“It’s based after Olympia,” Luke says, easing next to me.
He looks as impressed as I feel.
“My father has tried to replicate it—although it’s mostly used for public humiliation and beheadings. It had to have special enchantments to clear out all the blood.”
This one is opulent. Glorious.
We file in and find seats. Elizabeth is on one side of me. Luke, the other. I’m sure he’s here to keep tabs on me. It works. I want to keep tabs on him, too. I scan the crowd for the Immortals. None are in sight. Maybe whatever bothers them about Victorine has kept them away.
“Look,” Elizabeth says, pointing to the field. In the middle of the emerald-green grass, a massive cage materializes. I can’t see what’s inside, but I can hear it; the howling cry that haunts my nightmares.
“No,” I say, heart lodged in my throat.
Luke grabs my arm, the skin on his hand pale. “Is that a—”
“Fucking Roland and his fucking games,” I mutter. “We need to get out of here.”
The three of us stand at the same time a whirring sound cuts through the night. At the opposite end of the stadium, a gaping hole appears. Five people are pushed out by guards wearing shrouds over their heads.
“Are we going?” Luke asks.
I’m frozen in my spot, trying to figure out who is under the shrouds. Is it the Immortals?
A figure strides across the field. There’s no mistaking the red hair and long flowing cape.
“Students,” Victorine says, when she reaches the center of the field. Her voice booms without a microphone, magically enhanced. “Tonight will be the first of many important challenges. No longer will you spend your time in the classroom learning about ancient wars, or tedious skills. No more noses in dusty books. Tonight begins a journey that has only one end. Winning.”
I’ve barely taken a breath, so consumed about who is under the shrouds.
“Unlike Headmaster Gardner, this administration is here to prepare you for the battle of many lifetimes. We’re not here to tip-toe around the truth. We want winners. Warriors. Fighters. If you don’t think you’re ready for that, leave. Now.” When no one does, she smiles wickedly and holds up an urn. “Five students have been selected for tonight’s event. They will step forward according to their number drawn. Guards, remove their hoods!”
The head coverings are yanked off, revealing five students—none of them one of my Immortals. At first I don’t recognize any of the kids blinking into the bright light, trying to acclimate their eyes, but then in the middle, I see a familiar face.
Darius.
Victorine’s eyes flick to the cage. Only a few of us know what’s in there. What she’s about to reveal.
“Each will battle the creature in this cage. The winners? They will be rewarded. The losers…” she grins wickedly, “They’ll meet a different fate.”
It’s ominous, but it’s obvious the Academy royals find it e
ntertaining, cheering in response. Of course they do, they’re not the ones about to get eaten by an eight-eyed, fanged, flying monster. At least not yet.
Victorine plucks a number out of the urn, then holds it into the air. “Number three. You’re first.”
Darius steps forward, and I gasp, feeling sick. He doesn’t look afraid, his chin lifted up, making the long braids on his head hang down his back.
“Who is that?” Elizabeth asks.
“Darius Blackmon,” Luke replies, watching the boy closely. “He’s a shifter.”
“What kind?” she asks. I haven’t said a word.
“He’s from a tribe of Shamans. He can turn into whatever animal, person, or creature he wants.”
It’s true. I’ve seen it. Is he as good as his uncle?
“Including eight-eyed flying monsters with claws like razors?” Elizabeth asks.