Chapter 24
Ursula stood in the middle of the arena, next to the remaining demons. Strewn with gore, the dirt floor looked like a butcher shop. She shoved her hand in her pocket, gripping on to the reassuringly solid contours of the silver ring.
She wasn’t going to argue with Bael about Cera—not now. In fact, she couldn’t get her mind off the carnage she’d just witnessed, the images replaying in her skull. She clamped her eyes shut, willing her mind to fill with darkness.
It didn’t work.
She turned to Bael, letting her eyes run over his battle-stained clothes. “Are you injured?”
He sheathed his katana. “No. But you are.”
Not a question, but she answered anyway. “It hurts like hell.”
From his platform, Hothgar raised his arms to the dark sky. “Let us congratulate the champions for a well-fought battle.”
Around them, the crowd stood and roared their approval from their seats.
For just a moment, a thrill flickered through Ursula. And then, the images burned in her mind again: the severed tendons, the sprays of blood. The reaper’s head. Her own blade, buried in the giant’s chest.
They’d fought each other like rabid beasts. And Ursula had been right there, in the thick of it, slashing away to the dark cheers of the onlookers. Something had taken over her body, and she’d joined in the grim symphony of slaughter.
She closed her eyes again, trying to cleanse her mind of the blood. A part of her yearned for the cleanliness of the void. The words of the Forgotten Ones whispered in the back of her skull. Only the darkness will save you.
Maybe this was Nyxobas’s plan, to give her the choice between turning into a monster and joining him in the void. Or if not, surely this was his punishment for stabbing him with the dagger.
She glanced at the statue of Nyxobas that loomed over the amphitheater, its eyes blazing. She couldn’t understand any of his actions. Why did he summon her here in the first place? Why did his own son, Abrax, hate him so deeply that he had tried to overthrow the kingdom? And above all, what made him think Abrax was no longer a threat?
Maybe the will of gods wasn’t really meant to be understood. In all likelihood, they were completely mental from all the time they spent in hell.
By her side, Bael stood perfectly still, his eyes closed. His chest rose and fell in an even rhythm. Entirely unperturbed by everything he’d just seen. Just another day in the Shadow Realm.
Hothgar banged the gong, and the noise of the crowd died.
“Of the fifty-seven champions who joined the melee, twenty-three remain in his mortal realm. In glorious battle, thirty-four more have joined the void to live for eternity.”
As Hothgar spoke, black-cloaked oneiroi jogged silently into the arena. Remembering Massu’s ferocity, she shuddered. But these oneiroi weren’t here to fight. They were here to clean up the corpses. Silently, the oneiroi dragged them from the arena. The bodies left red smears over the dirt.
Hothgar thrust his hand into the air. “Massu, can you step forward?”
Cera’s brother stepped forward, his mouth dripping with fresh blood.
Ursula heard the pause, the sharp intake of breath before Hothgar spoke again. And when he did, he spoke through clenched teeth. “This has been the first melee to include an oneiroi,” said Hothgar. “Despite his inferior status, he killed five demons, the most of any champion. As ordained in the warrior code, this accomplishment grants him pole position for the race.”
Massu bowed deeply.
Hothgar continued, “The race will be held at Asta. We will commence when the sun reaches its peak above the spire.”
Lifting his hammer, the Sword Of Nyxobas smashed the gong a final time.
The demons around her turned to leave, and Ursula bit her lip to stop the tears welling in her eyes. She turned away from Bael so he couldn’t see her face.
Sure, she could use a sword. She could fight if she had to. But this had been a complete nightmare. A savage display of bloodlust, for absolutely no purpose.
And the scariest part was that she’d fit right in.
Blinking away the tears, she searched the sky for a sign of Cera. Maybe Bael thought they couldn’t be friends, but whether he liked it or not, Cera was her ride home.
“Ursula?” Bael touched her arm, and she turned back to him.
He leveled his intense gaze on her. Apart from the blood spattering his cheeks, he looked perfect. Like a god himself—golden skin, thick lashes framing violet eyes, and full lips.
“You should come with me,” he said quietly. “I’ll heal you, but not here.”
“Where’s Cera?”
“She had to return to my manor.” He turned to walk for one of the open archways, expecting her to follow.
She quickened her pace to catch up with him. “You didn’t let her stay to see her brother fight?”
“No.”