The candlelight flickers by an invisible wind and Lilith gives us a sympathetic grin. “It’s been lovely meeting you all. It was good to see you, son, don’t be a stranger.”
“Yeah, you too Mommy, tell Daddy I’ll see him soon.”
Lilith winks and vanishes in a swift breeze.
“I’m sensing some family drama,” I say, taking the summons from Marshal and reading it on my own. It’s pretty straightforward, including an addendum at the bottom that if we don’t follow the rules of the summons, we forfeit any chance of winning this war and the demons of hell will chase us down. The apocalypse will be won by our enemies.
Marshal gives the parchment back to Luke, and he rolls it up and tucks it into his pocket. I’d wondered all along if he’d really betray his father. He may be faking, but deep down I don’t think so. His disgust is palpable.
I wish I felt the same about Marshal—him, I still don’t trust. He’s proven himself to be fickle and power hungry. He needed me to heal him, and I need him to fulfil my destiny. Gods help us if he’s really on the other side.
6
Armin
I stand in the shadows peering out at the massive arena that Victorine created to look like Olympus. The stands are full of students. A large cage sits at the end of the field. Day after day, they come here to watch the culling of their classmates, praying they aren’t next. The discombobulating sensation of déjà vu rolls muddies my mind as my eyes are drawn to the box seat in the stands. Roland is there sitting beside Marshal. Marielle hangs onto Roland, and I spot one of the twins in Marshal’s lap. A false grin is plastered on his handsome face. If there’s one thing the knight knows what to do, it’s fake it. He’ll probably smile at the gods as they take his final breath.
Marshal’s gaze is focused on the field below, and cheers draw my attention to the center. Victorine walks out, floating on a cloud—an actual cloud of puffed air. She taunts the crowd, “Good evening, spawn of royalty! Tonight’s very special, the first solo challenge to test one lucky student’s worth!”
She grins, wicked and delighted, to the cage across the field. I narrow my eyes at the small animals inside. There’s something different about them. Something concrete. A sense of dread fills my gut.
What has her demented mind created?
From where I stand, I can see one of the animals bare its teeth. They are sharp, many, and compiled in rows.
There’s been a shift in the game, and Roland wants us to witness it. Or at least that’s what I assume as the gaping hole opens across the field, allowing the challenger to walk onto the field, head covered in a dark hood. The person’s stature is small, and if they speak, it’s drowned out by the sound of the ravenous crowd. The guard yanks off the hood at the same time Victorine opens the cage.
My heart skids to a stop when I see Elizabeth at the other end of the field, her hair a mess from the hood. Her eyes wide with confusion and terror. I watch as her expression transforms, watching the small, fluffy animals come racing toward her. They look sweet. Gentle, but under the cheers is the low growl of their hunger.
Panicked, Elizabeth looks around—probably for a weapon.
“Armin,” Rupert says from behind me. Where he came from, I’m not sure. “Do something.”
Do something.
I blink, the words rattling around like an echo in my mind. The scene plays in slow motion, because although I know I’m here to save Elizabeth, that’s not who I’m focused on. It’s the woman striding across the grass, weapon held high, blond hair swinging at her back.
The Valkyrie.
My Valkyrie.
I rush onto the field, prepared to fight for Hildi, the one that showed me how to feel, how to care, how to fucking sleep. Blood squishes between my toes and the snapping jaw of gods-made creatures bite at my ankles. Day after day, my goal is to reach her to save her. Day after day, I fail.
I slash my sword, the moves rote—choregraphed? I will myself to take a different path, stab harder, kick with greater force. But my arms and legs guide smoothly yet out of my control. Like a puppet. One of these chances it has to be different. Why would the gods torment me with the same scene over and over?
Why would they send me back here? Keep me locked in a never-ending battle? Why would they make me watch Hildi die, over and over again?
Yet, as the assault happens, as she does everything she can to save her friend, I’m useless. I can’t reach her as the monsters’ sharp teeth plunge into her arm, while another slashes at her leg with thick, razor-sharp claws. Blood pours from the wounds and she stumbles, tripping over the small beasts, her back hitting the cage. She grunts and grapples for the sword, but it’s lost in a sea of fuzzy monsters. I fight to get to her, my legs made of stone, the ground quicksand. She looks up into the drooling grin of an abomination, his claws digging into her stomach. The crowd’s excitement peaks. At one point the God of Death—Agis—arrived to carry her away.
Not this time.
It’s just me, failing.
It’s just me, watching her die.
It’s just me, caught in a cycle of futile pain, of loss, of horror.
It’s just me, losing the woman I love, over and over again.