Chills slide down my spine, and the cold wind whipping through the whole arena with the dome open has fear settling in my stomach like a fifty-pound weight. It drags me down, makes me realize just how impossible a task I’ve set for myself. Just how impossibly tired I already am.
I want to turn around, want to run away, want to be anywhere but here, doing anything but this.
The feeling is so overwhelming that it all but smothers me as I try desperately to get it under control. But it just grows and grows and grows until I can barely breathe, barely think. As I finally find the strength to start the formidable job of fighting it back, I can’t help wondering if the grayness is coming from inside me or if Cyrus has done something to the arena to make me feel like this.
Just the idea that he—or some member of the Circle—is messing with my emotions pisses me off beyond words. And makes me even more determined not to cave to these people. They think they can do whatever they want, that they can run over anyone in their path.
But they aren’t running over me. Not anymore.
Besides, they may be pulling this with me now, but if it works, I won’t be the only one. If I don’t take a stand, if I don’t make a point of showing them that they can’t do whatever they want to whomever they want, then what’s to say they won’t do this again? I can’t be the only person they’re threatened by, can’t be the only paranormal the king hates just because of who I am. If I don’t stop this, now, he’ll lock up a lot more people in that dungeon of his before he’s through.
So I don’t turn around. I don’t run away. I don’t even falter in my steps as I stride to the center of the field. Instead, I keep walking as I ignore the ominous feelings pressing in on me from all sides. I might very well die in this ridiculous quest today, but if I do, I’m going to die fighting. For now, that’s all I can promise myself.
But it’s enough. It carries me right up to the king.
Right up to the Circle, who are standing behind Cyrus in a semicircle of support as he whips the crowd into a frenzy.
Right up to the bloodred line that I have to stand on all alone.
I’m not going to lie. It’s scary as fuck.
Then again, nearly everything has been scary as fuck since I got to this school, so why not just embrace it?
“Nice of you to join us, Grace,” Cyrus says in a voice so barbed, it feels like he’s flaying my flesh from my bones. “We were just about ready to give up on you.”
“Sorry, I was unavoidably detained,” I tell him as I look straight across the field to Cole, who is lined up directly across from me.
Our gazes meet, and the malevolent glee in his makes me want to scream. But it also gives me the strength I need to not look away. Because no way am I giving that jerk the satisfaction of letting him know just how deeply he’s hurt me. Just how much he’s torn me apart.
Cyrus looks me over, fake concern on his face as he plays for the crowd. “Are you all right, Grace? You look like you’ve had a very rough start to the day.”
“I’m fine.”
My answer is dismissive, and for a breath, something flashes in his eyes: Surprise? Rage? Annoyance? I don’t know and, honestly, I don’t care. This is going to go how it’s going to go, and everything else is just window dressing that I don’t have the energy to analyze…or participate in right now.
“Welcome, students and faculty of Katmere Academy, to the rarest of occurrences—one of your own challenging for inclusion on the Circle. And not just any student, mind you, but the first gargoyle student Katmere Academy has ever had. It is a truly thrilling and auspicious day.”
Everyone cheers in response, but there’s a malicious edge to it that I wasn’t expecting, considering these are the people who cheered for me and the rest of my team a few short days ago. Then again, maybe I’m just imagining it—seeing something that isn’t there because I’m so freaked out.
It’s lonely out here by myself, lonely in this stadium, when the last time I was here I had all the support in the world. But right now, it feels like there’s no one in the entire place who is rooting for me. The lone gargoyle.
Jaxon, Flint, and Eden are injured and awaiting help.
Macy is trying to bring that help.
Mekhi and Gwen are in the infirmary.
Even my uncle Finn was powerless to do much more than clap for me as I entered the arena.
And Hudson is probably outside, trying to keep a low profile now that he’s mortal. Not that I blame him. I have my powers and his, and I still wish I was outside…or anywhere else but on this field.
Still, the last thing I want is to spend the rest of my life locked in a dungeon, praying Cyrus won’t kill me. There’s no one else to do this right now, no one else to challenge Cyrus and Delilah’s power. No one else to do what has to be done.
So what I want doesn’t matter. Only winning matters, because winning is the sole way I’ll be able to stop this mess from unfolding.
Cyrus turns back to the crowd, arms open wide like a carnival barker as he begins to weave them a tale in his very proper British accent.
“The eight of us here”—he turns to look at the members of the Circle behind him—“are very excited to see if she measures up, has what it takes to serve on your ruling body. And I know some of you are probably wondering how this happened, how a girl new to your school and new to our world could possibly be afforded an opportunity like this. Where does Grace Foster get the audacity to believe she deserves to rule?”
The stadium fills with an uneasy silence—and a dark one—as the students and faculty turn to look my way. Again, I can’t help feeling like something isn’t right. Like there’s something more at work here than these people suddenly thrilled at the idea of seeing me taken down.
I mean, I know Jaxon’s not my mate anymore. Ostensibly, so does the Circle and all of Cole’s team. After all, Cyrus hasn’t yet asked me where my partner is for this Trial. But I doubt they announced it to the entire stadium in the time it took me to get in here.
So why do they suddenly hate me so much? What’s happened to turn everything so dark? To make it seem like every person in the arena is suddenly against me? And how does Cyrus know to play on it unless he’s causing it?
“It’s okay,” Cyrus continues as the crowd whispers awkwardly among itself. “It’s okay to ask yourself these questions. Every member of the Circle certainly has.”
He gives his best attempt at a sincere laugh, but it just comes across as creepy. Then again, nearly everything about the man comes across as creepy. I swear, how he managed to father two of the most heroic guys I’ve ever met, I’ll never know.
“But whether it seems strange or not, rules are rules. Challenges are challenges, and we here at the Circle strive to always do the right thing. The rules of inclusion state that anyone who is from a faction with an unfilled seat on the Circle may challenge for inclusion. So we are, on this dark and gloomy day, waiting for the—very late—Grace to prove she is worthy.” He laughs again.