Page 100 of The Deadliest Game

Isabela, Sam, Isaac.

All dead because of me.

Liliana was still in the hospital from the burns I’d given her.

As Canciller Duarte took his place at the front of the room, the music softened to a whisper, and the crowd fell silent. I tried to steady my breathing, feeling the weight of the gazes that bore down upon me.

"Friends, family, and fellow citizens," the Canciller began solemnly, his voice wavering with emotion. “We gather here today to honor those who have fallen and celebrate the victors of this year's Blood Tournament. Let us never forget the sacrifices made or the bravery shown by all who participated.”

My chest tightened as I glanced around at the other people dressed in black, their expressions a mixture of grief and pride. I caught Antonio's eye next to me momentarily, his gaze steady and unwavering. He offered me a small smile, a spark of encouragement amidst the darkness.

I didn’t return it.

I couldn’t smile at my prometido.

"Let us remember the fallen," continued Canciller Duarte in a hushed tone, "and look to the future with hope and determination."

The somber atmosphere was palpable as the ceremony continued. The mournful music persisted, a constant reminder of the losses we had all suffered. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, feeling the weight of expectation on my shoulders. There were no ashes to be scattered as the remains of my peers and the Trabajadores were forever encased in the Cinturón del Fuego.

Our most holy site was now a mass grave.

“Let us never forget," the Canciller concluded, his voice trailing off with the heart-wrenching melody that filled the room.

A hush settled over the grand hall as the Canciller continued his speech. The black drapes hung heavily from the high walls like silent mourners, and the melancholy music swelled, tugging at my heart with every note. The audience, clad in dark attire, sat motionless, their faces etched with grief and anticipation. It felt more like a funeral than a celebration.

"Let us now turn our attention to the champions,” the Canciller continued, his voice growing stronger. “Renata Valarde Bordón and Santiago Flores Jimenez. They were two young people who displayed extraordinary courage and skill during this year's Blood Tournament. We look to you as symbols of hope and promise for what lies ahead."

My heart hammered in my chest, each beat echoing the tension that filled the room. I could feel the eyes of the audience upon me, their expectations suffocating. I swallowed hard to steady my nerves and ignore the knot twisting in my stomach.

“To lighten the mood,” the Canciller said, pausing for effect, "I have an important announcement to make."

His words hung in the air, laden with possibility and uncertainty. I could sense the collective breath being held by the audience as they braced themselves for whatever revelation awaited them.

There was no mystery in it for me. I knew what he would say.

As the Canciller prepared to speak, I clenched my hands tightly in my lap, the fabric of my dress digging into my palms, and my leg hurt. Badly.

"Friends, family, fellow citizens," the Canciller began, his voice reverberating throughout the hall, "the time has come for our Blood Magic lineage to be strengthened through unity and love."

"Antonio Armando Castillas Morales," the Canciller's voice boomed through the hall, shattering the fragile silence, "and Renata Valarde Bordón shall be united in marriage to bring forth a new generation of powerful Blood Magic wielders. We look forward to the celebration in two weeks’ time.”

The words struck me like lightning, even though I had heard them before. The air in the grand hall seemed to thicken with the weight of the announcement, and the room was instantly filled with gasps and murmurs.

My heart pounded furiously in my chest, each beat screaming in protest of this forced union. I searched for Antonio among the sea of faces, desperate for his reaction.

The surrounding audience rippled with whispers which spread like wildfire. Some wore expressions of cynical amusement, while others struggled to hide their shock, their eyes wide and mouths agape. Even in the dim light cast by flickering candles, I could see the shadows of doubt etched across many faces.

My traitorous heartbeat in my chest. How could I marry Antonio? How could we pretend we weren’t in ruin? This wasn't real; he had played a role in his first wife's death.

The wyvern was gone, and my mind was swirling with questions.

The room seemed to spin around me as the weight of the Canciller's announcement pressed down upon my chest. I could barely breathe, let alone think straight. Antonio's expression was unreadable, a whirlwind of thoughts hidden behind his light brown eyes.

The Canciller said some other nonsense to the crowd, and suddenly there was a loud cheer throughout the room. It felt out of place. But the hands clapped while my body remained frozen, entrenched in my perpetual hell.

When the Canciller declared the tournament over, his words sounded like a death knell to me. Everyone surged forward to congratulate both Santiago and me on our victory; hugs and pats on the back were offered generously as I tried not to succumb to my emotions right then and there.

At least the Canciller hadn't announced a marriage for Santiago. When I tried to ask Magda about it earlier, she told me not to worry.

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