45. Kami

45

Kami

W hen I wake, it's to a bright sun overhead and a crowd of onlookers cheering from the stands.

Shit. We're back in the stadium under the spotlight again.

My neck hurts, but I feel rested. Odd. The last thing I remember is sitting in Crash's lap, feeling surprisingly safe.

"How exciting," the white-haired elf moderator is saying from his floating podium near the monarch's box. "Time for our celebration to continue!"

There, next to the light elf, is his demon and the orc woman.

And behind her, Oz stands with his arms crossed over his chest, looking like her security guard.

My heart races as I sit up and join Malkar and Crash, who are studying the stadium. There are maybe fifty or more of us all together, lumped in a crowd as we wait for further instructions.

I can't wait to see how they try to kill us this time.

I rub my throat, surprised to feel a cloth tied around it .

I wish I could make eye contact with Oz, but he's so far away I can't make out his expression. Though I can see he's now wearing black and red, the monarch's colors.

How? Why? What exactly is Oz up to?

Does he really think he can kill the monarch, the monarch's demon, and the orc chic all by himself?

Malkar is nodding. "Ah, I see it now."

"What?" Crash asks.

"The family resemblance."

I blink. "Huh?"

Malkar leans toward me and whispers, "Oz and the orc female are related."

"How can you see that far?" Wait. Didn't Oz hint that he had no liking for his mother?

"I see everything."

Crash jeers at Malkar's superiority complex. "Yeah, that's why your sorry ass in here with us while Folas looks down on you from the stands."

We follow his gaze to see Folas sitting with Rilitar in Lancer's box, right next to the Asrai and Godtown leaders.

Rilitar lifts a goblet in toast to us and grins.

Folas smiles as well and waves.

"That fucker." A wave of warmth emanates from Crash. More of that fiery rage of his. His eyes glow, but he's still not able to emit any fire.

I don't think. I have a vague memory of burning flesh and someone screaming. But then, that's almost an everyday occurrence lately.

"I'm confused. I thought we were supposed to be fighting one-on-one until the end." I look but don't spot Ries among us.

I'm still depressed he turned on us. And yes, hurt, though I know I shouldn't be. All of us still barely know each other despite having had sex .

Crash shrugs. "I keep catching bits here and there. But the trials breaks down into three parts. The first part is all about individual battles. The second part of the trials is group warfare."

"What does that mean?"

Malkar grimaces. "Nothing good."

A great face appears in the suddenly gray clouds overhead, blotting out the blue sky.

Beyrthnel, in all his glory, nods and smiles down on us. "Die well and you shall be rewarded by the knowledge of my rebirth," he booms.

The crowd goes wild.

"Yeah, I don't think so," Crash mutters.

I second that.

Then Beyrthnel's gaze moves over us, and I swear he seems to center on me.

He smiles wide. "And a boon to any who can bring me the head of Death's Daughter." He disappears, and the clouds vanish.

There's a moment of silence.

Malkar and Crash are staring at me.

"Death's Daughter?" Malkar asks in a tight voice.

Crash shakes his head. "If she was a necromancer, we'd be dead by now." Yet he doesn't sound convinced. I swear I see a glimmer of compassion in his gaze before it's replaced by his typical snide look.

"We will talk. After." Malkar sniffs. "Now, unless you really can come back from the dead, I suggest you stay close to me."

I scowl. "Necromancers can't do that. And even if they could, I'm not a necromancer."

"Sure, sweet cheeks. The god of war has it wrong." Crash takes the time to roll his eyes in an exaggerated gesture.

If I laugh, I won't stop, and the humor will turn to hysteria .

But hey, at least the others around us are now looking at me with a hint of fear. Should I thank Beyrthnel or curse him?

Rilitar is beaming. I wonder why. Having a potential necromancer is a nightmare. Or it should be. If I was really as powerful as everyone thinks, I'd be able to sap energy and reap souls.

Malkar looks down at me and puts a finger on my forehead.

"Malkar?"

He pushes me, and I stumble back.

"What the hell?"

He laughs. "Death's Daughter. Sure."

Others around us relax, and there goes my attempt to be feared and avoided. Especially since the god's offered boon is making me look way too tempting to way too many combatants.

Crash, that idiot grins. "Well, whatever the hell you are, you're even prettier when you come wrapped with a god favor around your neck. Hey, demon, maybe we should split her open ourselves."

I just gape at the fire fae, hoping he's making a terrible joke.

Malkar shrugs. "Perhaps."

I blink and growl, "Perhaps?"

Then the moderator speaks once more, interrupting my growing fury. "How delightful! A gift from our generous god."

The crowd cheers loudly.

He continues, "Not only does he wish for the lovely dryad's head, but we've got an incredible showing today! The tributes will fight to the death until the time runs out. Those who survive one another on the field will then need to make it to the heart of the maze and through the combat course, fielded by…"

There's a drumroll that rocks the stadium, and the spectators go wild.

"Our own monarch's defense…the Nyte Guard!"

Algraas flies out to hover next to the announcer and opens his mouth. The most beautiful hum of power emerges, and all are silent until a contingent of black-suited elves appears on the grounds.

There must be at least a dozen of them.

A dozen trained killers who do nothing but murder anyone the monarch decrees unsound. Magical, powerful, skilled assassins with nothing better to do than hunt down monsters and annihilate Goras Vamyar's enemies.

The monarch approaches the edge of this box and waves down at us. "Best of luck, tributes. Your time starts…now."