I was beginning to understand the humans’ infatuation with this bitter drink. It was starting to make me feel alive.
Bo left, ostensibly to change his shirt, and I was able to eat my breakfast in peace. A few minutes later, a group of guards entered the hall and announced the arrival of King Gorm. He, Revna, and Sune sat at their usual table on the dais. I didn’t see Galin at all.
When someone called my name, I looked up to see Thyra beckoning me. After grabbing a roll and refilling my coffee cup, I hurried to join her.
As I sat, she stared at the mug in my hand. “Are you drinking coffee?”
“Yup. It’s actually amazing. I could eat nails.”
Thyra shook her head. “Well, I guess it’s better than espresso shots.”
Before I could ask her what an espresso shot was, Gorm spoke. “Thank you all for coming to breakfast. I hope everyone slept well. The Night Elves will be holding the next contest. Lord Thyra will explain the details.”
Next to me, Thyra stood. “Thank you, King Gorm.” She turned to face the assembled elves. “I have already told your leaders the details of the contest, but fortunately, it is quite simple. A short footrace. We will run from Bunker Hill to the Old State House. I will reveal the exact route at the start of the race. As with the melee, hand to hand combat will be acceptable, but ranged weapons will not be allowed. Magic is strictly forbidden. The first two hundred twenty-five elves to finish will go on. The rest will be executed.” A heavy silence fell over the hall. “We will race tonight at sundown.”
“Tonight?” King Gorm interjected. “You told us in three days.”
Thyra shrugged. “I changed my mind.”
He spluttered before finally saying, “You can’t do this.”
Thyra smiled. “Oh, but I can.”
And as she sat down again, I found myself hoping with a shiver of dread that neither Galin nor I would be among those executed tonight. I may have come up with the plan, but it was going to be a close thing to survive the race.
Chapter 26
Galin
By the time I got down to the mead hall, it was nearly empty—just a few servants putting away dishes and pastries.
“Where is everyone?” I asked a servant as I snagged the last black currant scone.
“On the roof, Your Highness.”
“On the roof?”
“They’re exercising or something, my lord. Didn’t you hear? There’s going to be a contest tonight. A race.”
“Tonight,” I repeated, still not quite making sense of it. It seemed too soon.
With the scone still in my hand, I hurried up the Citadel’s many flights of stairs until I reached the roof.
I found it awash with elves. A group of High Elves fought with practice swords, while Night Elves sparred bare-handed. Elves of all three tribes could be seen jogging around the path that ringed the parapets, warming up their legs.
“Galin!” I heard Revna shout.
I spotted her and Sune stepping down from the running track. Revna was dressed like an athlete, in shorts, and a bejeweled dagger hilt protruded from a sheath at her waist.
She sidled up to me. “Have you learned anything about tonight’s contest?”
I shook my head. “I was sleeping.”
She rolled her eyes in annoyance. “Well, why don’t you ask your little tunnel swine girlfriend?” She pointed to a group of Night Elves standing on one of the walkways. In the center, Ali was talking quietly with Thyra and Ilvis.
“How about I throw you into the Well of Wyrd?” The shock of heat to my skull was worth the fear in her eyes, even if it was just for a moment.
I turned to walk away from her, prowling over the parapets, but my gaze was on Ali. Her tight black leather showed off every curve, and she’d pulled her hair into a ponytail. I watched as she called Skalei to her. With a flick of her wrist, she tossed the blade high into the air. It spun and sparkled in the sunlight like a majorette’s baton. When it fell back down, she effortlessly caught it.
She wasn’t like any of the High Elves. She was strong, confident, lethal, and determined to make her own way. She would also kill me if it weren’t for our bond. She seemed to feed off a yearning for vengeance.
She flipped the dagger again, even higher this time. If she miscounted the rotations, reached out at the wrong time, she could cut herself deeply, but she didn’t. Her hand flashed out at just the right moment, effortlessly snatching the blade from the air.
I could have watched her all afternoon, but I knew this was also a chance to study the opposition.
I began to scan the contingent of Vanir, practicing on the dark stone cap that covered the Well of Wyrd. They’d split into two groups and were taking turns throwing a javelin back and forth. One group would throw the javelin, and as it arced through the air, the other would stand in its path, diving out of the way at the last moment like they were playing a strange game of chicken.
Why were they throwing javelins when ranged weapons weren’t allowed? My spine stiffened as I wondered if they were going to come after Ali again. They still wanted revenge for their slaughtered Emperor.
A hawk—the one I’d seen perched on the Regent’s shoulder—circled above the Vanir and watched as they tossed the javelin back and forth. Studying them, I noticed another subtlety to their game: each time they threw the javelin, the two groups moved a little closer together, increasing the difficulty.
Then, a particularly large Vanir picked up the javelin. Rearing back, he hurled it at the other side. It spun, shooting through the air like a missile, and the Vanir on the opposite side barely had time to dive out of the way. They leapt up, shouting obscenities. Apparently, this was a bridge too far, even for them.
The hawk swooped, screeching. Without warning, a Vanir warrior hurled the javelin at the opposing team, and he narrowly missed impaling another of his tribe.
More shouting and cursing. The hawk continued to screech.
They are insane.
I started towards the Vanir. By the time I approached, they’d set aside all pretext of sportsmanship and simply launched into a brawl. The two sides charged each other. A warrior snatched up the javelin and hurled it just as another Vanir tackled him.
The javelin flew out of his grip. Aimed much too high, it spiraled into the sky like a rocket. The two groups of Vanir clashed, and I heard the crack of a jaw shattering as the big Vanir punched a smaller warrior. Thinning the competition for us. What did they think they were doing?
Around the brawling Vanir, the Night Elves and High Elves watched, engrossed.
Movement flickered above me as the javelin descended again. And something else, I realized, squinting. The hawk racing after it. Diving, silent as a ghost.
In a blur, the hawk intercepted the javelin, knocking it, redirecting its path with a flash of talons.
Now, it flew directly towards Ali. My heart went still.
“Ali!” I shouted.
Too late. She spun, but there was no time to dodge, and the javelin plunged into her thigh.
She screamed, clutching her leg. Around her, Night Elves stood in shock.
I charged across the rooftop, my heart in my throat, blood roaring in my ears. “Keep her still! Don’t let her move!” As I passed a guard, I yelled at him, “Get the royal doctor!”