I’m awake long before the knock at my door.
In fact, I’m already dressed and well into overthinking by the time my escort to brutality arrives. I barely slept after slipping from Kai’s room last night, wide-eyed with the worry of what I’ll have to do today to prove myself.
With a deep breath, I swing open the door. Lenny’s eyes drift down the length of me from behind his mask, narrowing slightly at my lack of disarray. “I’m here to escort you to the third Trial?” He says this like a question, as though unsure if he’s the first to inform me of this.
I smile tightly. “I had a hunch.” Slipping my dagger into the sheath at my side, I add casually, “Ready?”
“Not as ready as you,” he mocks. “Did you go to sleep in these clothes?”
“I’m just ready to get this over with,” I bite back.
“Well, it seems you’re already in the brutal mood,” he mutters as we head down the long hallway.
“I’m… sorry. About yesterday.” I glance hesitantly over at him. “You were never meant to be involved.”
“And it’s a damn good thing I was,” he scolds. “You nearly died, P. And I would have never been able to live with myself if you had.”
His words crumble something inside me, maybe the stony indifference I’ve built around my heart as of late. I touch his arm, hoping to say something my lips can’t form.
Lenny’s brown eyes fall to that gesture, smiling grimly at my splayed fingers atop his uniform. “And you might be sorry for me, but you’re certainly not sorry about Blair.”
I swallow and spur my mouth into motion. “No, I’m not. I mean, I’m not happy about what I did, either. But…” I pull away, hugging my arms around a beating chest. “But I don’t regret it.”
“You were… merciless.” When he finally lands on the cruel word, I flinch. “I’ve never seen you like that before.”
“Neither have I. Not like that.” I avoid his gaze. “But I’ve seen glimpses of it ever since fleeing Ilya. I’m… I’m not proud of it.”
He nods distantly, red hair rippling. “Well, now you’re free of her.”
“So are you,” I remind.
“Eh.” He turns a corner, pulling me along with him. “She wasn’t too bad. You only knew the part of her she had to be.”
I glance sidelong at him. “Well, you don’t seem too upset about her… passing.”
He shrugs stiffly. “I’ll see her again. One day.”
I debate scoffing at his words, because I doubt Lenny will end up wherever Blair has. But he’s suddenly spewing another sentence, this one lighter than the last. “Don’t be nervous today. You’re going to kill it.”
I groan slightly. “I’d rather not do any more killing, thank you.”
I step out into the streaming sunlight, now made all the more blinding by the dozens of crisp white uniforms reflecting it. Imperials swarm to create a cocoon of bodies around me as we head for the Bowl. The long path to the arena stretches before me as if to join the past with this bleak present.
The first time I walked between this row of drooping trees, it was for survival.
The second, a promise.
And now, a title.
The pink blossoms that once fell from these trees are long dead—not unlike so many other things since then. They crunch beneath my boots, a mere decaying memory. I tug my promise to Adena more tightly around me, feeling the frayed edge of what is left of her. I see the flowers beneath my feet that once littered a prince’s head, crowning him long before my brutality made him king.
My eyes wander over this tunnel of trees, each end leading me into the unknown.
Once, I risked my life for a piece of Adena.
Now, I stride toward a kingdom who doesn’t want me.
Soon, I may sacrifice myself in the hopes I mean something more in death than I did in life.
We walk in silence down the path, nothing but the sound of crunching petals passing between us. I spin the ring on my thumb incessantly, pleading with the band of steel to calm me. Lenny lingers at my side, occasionally offering a sidelong glance at my fidgeting.
But silence flees at the sight of the Bowl.
A distant rumbling grows with every step. The stomping of feet swells, followed by an orchestra of shouts and cheers. My heart beats in time, drumming in my ears as we stride into the Bowl’s menacing shadow.
My gaze lingers beside one of the many tunnels leading into that stony structure. The king’s lifeless body is long gone, the blood washed away, but the scar above my heart still sears with the memory of a mud-streaked girl at the mercy of a monster. Until she became one herself.
Everywhere I look, the past lingers.
There, an Enforcer was born. Hovering over his father’s body, he threw a blade with the aim of a warrior, but the damning heart of a fool. I can still feel that knife cut through the air beside me, intention alone steering it from my flesh.
Here, he told me to run. And I did.
Right back into his arms.
Our footsteps echo off the stone tunnel now, the expanse of gray leading us into an explosion of chaos and color. This arena was once filled with Resistance members, covered in the blood of those brave enough to fight for themselves but too weak to win.
The muffled cheers of thousands grow into a gentle roar as I emerge from the surrounding stone. The sun peers down at me, forcing my hand to lift above watering eyes. Bodies pack every inch of the Bowl, and I tip my head toward the sky, following the slope of this crowded arena.
Fear seizes my heart in this familiar place. I haven’t been back in the Bowl since Adena died within it, since a piece of myself died beyond these walls. The roaring of thousands hungry for a show makes my stomach flip violently. Every fiber of my being recoils at the thought of setting foot in that arena once again.
Imperials usher me along the path as a deafening shout washes over us. The audience is craving a bloody act of brutality, and with the sudden crescendo of spirited shouts in my direction, they are likely hoping I will be the casualty.
My gaze drifts to the railing beside me, then farther still to the stretch of sand below. The last time I saw this Pit, it was streaked with Adena’s blood. My stomach lurches once again as I scan the sea of white sand for any sign of a scarlet stain.
