Valkyrie's Claim (Academy of Immortals 2)

He nods. “If he’s fast enough.”

As though the monster can smell his prey, it shrieks again, claws scraping against the metal crate. It takes four guards to open the cage door. Darius doesn’t look scared. Just thoughtful. The crowd hums with excitement. I feel nauseous, and Elizabeth holds my hand. She hasn’t seen one of these creatures on her own, but she witnessed first-hand what it did to Armin’s leg.

The door slides open and the guards scatter. A scaly black wing appears first. The students around us quiet, aware for the first time what’s about to happen. From up in the stands, I see Darius assessing the monster—he only gets one second—before the beast flies out of the crate, jaw open wide, talons outstretched. The shift is instantaneous. A blink. Then there are two monsters on the field, swooping toward one another. Howling identical, bone-chilling cries.

I should look away. I should walk away. I don’t. I’m frozen in my seat like every other spectator in the room. Watching and waiting for the massacre to begin.

Darius, the Shaman, prevails. The others? Only one manages to avoid complete annihilation. For a moment, I think they’re dead. All four, but, as they carry the bodies off the field, I sense the magic. It’s similar to the fighting rings back home. The monster itself is an illusion. Real enough that spectators actually watch someone die. The person involved actually feels like they die. But it’s fake. It’s a test.

And I want to know what happens to the students that failed.

I slip away from Elizabeth and Luke, vanishing into the crowd. I push against the throng of people, all eager to get away from the blood and gore. There’s a sense of shock among the students, probably similar to what Luke and Marielle felt when they realized what their parents had sent them to face certain death.

The exit I’m looking for is down on the field—where the students entered the arena. I jump the railing, landing on the grass. My boots skink into the surface. It’s wet with blood—real or fake. I fight a wave of nausea when I see a clump of hair.

The doorway isn’t guarded. Why would it be? Only a fool would head into the bowels of such a place. I leave the bright, glaring lights of the stadium and walk down a long ramp. It’s damp and smelly. I hear voices ahead and press my back against the clammy, exposed dirt walls. I peer around the corner and see faintly lit cells. Four students lean against the walls—all exhausted and out of it. They may not be physically hurt, but the psychic damage is real. I’ve experienced it.

“Leave the losers there. No food. No water,” a man’s voice says. I don’t recognize it.

“Then what?” Another man.

“Then they prove themselves worthy, or they die. It’s a culling. Only the strong will survive.”

A culling. Is that what Roland’s up to? Testing the students to see who is strong enough to be in his army?

Darius certainly proved his worth.

A chill runs down my spine as I realize how foolish we’ve been. How unprepared. We’d been living in denial, thinking we could keep this war from happening, but that’s idiotic. Roland told us why he was here. Why the gods sent him. Did I really think I could just keep the key hidden and everything would be okay?

What if they find it? Do I even have the allies to stop them?

I start to back away, heading toward the entrance. A hand wraps around my arm. I rear back my fist, ready to fight, except that hand is secured when I’m yanked against a hard body with a warm, musky scent.

“What the fuck are you doing down here?”

“Agis?” I swallow back my heartbeat. “Where have you been? Where were any of you tonight?”

“In the shadows,” he says cryptically.

“Did you see the fights?”

I see him nod in the faint light.

“And what? You decided to let it happen? You’re okay with Roland building an army?”

“Victorine is a signal of his desperation. The culling is a front. Pretending to have control. We have the key, Hildi. He’s hoping to flush it out with scenes like this. He’s preying on your conscience.”

“And what? You guys don’t have one?”

He laughs. “Not in a time of war, we don’t.”

“What do we do next?”

“Nothing,” he says, glancing over my shoulder. “We keep doing what we’re doing. We build up our own allies. We keep fit and strong. We protect the key.”

“And then what?” I’m not convinced that will work.

“When the time is right, we take Roland down, just like Garland.”