Page 22 of The Crow Games

Nola slid her arm around my shoulders and fit me against her side. “I wouldn’t want an audience either if I thought I was about to be on the wrong end of a bad thrashing, but let me walk you at least.”

“I’m not planning on getting thrashed,” I grumped.

“Well, that’s a good start,” she said. “Let me have a look at this basher anyway.”

Her sturdy presence steadied me. And when the beast roared again so loud I felt it rattling through my bones, my spirit didn’t shrink.

The tunnel ended in an ancient courtroom built on dark flagstones and lit by flaming braziers. The ceiling stretched into a dome vast enough for a god in his giant form to easily fit inside. We stopped at the edge of the hall, where the archway yawned wide.

I couldn’t yet see the beast. A bend in the wall and a row of columns hid him from view, but stomping hooves and scraping chains against stone was enough to bring nightmare images to mind.

“If you’d have let us roll for this, you wouldn’t be here now,” Nola whined. “Ruchel would have handled it with a little mental suggestion. She’d have let the fate-weaving sisters choose someone from the other coven with her dice.”

“Their coven is nowourcoven,” I scolded.

She rolled her eyes. “Aggravatingly soft-hearted . . .”

“I appreciate you coming, Nola, I do, but don’t say farewell to me. This isn’t goodbye.” My words were an encouragement for myself as much as for her. If I pretended to be overconfident, I hoped the rest of me would soon follow suit. It worked that way sometimes.

But apparently now was not one of those times. My stomach plummeted.

Crouching low, I removed my pocket pistol from my boot. I took a quick drink from my canteen just to wet my lips, then I stuffed everything into my satchel and handed them over. She was so tall she had to duck her head so I could slide the strap around her neck.

“Don’t let anyone have my things,” I instructed. “I’ll get them back from you on the train.”

Nola leaned out around the edge of the archway. The beast roared, and she leapt back into the hall. Her face had gone ghostly white, and my belly sank further remembering how unaffected she’d been by the slaughter at the start of the trial. If one look at that beast had her worried, well, that didn’t bode well for me.

“He’s built like a man,” she said, clearing her throat, “so he’ll have weaknesses like one too. Don’t waste precious rounds on his thick hide. If you’re a bad shot, get in close enough you can’t miss and shoot him where he’s soft. Eyes or testicles. Get a bullet or a blade in there and it won’t matter how big the brute is. Understand?”

I rested a hand atop my revolver where it pressed against my belly. “I’m not a bad shot. That’s just what I’ll do.” It was poor luck that we didn’t have enough rounds to practice with. I’d be an even better shot if I could take a moment to get more familiar with the revolver.

Chin down, Nola started to turn away but hesitated. “I didn’t want to like you,” she said solemnly.

A smile stretched my lips. “Sorry.”

The crinkles near her cobalt eyes deepened. “It’s rude of you, really, being likable in a place like this.”

“I could kick you in the shin right now if you want. I’ll keep doing it until you like me less.”

Her grin went crooked. “Just come back to us, all right, ducky? Then you can kick me all you’d like.”

“I’ll hold you to it.”

I watched her walk away. When she was almost around the bend, she stopped.Eyes and testicles, she mouthed, pointing at the corresponding locations on her body. I raised a hand up to her in a vow. And then she was gone. It was for the best, but I felt the absence of my new coven like a chasm opening wide in my gut.

I filled my chest with a heaving breath. My palms were already sweating. I stepped out into the courtroom, and when the monster charged at me, straining against his chains, spots popped before my eyes. His roar shot straight through me like a javelin, nearly knocking me off my feet.

He was as tall as two Nolas. The garm had the face of a boar, blood dripping from his tusks, and the torso and arms of a powerfully built man. His skin was thick and leathery. He walked upright on fleece-covered hindlegs, and his hooves were cloven like a great bull’s. Made of bone powder, a narrow combat circle was drawn tightly around the beast. The only thing keeping him from charging out and killing me was the chain around his neck, secured to the floor with an iron spike.

Nott sat on a stone throne in his mortal form. The throne was so massive it dwarfed him physically, though there was something in the secret smile that crooked the corner of his mouth, something that made him seem Otherworldly and larger than life. I doubted anyone would mistake him for a regular man. The God of Night and Mischief made a beautiful mortal, though: golden skin and a waterfall of raven hair. His amber eyes were accented with kohl, and he wore a ring on every finger.

On the throne opposite him, his twin, Mara, Queen of Nightmares, curled up in her cat form, her coat as glossy and black as volcanic glass. She was a very large cat, bigger than a panther.

Three more giant thrones were arranged in a semi-circle behind theirs, empty. Beside them, the biggest, bone-white throne remained equally unoccupied. It looked like the Schatten, possibly made of limestone but too off-white and yellowed with age. It dominated the courtroom—throne room, I corrected. This throne was decorated from base to head in images of flying crows.

Nott’s eyes dragged over my messy braid and my torn and punctured clothing, and he snorted. I was a stranger in the Otherworld but not unfamiliar with the bad behavior of gods. I ignored his indifference, drawn to the divine heat I sensed radiating from the nearest column.

“No, sister dear,” Nott said sulkily, “I don’t think we will get much of a show out of this one.”

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