Nothing.
All trace of her death is gone, having abandoned this place to dwell inside me. Every drop of blood, every cry for help, every moment that passes without her is etched onto my soul.
Our lap around the raised ring leads us to the glass box beside it. Kitt sits cozily within, filling the seat his father once had. And just like the king before him, those green eyes pin me to the path.
It’s like looking into the face of a ghost.
Past and present collide to create the confusing concoction that is him. Not quite his father, but not quite the boy I once knew. He tips his head, a near reflection of the man who made me a murderer. And I nod back, a mere mosaic of each jagged piece of strength and cutting recklessness it took to have me standing here once again.
Hands are suddenly at my back, shoving me toward the railing.
Kitt stands abruptly, watching me behind that spotless glass before his Imperials can push me into the Pit. Calum appears beside him, smiling grimly even as I’m escorted to what will likely be my doom.
Still, I hold my breath, watching the king’s mouth open and eyes flash with regret.
And then—nothing.
Kitt straightens. Lowers himself into that plush seat. Fixes a slight smile onto his features.
I blink at the sudden change, bewildered by his—
“Hey, Princess.”
I startle at the fingers Lenny is snapping in front of my face. “Hmm?”
“Listen up, all right?” He’s forced to yell over the restless crowd engulfing us. “Take this and use it.” The hilt of a sword is suddenly shoved into my palm. “Just get it over with, and you’re free from these Trials. I know how terrifying you can be, so just… be that.”
I nod numbly, my gaze clinging to the sharp blade I now hold. Lenny reaches a gloved hand toward my face and pats it gently. “I need you to win this, okay? Don’t stop being a cockroach now, Princess.”
I have no idea what it is I’m winning. No idea if it will be worth it in the end. But a weak laugh surprises me, the sound buried in chaos before reaching my ears. “I’ll try my best.”
“After this,” he shouts, “I won’t get to call you Princess anymore.” His smile is bittersweet. “I’ll have to call you Queen.”
And then I’m forced down into the Pit.
I trip over the steep steps until my boots finally sink into the sand beneath. Staggering back, I lift my head toward the crazed crowd. I’m panting, blood pounding, as I take in the arena with one slow spin.
The Bowl is gaping, and I stand there, swallowed within the sheer size and sound all around. The sword’s hilt grows sweaty in my palm, its sharp point dragging in the sand. Chants and shouts are muffled by the continuous pounding of feet, like a death march long anticipated. The sun weighs heavy on my arms, warming my bare skin with its close presence. It seems that even the sky leans in to witness my brutality or the brutal end I’ll meet.
I squint up at that box high above the Pit’s floor, watching the king stride out onto the path. A familiar shock of teal hair shines beside him, and when the Amplifier rests her hand on Kitt’s shoulder, the arena falls silent.
“Welcome, Ilyans, to Paedyn Gray’s final Trial. Here,” he says evenly, “we will test her brutality.”
The crowd erupts at his words, bloodthirsty and rabid for a riveting show. Kitt calms them with a palm to the air before continuing. “If Paedyn can complete this Trial, she will have proven herself to be brave, benevolent, and brutal. These are the three characteristics my father believed made a good ruler. If she manages to succeed today”—Kitt’s gaze pins me to the Pit’s floor—“Ilya will have its queen.”
A roar rips through the arena, and I’m quite certain it’s not intended to cheer me on. Men and women stand on their benches, pumping fists and spouting curses into the air. My gaze sweeps over the rowdy crowd until I’m startlingly staring back at myself.
The scrutinizing expression I wear is projected onto a large screen above the Pit for even those in the highest stands to see clearly. My eyes dart across the sand, landing on the Sights currently projecting what they see. Four of them stand at the other side of the Pit, though only three stare at me with glassy eyes and arms raised upward. With white cloaks rippling in the soft breeze, their heavy stares have a chill skittering down my spine, dread pooling in my gut.
“As a ruler,” Kitt continues over the chaos, his voice echoing, “brutality is often needed. So for this Trial, it will be a fight to the death.”
My breath catches. Throat dries.
To the death.
I have to kill someone.
The crowd’s responding cheer is lost to the sudden ringing in my ears. I turn slowly toward that glass box, finding a king peering back.
Not my friend. Not my betrothed. Just a king who ordered me to be his killer.
And suddenly, I know how Kai must feel.
My knees go weak at the thought.
Kai.
Frantically, I scan that glass box for any sign of his familiar figure. A lock of tousled black hair. A glimpse of those damn dimples. A flash of that cocky smile.
“Bring out the opponent!”
My whole body numbs at the king’s words.
Gasps ripple through the crowd, shock slipping between the fingers that press to gaping mouths.
I won’t turn around. I can’t turn around.
The crowd erupts with a sudden, sickening wave of excitement when the king’s voice booms over the arena. “An Ordinary versus every Elite. The ultimate test.”
My head is shaking. I shut my eyes, squeezing out the cruel world beyond.
This is a nightmare. This is pretend.
Footsteps behind me grow louder atop the shifting sand.
I press a hand to my pounding heart, feeling the rapid rise and fall of my chest.
This is pretend. This is—
“Paedyn.”
I can feel the exact moment my heart shatters.
It’s when I turn, my eyes crashing into ones well memorized.
When mist meets the deepest sea.
When a Shadow faces its Flame.
When inevitability meets its end.
When I stare into the face of what it is I love most.
