Page 41 of I Summon the Sea

She’s right about that, at least. I glance up at the sky but only spot riderless, wild draks circling together with sea fowl and a lone hawk. Besides, the great dragons never showed any real interest in humanfolk or faefolk, so why would they start now?

“I believe dara activity trumps patrolling, Commander, and since the dara respond to great surges of power…”Wasn’t that what the drak rider had told Athdara? That the dara had never seemed to care about what happened on the ground before?

Now isn’t the time to start. I glare up at the firmament. Unbelievable. After all this time, they areinterested?

Keep your fire-breathing nose out of my business, I think, then look resolutely back at the arena.I have enough on my plate as it is, without worrying about huge flying lizards giving me away.

We’re slowing down, the invisible power that has been moving the barge receding. It looks like this telchin isn’t all for show, after all, when he has this kind of magic.

Speaking of whom… As we slow down more, the barge swaying on the waves, the telchin crosses the deck, holding a dragonbone relic aloft.

Time to scan us for any magic we may have been hiding, any edge that might let us win, and by that, I meansurviveto fight another day. Imagine that. Can’t have just anyone entering the palace to dance and mingle with the fae nobility, before being thrown back into the sea and down the monsters’ gullets.

The end result is always death.

The telchin flicks his fingers at the guards, and we’re prodded and manhandled into a rough, loose line, so that he can use the relic on us.

Meanwhile, out of the corner of my eye, I catch other guards preparing a plank for us to walk.

Like the one pirates employ when they want to get rid of people.

How else were they going to throw us into the arena? It makes sense. Hysterical laughter shouldn’t be bubbling up my throat. Here, away from the ornate temple and palace, where the highborn fae guests can’t see, things will get rough and dirty.

Getting down to business. No more rituals and prayers, no more light shows.

A plank and the walk of death.

“Come forth!” the telchin calls out, lifting the relic into the air. It’s shaped into a circle with carved symbols all over it. His hands… are painted crimson. It’s as if he dipped them in blood. “Come forth and enter the three-hundredth trials since the last Reversal. Dive into the arena and make it across to the palace if you want to win. Today is a day of redemption and celebration, so come forth and let us begin!”

“We’ll perish here, in the Central Sea,” a woman whispers, thumping her forehead as if in penitence. “Like revered Katri and Aethre who jumped into the sea to save us all.”

That story is all wrong, and I open my mouth to say so, but I’m jostled forward by the humans behind me.

We shuffle forward as the telchin waves the relic over us, one by one, and… something happens. Not because of the relic. The humans around me suddenly seem to stand… straighter. Stronger. Stalwart and ready to face this challenge.

I glance around. A few still look hunched over and weak, trembling with cold and exhaustion, but most of the men and women around me look ready to fight.

Good. Let’s show them how we battle.

I seize on that thought, that positive feeling, while it lasts, and cling to it as the line advances. Some people yell or scream as they are pushed off the plank. Others walk it and jump voluntarily, in eerie silence.

Somewhere to the left of the barge, Athdara approaches in a small skiff. Where was he? Climbing a ladder onto the barge, Athdara approaches the telchin. I see him now, the breadth of his shoulders, the dark head. His face is pale, so pale it’s almost white, and he stumbles, barely catching himself, as if he’s sick or wounded.

When he steps forward, the relic vibrates and screeches. The humans recoil and stumble backward, only to be brought short by the spears prodding at their backs.

“Shadow magic,” they whisper. “Fire elemental. Ha, good luck with that in the water.”

For some reason, my jaw is grinding so hard it aches.

The telchin glowers at Athdara. “Well, son, we’ve drained you enough to ensure your power is at its lowest, and no draks are allowed to fly over the arena. This is your choice.”

That dark head bows in acceptance.

Did they drain him of blood? Is that how they keep him contained?

“You’re almost as weak as these poor humans,” the telchin continues, “and yet… if any one of them can make it out alive, it’s you. Let’s see you try.”

And he’s waved on toward the plank, because he may have magic but it will be useless in the arena, and… because hechoseto jump.

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