We're due for a smackdown after we escape this mess.

Then there's Ries. He's a merman and therefore untrustworthy. But his ability to control water puts him on another level of powerful. Merfolk don't command elements. They just live comfortably in water.

Plus there's something about Ries that's off-putting. And it's not his sly humor or charm with Kami. I can't understand what bothers me about him, but I'll figure it out.

Kami commands trees, which isn't exactly scary. But I recall her stabbing through that naga with a stick sharpened into a spear. She made that happen. Plus, she confuses me.

My emotions aren't my own around her, and that makes her dangerous to me in a different way.

I don't like thinking about that though. So I focus on Oz and realize if he can take me unaware, he can kill me easily. I need to make sure I don't fall into the trap of trusting him.

Or any of the others. The only person in this world I can rely on is myself. I know this. So why do I keep softening toward the monsters in our group?

I spend most of the rest of the day and night apart from the others. They leave me well enough alone, for which I'm grateful.

And it's not just that I'm an untrusting sort. I'm wounded and hiding it.

That banshee earlier hurt me. Badly.

My thoughts are muzzled. I can't stop thinking about my dead family. My parents, my twin, my younger brother. All gone because I was too weak to stop them from leaving .

My guilt makes little sense. I know this. Only Arlen could I have saved. My parents and twin died from Black Fang attacks, the old gang now annihilated and no longer running Sin Central, my old home.

I was small back then, powerful but unable to control my gifts.

And I'm still powerless, broken under this hideous spell that oppresses my fire. Only rage, not magic but that innate part of me, seethes constantly. If I'm angry enough, I can let it go.

As I did earlier with my fire. But it's been banked, and I'm so sad and heart-struck.

I can't stop crying. That stupid banshee bitch tapped into my emotions and is still manipulating them, even after death.

I don't want to be, but I'm impressed. The others didn't seem affected at all.

Of course not. They're strong. Not like you.

I grit my teeth and ignore that sinister voice that's been crawling through my mind all day. It's not real. Just a remnant of powerful magic. It's said that a banshee is strongest against strong emotions.

And I have always carried my guilt and rage, a heavy burden over my heart.

I study the others while pretending to be asleep.

Ries is on guard. He managed to break Kami from her tears earlier, and he didn't react to the banshee that I could tell.

I want to gut him, to make him feel what he deserves.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I blunt the desire to kill with rage and draw forth on my intellect, that part of me that knows we need a strong group to survive what's coming.

These petty squabbles with a few enemies is nothing. The town of Sacred Lakes has the Radiant Trials to celebrate their war god .

No way we won't be ass-deep in murdering monsters, elves, and other vile fae before the trial ends. They only ever have one team emerge victorious.

And I studied our fellow tributes, many of which already want me dead for having commanded them when I ruled Godtown.

I stifle a groan and roll over, embarrassed I lost my place so easily.

For months I built my reputation, buried my anger at my losses in a quest to rule. And I did. I still would be ruling if that beast, Rilitar, hadn't clipped me.

How I'd let myself be taken by fucking Folas, of all people. That dickbag is nothing more than a vain lackey. Rumor has it his vast power comes from some artifact he stole.

But he's smart enough to hide it, smart enough to not lose to some white-haired, regular-looking freak or be partnered with a bunch of losers in some weird sacrifice to a long-passed deity.

I clap my hands over my ears, as if that will stifle this bitch who keeps yapping in my head. I hate her. I hate Kami, who makes me want.

I hate Malkar and his incessant need to bond with me, his energy swirling in my soul.

And Oz, that fuck, who thinks he's better than everyone.

Ries pokes fun at me and looks at me like I'm nothing. Just a nobody with no one to care if I live or die. I'm a loser, and I'd be better off dead.

Fuck you, I shout in my mind.

I try, but it's hours before I can sleep. When Oz finally wakes me to take my turn, I'm groggy and unable to tell him what to do with his orders.

So I grunt and stand watch until the sun rises.

Uncaring about waking the others, I stomp away to relieve my bladder .

But instead of returning to our camp, I follow the source of anger I can somehow sense.

When I find the three fae staring stupidly around them, I realize they're wearing green and purple, the colors of Godtown.

My old stomping ground.

"There he is," one of them snarls. "Time to pay, Crash."

I huff. I can end this guy faster than he can beg for mercy. "Bring it, fuckhead."

Except he doesn't bring it.

Two dozen of his friends creep out of the woods behind him, brandishing weapons they shouldn't have.

They're all wearing Godtown colors.

And they're smiling.