Page 134 of Of Bargains & Betrayal

Even when the time came to be packed shoulder to shoulder with them in the preparation room at the arena, the childish energy that swirled all around them just rolled off my shoulders.

I had a task, and I would not fail it.

That morning, Eilir had let me know our first event would be a gauntlet of sorts. Obviously, the sprite couldn’t go into great detail about true specifics, seeing as my captor-turned-betrothed would command the arena to his will for each competitor, but they could tell me I had to prepare myself for the trial that would be the most unassuming on the outside, but likely the most physically demanding.

I’d be running, climbing, swimming, and dodging obstacles that may or may not have a life of their own, all while seeking and destroying three nytefire lanterns.

Time wasn’t a factor, thankfully—they’d yet to have a competitor stall out on the course in Eilir’s memory. But there was only so much tolerance for injury. If you lost complete use of an arm or leg, or rendered yourself unconscious, you would be disqualified.

One event disqualification meant elimination from the Agōn Ferr.

But that didn’t worry me as much as it should have.

I may not have been as intimately familiar with the Grimmorian landscape Maksym was likely to conjure in his illusions, but I’d run gauntlets in the upper reaches of Odessa’s mountains—terrain so hostile, nothing lived there.

I’d be fine. The only thing that was getting to me was the brutal passage of time. We’d been at the arena since the morning, waiting and waiting and fucking waiting.

Only one contestant could run at a time, and even a successful run took more than a few quick minutes. The dozens of competitors compounded it. I’d initially hoped that maybe, just maybe, I’d run first. Get it out of the way and get to soak in that satisfaction for the day.

How foolish.

Contestants came and went—Elixia first. Meals drifted in and out. The air became a little less stifling. Once the crowd thinned enough, I paced and stretched, as did the rest of the prospects. Gallan even distributed some reading material at one point—a brief history of the first Agōn Ferr in thin tomes barely clinging to life.

But now? Only three of us remained.

Myself and two young Umbrite men from Embervale, both of whom had thanked me for my help with the sick shifters the other week. Only after we were the only ones left in the room, of course. Appreciated, but unnecessary. I had no use for cowards who were afraid to speak up in front of others.

“Enora?”

I shot upright from where I stood, folded in half as I tried to loosen out my lower back and hips. Gallan was there in the doorway, wearing a grin like a proud father and gesturing me over.

“You’re up, princess.”

“Good luck!” the two other contestants called out from behind me.

I almost didn’t bother looking back, but something urged me to stop just as I was about to pass through the door.

“Luck has nothing to do with any of this, trust me.”

As prepared as I thought I was for the Agōn Ferr, nothing could have truly readied me for the rumble of animalistic energy that tore through the stadium when Gallan led me onto the raised platform jutting over the lowest level of seating.

I’d been in the arena a handful of times during my training, imagining what the intensity would be like with those seats filled, but my mind had done it a terrible disservice. I could barely hear my own thoughts, or the now-rushing of my heart, but the knot in my stomach was impossible to ignore.

“Breathe,” Gallan mouthed as he extended a single, sheathed blade to me. “Your only tool outside of your body. May Mina be with you, soldier.”

He held my gaze for a second as I took that grounding breath, then bent to fasten the sheath around my upper thigh. As I straightened up and shook out my limbs, I focused on pulling my attention back into my own body, imagining a barrier between myself and the cacophony of distracting noise thundering all around, just as Gallan had taught me. Slowly, it quieted, but I nearly lost hold of that tenuous focus when Maksym’s voice boomed out over the stadium, amplified by magic, announcing my name as the next contestant.

I refused to lift my eyes from the platform beneath my feet.

I didn’t need to see him perched in some royal booth, waxing on to his subjects who were thirsty for my blood to be spilled. I didn’t need to process anything else he had to say either, other than how a contestant had yet to fail. I wouldn’t be the first.

And when Maksym proclaimed, “Let us begin!” I braced myself.

Gallan had given me plenty of warning about the surge of magic when the arena was manipulated to life. How a magic-void body like mine might respond unpredictably to the outpouring of ambient aether my dark fae competitors had grown accustomed to over their entire lives.

An awful metallic taste washed over my tongue first, just before every hair on my body stood on end and a shiver tore through me. Energy crackled across the arena like the first charged gust of a frigid storm, and a low tremor started beneath my boots. Warmth that was a little too pleasant rolled up my spine, and I braved a cautious step forward, peering over the edge of the platform.

A blast of air sent me stumbling back.