Page 31 of Hallowed Games

I swallowed hard. I hoped that wasn’t true because the Archon and I weren’t on great terms.

The colored light streamed through one of the windows, daubing Sion’s sharp jawline with scarlet. “In the second trial, you will resist the temptations of the Thornwood Forest. The worthy among you will be able to separate the divine nature of your mind from the animal cravings of your body. You must think clearly to answer our questions correctly.” The corner of his full lips twitched, and light glinted from his eyes. “I’m afraid I’ll have to kill anyone who fails, and that will likely be many of you.” He shrugged, looking serene. “But it’s what the Archon demands, and who am I to argue? In your third and final trial, you will enter Tyrenian ruins, haunted by the spirits of the dead from the Anarchy. You will retrieve the Oath Skull. Anyone whose faith betrays him will remain trapped inside the haunted ruins for all eternity.”

The way his eyes danced, I felt like this was all a joke to him.

Fear thickened the atmosphere, making it hard to breathe. For a moment, I closed my eyes, trying to imagine myself scaling the outer walls. But they were impossibly high and smooth, without fingerholds or footholds. Legions of Luminari patrolled the battlements, waiting to shoot anyone who tried to escape.

“The small group who remains after those three trials,” added Sion, “will be examined by the Pater.” He lifted a finger. “One will be forgiven. One alone.”

I shuddered.

Sion opened his palms to the ceiling. “The rest will burn in Sootfield to purify our kingdom. It may seem a cruel fate, but it’s better to spend an hour on the pyre than an eternity in the torment of the abyss, isn’t it? Deus Invictus, Archon Magne.”

His final prayer echoed in the hall, and fear roiled in my skull.

When I turned to look behind me, I found the tattooed man staring directly at me.

A target on my back.

CHAPTER 16

As the Magister stalked out of the room, he shot me a long, piercing look that made my pulse race. He’d just enumerated all the terrible ways we could be killed over the next few weeks, and my breath felt shallow, panicked. What were the chances of getting back to Leo now?

“I’m Hugo.” The gaunt, blond man across from me interrupted my thoughts. He nodded toward the man beside him and said, “This is Godric. We heard what you did. Quite brave, that daring escape from the procession.”

“Thanks.” It didn’t feel like a great idea to make friends with people I might have to kill in a few days.

“Brave. But we don’t approve of magic,” said Godric, loudly. “Or witchcraft, in case any Ravens are listening.” His cowl had fallen, revealing dark hair pulled up into a loose bun. Wisps trailed down his stubbled cheekbones. He glared at his friend. “We don’t need to make friends, Hugo. You won’t be able to kill anyone if you like them. You’re too nice for that.”

Exactly what I’d been thinking.

Godric’s gaze flicked back to me. “And she’s an actual witch, Hugo. She’ll kill you in moments, just with her thoughts.”

I wished I could kill with my thoughts. But at his warning, a shiver rippled up my nape. How many had already decided I was the biggest threat here? I’d be the first target for everyone when it was time to start killing.

“I’m not allowed to use magic,” I said emphatically.

“I don’t want to kill anyone.” Hugo’s gaze drifted to the colored windows above. “I’m a poet these days, not a killer. Godric, my slaughtering days are over. The gods speak through my harp.”

“God,” his friend corrected sharply. “Singular. Remember? Honestly.”

“Yes,” Hugo agreed. A bead of sweat ran down his temple, and he wiped it off. “That.”

“You don’t have a choice here, mate,” said Percival. A ragged scar ran down the side of his forehead to his temple, and I wondered what had happened to him. “Thanks to the Order, your days of choosing are over. Why do you think they took our clothes from us? We’re not us anymore. What did you say your name was? Hugo? You’re not Hugo anymore; I’m not Percival de Montfort. We’re just Penitents. We do what they say. And if they say to kill, we kill.”

“Just stick with me as much as you can,” muttered Godric to his pale friend.

I swallowed hard as a tiny kernel of an idea began to bloom in my mind. On the one hand, emotional ties were a bad idea. They’d stop us from doing what we needed to do to survive. On the other hand, Godric was clearly going to look after his friend. They were allies. A team. Of course, in the end, only one could win. But it would increase their chances of being that one survivor, wouldn’t it?

Loneliness was the Order’s greatest weapon. What if we took it away from them?

I glanced over my shoulder and found Lydia staring daggers at me. I swallowed hard. Once, we could have been allies. Not anymore, obviously. She should be lying in bed with Anselm right now, wrapped in his arms.

I turned from her, my gaze flicking between Godric and Hugo. “So, I take it you two are friends.”

Hugo nodded. “We used to be soldiers. Now we’re troubadours. I live for music. The spirits speak through my harp.”

“You don’t have a harp here, though, do you?” said Percival. He seemed brutally determined to make everyone face the reality of the situation. “Your harping days are over.”

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