Page 32 of Hallowed Games

Godric frowned at someone in the distance, and he blew a strand of black hair out of his eyes. “Guillaume the Dulcet accused us of being Serpent-touched.” He glared across the room. “More like Guillaume the Duplicitous.” He cupped his hand around his mouth, shouting, “Guillaume the Deceitful. Guillaume the Dolt! That’s right. Dolt.” His voice echoed over the hall, and a silence followed. Godric folded his arms, glaring. “Guillaume wanted our spot at the Crown and Dagger. Prick. Look where it got him.”

Hugo scratched his cheek. “Godric counter-accused him, and now he’s here, too. Really, he could have joined our troupe. Because now we’re all here. And me, without my medicine.” He sighed.

“Nah, he never could have joined us,” said Godric. “He can’t play the lute to save his life. He’s always out of key. Killing that prick would be a favor to anyone with ears. In fact, I can’t wait for the trials to start for that reason alone.”

Hugo clutched his stomach. “I don’t feel so well.”

“It’s the poppy water, you know that?” said Godric. “I told you to take it easy on that stuff.”

Shadows darkened the skin beneath Hugo’s bulging eyes. Under his cowl, his platinum hair stuck out in wild curls. “It’s made me one with the Archon.”

“Oh, really?” snapped Godric, pulling up his hood. “You’re one with the Archon? Can your almighty omnipotence get us out of here, then, before we all die? Maybe some time before the Trial of the fucking Abyss?”

“What’s the Trial of the Abyss?” I interrupted.

Godric’s gaze flicked to me, and he pressed his lips into a thin line. “It’s the worst one. If we even get that far. People go mad. They eat each other. They smash their own heads against the walls.” His sun-kissed skin had paled, and he now looked nearly as sickly as Hugo without his medicine.

“I’m not afraid to die,” muttered Hugo. “I will miss my cat, though, if you can miss people when you’re dead.”

“And you need to get back to Ariel, don’t you? He sleeps on your pillow.” Godric bit off an enormous chunk of his bread. “Look around the table. Which of these people do you actually think you could kill? Remember when you fought in the Harrowing? You were amazing. Not anymore.” Godric narrowed his eyes at me. “How will you last more than a few minutes against a real witch?”

“Don’t you know we’re all real witches, according to the Order?” Percival snapped.

The way he said it so defensively made me wonder if he had real magic, too.

I twirled my water cup on the table. “Like I said, I’m not allowed to use magic during the trials. They’ll kill me right away if I do. I’m not your biggest threat.”

I glanced up at the stained glass windows, and my mind churned.

Maybe this meeting was an opportunity. Hugo might not be in the best shape of his life, but he had been a trained fighter. Godric was a soldier, too, and the man was the size of an ox.

The thought sparked in my skull, and I leaned forward. “What if the best way to get through this is to form alliances?”

“How would that work when only one person survives?” asked Percival. “At some point, the alliance has to be broken. It’s not like we can kill all the Luminari in Ruefield, although…” He trailed off.

I nodded. “True. But I’m just thinking about getting the best chance. And what if our best chance is by keeping each other safe?”

Godric’s forehead wrinkled. “And if you can’t use your lethal magic, how are you going to help us?”

“I’m not just a witch. I trained as a soldier for Baron Throckmore.” I avoided the word assassin. “I don’t rely on my magic to kill.”

Godric slapped the table. “A woman soldier? Well, now I’ve heard it all.”

I sucked in a sharp breath. “All we can do is try to find the best chance of making it to the end.”

From my side, a woman leaned forward. She pulled down her hood, showing off her dark hair threaded with glittering jewels and her delicate features. “You will have me as part of your alliance.” It wasn’t a question, and she spoke with a faint Aquitainian accent. “I will join.”

Godric’s gaze slid to her. “And what exactly would you offer? Hugo and I killed hundreds in the Harrowing. Don’t tell me you’re a woman soldier, too.”

She sighed dramatically. “Not a soldier. A healer.”

Hugo’s eyebrows rose. “Another real witch?”

“No,” she said sharply. “Not a real witch. But it angered my parents when I learned peasant skills such as healing, so I did it.”

“Sounds like bollocks,” grumbled Godric. “No.”

Hugo gripped his stomach, and his pale hair hung before his eyes. “Can you help me? I need my medicine.”

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