Page 23 of Courting War
“Why?”
“Do I need a reason? You’re my sister, and I love you.” Havyn drew her long nails against her shadow chair, almost as if she were sharpening them.
“You’re a god. We always need a reason. We do nothing out of charity.”
“Hmm,” Havyn trilled, her shadows slithering across the bruise forming on Theo’s face. “Then you shall pretend I’m here for nefarious reasons. But alas, someone has to clean you up and heal you. You’re human, after all.”
Theo’s eyes narrowed. The one truth she knew to the core of her being:Never trust Death.
“Time to get going,” Havyn said as her shadows snaked around Theo’s throat. They clasped on like a noose and ripped Theo from the alley, pulling her through time and space to a prison cell formed from volcanic rock.
Havyn had refracted them, causing Theo to bend over, and clutch her knees for support, nausea pooling in her stomach. The refracting experience was foul as a human. Her body twitched, and her limbs coursed with foreign energy.
It felt like termites had carved tunnels through her skin.
When she got enough energy to look up, Theo noticed she was in a cell with no windows or doors. The only way in or out was through magic.
Magic which she didn’t have.
Theo was trapped.
Reaching into her toga, she clutched the wooden lovespoon for support, running her fingers along its edges. Everything was different and ruined.
“Welcome to the Sacrifice, Priestess from Theoden,” Havyn said. “It’s going to be immensely fun watching you try not to die as a human.”
Chapter Eight
KELLYN
Champion of Theoden
VOLCANIC PALACE, CITY OF THE GODS
The day whispered arias of rotting dreams.
Most people entering the City of Gods vibrated with wonder and amazement because the city was alive and glittering with enchantment. For most, it was the opportunity of a lifetime—to meet the gods.
The audience of the Sacrifice gambled, drank in excess, and explored the magic of the holy city. But for the eighteen souls in the Sacrifice, the Day of Arrival only represented dread and the possibility of death. For Kellyn though, it was a certainty. No one—not even himself—believed he would live through the five challenges of the Sacrificial Week. His only hope and goal were to die honorably and help Cecile survive.
If he could take back Decision Day, he would. He didn’t want to die, but if he didn’t go through with the games, Theoden would be riddled with plague and cursed by the gods. That was the deal. Him or his country. And he would always choose his country.
Kellyn walked through the city with his head held high and the Sacrifice guards at his heels. He wouldn’t be dragged to hisdeath. Like the other eight champions, he walked with honor, paraded from the docks to the Volcanic Palace, and guided to the center of the grand ballroom, where he was forced to kneel. A torc was laced around each champion’s neck. In Kellyn’s case, a raven was carved into the end—the symbol of the Theoden Champion. The magical necklace kept the champions within the palace walls and stuck in the games. If Kellyn tried to escape while wearing it, it would kill him.
Not a fun way to die—nor an honorable one.
Kellyn swallowed past the lump in his throat, and his heart slammed in his chest.
Anticipation plagued the air, and it felt terrible. Not knowing what would happen next was worse than knowing he’d die. The soft murmurs of the crowd stroked the room as he knelt, waiting, the skin of his knees resting on the cold marble floor.
The Sacrifice was unpredictable. No two events were ever alike, and it was impossible to guess how or when the gods would appear to start the games.
They liked keeping everyone on their toes.
Kellyn’s eyes nervously flicked to the champions beside him. The Nefesian girl, on his right, was petite with soft features and a powder blue crinoline dress hugging her body. She seemed timid but brilliant. Both features the Queen of the Gods revered in a champion. The goddess preferred intelligent, regal, and reserved people to represent her country.
The Simark lad on Kellyn’s left had the expression of a hydra and nasty scars littering his pale face. He seemed fierce and brutal, just like the God of Fire.
Kellyn thanked the stars that the Champions didn’t have to fight each other. They were neither his competitors nor allies. Each played their own game against the gods at their own pace. It was entirely possible for the champions never to meet during the games—save for in the common areas.
