Roux sat next to Isla on the dais, white-knuckling his knees. Blythe blocked attacks from both of her competitors. But the partnered pair worked well together, driving her in different directions throughout the arena, and it wasn’t long before the two landed a series of blows.
When one struck, the other prepared to do the same a split second later, leaving their foe little time to think, defend, or render a strike of her own. In a matter of minutes, she was stripped of all weapons. No. No. Maybe she’d shed them willingly for some brilliant reason he couldn’t compute.
Most of her wounds healed in seconds but several remained, gushing crimson. He gripped the arms of his chair. Why? Still she fought, using her claws and teeth.
“She’ll win,” Isla announced with her usual pride and confidence. “She’s the best.”
“She is,” he agreed. But watching her suffer pain, the day after he himself had inflicted more than she’d ever before braved...it wasn’t easy or fun. He would rather endure a thousand more centuries of his former blessing task.
“Yes!” he and Isla shouted in unison when Blythe dodged Lucca’s strike while swinging a sword she hadn’t held a moment ago. Suddenly the harpy’s head flew across the arena, minus her body.
His jaw dropped as realization dawned. Somehow, she’d misted the weapon without misting herself, hiding it from view. Not something he could do. Pride flooded him.
Carrigan bellowed her rage and anguish, wings bursting from her back as the headless body hit the sand, spurting blood. Flap, flap. Those wings produced a gale force that knocked the harphantom to the other side of the arena. As Blythe came to her feet, the Phoenix strolled forward, hips swaying.
“You will pay for what you did to Lucca. One life for another.” Without a pause in her step, Carrigan held up a dagger. Flames spread over her hand. The hilt. The blade. Metal melted, dripping down her arm.
A curse exploded in Roux’s head. The trinite blade, hidden beneath the metal now hardening over her flesh. Beware of the monster underground.Hello, monster.
The Phoenix had never found a way out, had she? Instead, she’d hoped to trick Blythe into trusting and sparing the harpy, allowing Carrigan to end the harphantom without much of a battle.
No wonder the worst of Blythe’s wounds had yet to heal. If the Phoenix sank that blade into the harpy’s heart...
At his knees, his claws cut through his leathers. His skin. Muscle. The tips embedded in bone.
“Well, well,” Blythe said without fear. “Aren’t you the tricky one? I’m going to enjoy burying you in a grave of your own making.”
“As final words,” the Phoenix replied, “those are pretty terrible. Care to try again?”
“I’d rathershowyou my final words.”
Both Blythe and Carrigan picked up speed, jogging...running...sprinting at each other. Slammed together. Exchanged blows and sprang to their feet. Ducked and dodged. Moved at speeds he struggled to track. He knew when Blythe attempted to ghost inside Carrigan because she bounced back.
The Phoenix possessed a block, similar to Roux’s, though surely not as strong. Bet she’d paid a witch good money for hers. Too bad it wouldn’t save her in the end.
“Do you think we can stop for donuts or something on the way home?” Isla asked him, her calm unshakable. “Momma loves sweets.”
“Victory first, home second, sweets third.” How he maintained a composed facade, he might never know. The combatants fought on with skill and cunning, and completely without mercy.
Isla wiggled in her seat. “Have you talked to your secret prisoner yet?”
He stiffened. Of all the topics to bring up... “I have not.”
“You should.”
He wouldn’t ask if that secret prisoner happened to be her father. He refused to get her hopes up, just in case he was wrong.Please be wrong.
“I knew you brought a child here!” Penelope’s gasp hit his ears, and he growled. The wraith hovered off to the side, staring at Isla as if she’d finally found her holy grail.
Isla regarded the spectral without fear. “Who are you?”
“She is our chosen one. Our key. Give her to me.” The wraith jerked her attention to him. “Give her to me now, Astra, or I drain yourgravita.”
Chosen one? Key? He knew of no such lore among the wraiths. Especially considering a young phantom-goddess from Chaos and Erebus’s line.
A cry of distress rose from the battlefield, claiming his focus. He swallowed a roar. A pale Blythe stumbled,withouttaking a blow. She was being drained right this second. He leaped to his feet, grating, “The girl is mine. So is the mother. You will keep our bargain, wraith, or I will—”
“What?” Penelope demanded. “Time is running out, Astra. You can have mother or child, but not both.”