The Ash Lion thrashes, claws raking deep into my arm. Pain flares bright and hot. Arlet spins, shouting something—my name, I think—and thrusts her hand toward it. She misses, and I scrounge up as much strength as possible to thrust my own sword into the heart of the beast.
The creature freezes, its roar cut short. For a heartbeat, I think it’s over. I watch it fall to the ground.
Then it explodes.
Fire and ash and glass pieces erupt outward. The blast knocks me to the ground. I land hard, dragging her with me. My body covers hers as the debris rakes across me. I let out grunts of discomfort asthe skin of my legs and back and arms is torn. She just stares up at me, breath gone, eyes wide. The world rings, but having her here, naturally folded into my arms, makes me feel like I have gone home.
“Arlet—” I say, inspecting her body as quickly as I can. She is cut again, but nothing as severe as yesterday.
My Fuegorra has already kicked into full power, and I suck in a sharp breath at the sting of healing.
“Are you all right?” she asks, voice shaking, and moves out of my arms as the world around us settles. I hate it.
Then she starts to pick out pieces of glass in my skin, as if to ensure they won’t be healed into my body. Her fingers are nimble, almost featherlike. I savor the touches, even though they accompany pain.
I should tell her not to. That she’s already bleeding again, and it would be good for me to hold her. But I see her resolve.
She makes quick work of the task, but for some reason, the arena around us is draped in silence. I push up, and I see the charred mass in the middle of the arena.
Then the roaring starts up again. Deafening. Wild.
I feel so proud of her. Of us. That we made it another day. But when I look at the balcony, it’s clear the Elf King doesn’t share the sentiment. Now would be an excellent time for Mrath to reappear. To kill him for good.
We could all be spared if she would just make it happen somehow.
But the arena remains quiet.
Arion rises on the dais, smiling now. “It seems my pesky little consort lives another day,” he announces, his voice smooth and cold. “Let us see if she still burns tomorrow.”
I freeze at the phrasing. Did he see her eyes? Sense something?
Has the Shadow sold our secrets to the king?
Or maybe, he didn’t think we would both survive today.
My mind still races. The agreement had been that if we survived the three trials, we would be set free. We’re so close to returning to Enduvida. I can hardly stop the fantasies—the plans—of everything I will do once we are home. The gifts I could give her. The stories andscrolls I’ll share. I’ll build her a new bed to erase the bad memory of her curse killing Diego after the mating rituals.
I’ll carry her supplies anywhere she likes. Beg Teo to let me access the royal coffers to give her the best jewels I’m allowed to take.
The guards move to retrieve us. I slip an arm around her before they can touch her, steadying her against my shoulder.
“Don’t,” she whispers. “Don’t help me—Arion will see and it will make everything worse.”
“No worse than it already is after your magic flared,” I say.
She doesn’t look at me, but her weight remains against my arm just long enough for me to count three heartbeats. We’re too close to the end of this. Too near to making it out alive.
Something dark strikes me in the chest. Even if I don’t have a chance to change her opinion of me, getting her out is my priority. If Arion cheats us some way, as he is very capable of doing, I will be ready. If I have to die to make sure she makes it out of here tomorrow, I will.
As we are paraded away from the arena and then back through the dungeons, the other prisoners stir.
“The gold-digging whore lives to see another day!” one of them shouts through the bars, and it takes everything in me to not stop, to pull against the guards and strike the elf through the iron bars.
But we keep walking.
I should just be grateful that they haven’t separated us again.
Thorne seems to be good for something.