I grit my teeth. “Without the Legion, there may be no girl to return.”
He waves his hands like it’s no concern. I look to the others. There is no way we can barter with Morgan’s life—her freedom. We’re bound to protect her. And serve her. Not the other way around.
“I guess we come up with another plan,” Sam says. Anger mingled with defeat sparks behind his green eyes. We were so close to a solution. And so very close to running out of time.
“Or we just go on our own. We can challenge the Morrigan. We’ve done it before,” Damien adds.
“And barely walked out alive,” I growl, low under the sounds of the crowd. There’s a murmur amongst the audience. Probably in anticipation of the next bout. They’ve no doubt been watching us and wondering why we’re here. “Morgan specifically asked me to return with an army. I cannot disregard her wishes.”
“You won’t have to,” a familiar voice says from the crowd. Looking up, I see Hildi pushing through the masses of people. Her eyes are ringed in red from grief.
“What are you doing here?”
“You need an army. I’m here to fight.”
The Shaman stands and looks her up and down, a glint of excitement in his eye. “She can take the place of the girl. You five against the Legion. If you win, you take their contract and do with them as you like. If I win? I own you all for another half century.”
We’ve made a makeshift circle and I thrust my hand in the middle, signaling my agreement to the bet. Damien follows, his tattooed hand on top of mine, Sam next, and then Dylan.
We look to Hildi and Dylan says, “It’s your choice. Don’t do this for us.”
“I’m not doing it for me,” the Valkyrie says, her voice thick with emotion. “I’m doing it for Andi.”
He nods in approval and she places her hand on top. A stack of five warriors making a pact for our lives and freedom. A sacrifice risked for a better world. The Shaman’s dark hand comes down on top and a flash jolts between us—tagging us as chips on the table.
“You have thirty minutes to prepare,” he says, with a wicked grin. “I suggest you use it to pray.”
13
Morgan
Rejuvenated from my encounter with Bunny, I pick an option from the Morrigan’s extensive list of activities surrounding the bonding celebration. Training exercises by the Morrigan’s men. It seems wise to check up on the competition.
Nevis said nothing once I left Bunny’s studio. It was clear I felt better physically while still warring with myself mentally. Whatever judgment she held, she kept to herself.
It felt wrong to use Bunny for his body. I mean, that was one of his betrayals. Using me for pleasure yet giving nothing in return. It had been one of the first signs something was wrong. Shouldn’t I feel guilty for doing the same?
These questions linger as Nevis guides me through the castle and out the back patio where I’m met with humid, warm air. We’re not outside—no, the climate is too harsh on the barren landscape surrounding the castle. This is more like a greenhouse—an enormous one with glass ceilings and walls that stretch as high and far as my eye can see.
Lush greenery climbs the walls. The scent of flowers mingles with the smell of straw, and I suspect livestock. It’s an entire world here—much like the one underground--and as I look around I spot familiar faces from Nevis’ home.
“What is this place?”
“It’s how she stays alive. Her heart may be cold and her soul as dark as the nights, but to survive she must have nourishment and keep her soldiers and staff fed.”
“Is it connected to your home?” I ask.
“Yes, the heat and water comes though pumps engineered by our people.”
We walk through the maze of gardens that go for miles. Some are filled with flowers and trees. Others have vegetables and a few unidentifiable fruits. The sound of animals calls from the other end. I see a large deer-like animal with horns grazing on a patch of grass. When it looks up, I see it has three eyes and two tails, and I hold back a startled gasp.
“What?” Nevis asks.
“The animals here are not the same as back home.”
She smiles. “I’m sure there are manyd differences.”
We reach a terrace that looks over a valley below. The field is made of dry grass, and men in black uniforms are clumped together. Fear trembles through me when I spot a figure bellowing at soldiers.