Page 174 of Lana Pecherczyk
Snickers erupted from the Cardona team.
The Corvus stepped forward, regal despite the mud clinging to his skin. “D’arn Cloud Cielo Cardona.” Each official name fell like a hammer blow. “Evading the tribunal … showing up likethis…” He waved dismissively at the bloody V. “You have much to answer for.”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” The casual insolence was pure Cloud. “Hearing’s still a few turns away. These could be my last moments of freedom. You’re wasting them.”
“Let’s play!” Rocco yelled, bouncing impatiently. “I’m starving. Let’s get this fuck-off fest over with.”
The sun had fully set. Torches blazed across the Great Murder. Around the field, growing crowds brought jars of manabeeze for light. Crow shifters settled in the trees, watching from the boughs with dangling legs swinging through darkness. Someone took bets nearby. Typical. These crows would gamble on a fight between two raindrops.
River knew Cloud had a hidden agenda, some secret knife waiting to twist. He wouldn’t let the violation of his sanctuary slide. But Blake’s power hummed beneath River’s skin now, and he’d be damned if he bowed to a madman’s manipulations.
Fuck it.
“Game on!” he shouted.
The two teams huddled. He stood slightly apart, feigning attention. Every sense remained locked on the other side, where the remaining members of his triad stood shoulder to shoulder, whispering strategy.
“…double back while Rocco…” Talo’s voice faded to background noise.
The Corvus jabbed River’s ribs. “You listening, Umbria?”
He nodded curtly, watching Cloud sketch the play in mud with a stick—old habits.
“Two options,” Talo declared. “Hard and fast through the center, maximum violence?—”
“Violent,” Sera grinned. “I like violent.”
The Corvus bumped fists with her.
“—orflank wide with a timed strike,” Talo finished.
“Why play if you’re not playing to win?” River clipped. “We hit hard. We hit fast. We break them.”
Murmurs rippled through their huddle, but his decision hardened into consensus. Talo shot his son an odd look, but the Corvus clasped River’s shoulder, sealing the strategy with a silent nod.
They broke formation. Mud squished beneath their feet. River crouched, muscles tensed as his team took their positions, ready to defend his drive. Cloud mirrored him across the imaginary line, face a stoic mask as he smoothly took over as the lead hunter. Ash and the others lined up beside him. Ready.
Every reflective surface in the treasure pot caught the manabee lantern and torchlight. Glistening sparkles shimmered and shone between the two teams. The first item lifted would be the only one in play until it landed in a trove.
A whistle pierced the air.
Go.
Chaos erupted. Bodies slammed together. Mud flew in sheets. River moved instinctively, ducking under Tommas’s clumsy grab, weaving through the fray. His target: the sapphire pendant, winking like a fallen star. It had a cord, making it easier to grab.
He lunged, momentum propelling him forward. His fingers closed around the cold, faceted stone just as another hand grabbed him, tattooed knuckles cracking against his, fingers curling around the cord.
Cloud. Face inches away. Dirt, blood, and that familiar smoky ozone scent. Time fractured. Five years ago. Order of the Well. Back to back they stood, surrounded by Nero’s undead and Maebh’s army.
“Left!” Cloud’s dagger whizzed past River’s ear.
“Mine!” Peacemaker severed bone.
Ash thundered past, blade high—“Done.”
A knee drove into River’s gut. Air exploded from his lungs, but his grip on the sapphire held. Neither would yield.
“Let go,” Cloud snarled.
