“Asshole,” Lyra mutters under her breath.
Orion, however, thankfully doesn’t appear to have heard it. He just arches a dark eyebrow at us and demands, “Well? Do we have a deal?”
“If we win, you will let us leave the Unseelie Court and you will help us take down the Iceheart Dynasty,” Isera says, her entire face blazing with challenge as she holds Orion’s stare.
“Don’t push it.” He drags his gaze over her body. “Or I might rescind the entire offer and decide to put you in the arena andbreak youfor entertainment instead.”
She looks like she wants to rip his throat out. But before she can say anything else, Draven instead speaks up.
“If we win the Great Games, you will release us and let us leave the Unseelie Court straight away and without issue,” he declares.
Orion slides his gaze to him. “Yes. The team selection for the next Great Games starts in three weeks. Until then, you remain here.”
“Fine.”
“So, do we have a deal?”
Draven glances at the rest of us. When we all nod, he turns back to the treacherous Unseelie King.
“Deal.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The three weeks we waited for the team selection to start felt like three months. After Orion left, we were split up and locked in separate cells instead. Probably to prevent us from being able to plot an early escape together. Fortunately, they also changed my restraints from the heavy manacle to a much smaller one which wasn’t locked to the floor. It was enough iron to block my magic but not to leave me completely drained of energy. So with nothing better to do, I spent the past three weeks working out in my cell.
Now, as we are led into the grand arena in the middle of the city, I feel surprisingly strong and confident. Especially considering the fact that I was lying face down on a table with a broken spine and ice flames destroying my body three weeks ago.
“You’re number nine,” declares a male fae with several rings in both of his ears.
He shoves a piece of paper with the number nine written on it at Alistair’s chest. Alistair barely has time to grab it before it can flutter to the sand below. With a scowl, he grips the paper in one hand and looks between it and the man who handed it to him.
The Unseelie fae gives us all a look full of suspicion but then just raises a hand and points towards the open space in the middle of the arena. “Stand over there. Between teams eight and ten.”
Before any of us can so much as ask a single question, the guards who escorted us here from the dungeons begin herding us towards the spot that the man indicated. I study the arena around us.
The massive structure has been built using the same pale beige stone as the rest of the city. But as opposed to the houses with their colorful red roofs, this building doesn’t even have a roof. Craning my neck, I glance up at the blue sky above. A few wispy clouds drift lazily across the heavens, and the bright midday sun warms my cheeks. I shift my gaze back down to the tall walls that frame the flat sand ground.
Shaped like an oval, the arena has also been built in several tiers. The ones closest to the ground are located farther in and then each tier of seats is placed a little farther back so that it’s sloping outwards slightly. At the top, decorative arches have been set.
It’s an incredibly impressive structure, and much larger than the amphitheater in the Seelie Court. As I shift my gaze back down from the walls, I can’t help but wonder if our court also hosted games like this before we were conquered. Why else would we have a similar arena?
My heart twists painfully. So much of our own history and culture has been lost. So much that we might never be able to relearn.
“Didn’t he say that there are only six teams competing?” Galen suddenly asks, keeping his voice low.
Pulled out of my own distracting thoughts, I give my head a quick shake to clear it and then glance around the arena. Surprise flickers through me when I realize that it’s full ofpeople. Each group consists of six people, just like ours, but there are far more than six groups. I do a quick count as our guards position us in an empty spot between two teams. There has to be something like twenty teams in here.
“Yes,” Draven replies.
“He also saidteam selection,” I add, still studying the groups around us while our guards withdraw. “So I’m guessing they will choose six teams out of the ones who are here.”
Tense silence falls over our group for a few seconds. My stomach twists with worry as a sudden thought slithers through my mind.
“But we’re guaranteed a spot, right?” Alistair says, voicing what we were all no doubt thinking. When no one is able to confirm it, he repeats a bit more forcefully, “Right?”
“If we don’t get selected, we won’t even have a chance to win,” Galen says. “We’ll be stuck here until the next team selection. And then the next. And the next.”
Draven curses under his breath. “That fucking asshole.”