The Faerie Pawn (Dark World: The Faerie Games Book 2)

by Michelle Madow

  “You can’t beat me in my own element!” Octavia screamed down at the water crashing below. The waves were angrier than before. If it weren’t for the invisible shield around the arena, everyone on the first level would have been soaked.

  She raised both tridents above her head and dove into the water.

  People in the stands stood up and peered forward, as if that would help them see what was happening under the surface. But besides the occasional flash of fin or tail, we had no idea what was going on down there.

  I prayed that Molly was getting the best of Octavia.

  Emmet rushed to the mast of the ship and pulled at the ropes holding up the sails. He gathered the rope and flew in a circle around the mast, tugging harder and harder. Finally, he flew outward with so much speed that the end of the rope snapped and broke away from the mast completely. He dropped back onto the deck and laid the rope out by his feet, kneeling and tying it into knots.

  People focused on their food and drinks, not interested in whatever task Emmet was setting out to complete.

  After what felt like minutes, Octavia burst forth from a jet of water and landed next to Emmet, collapsing in a heap next to him. The bottom halves of her legs were mangled and bloodied—like they’d been munched on by a shark. Her tridents were gone.

  The crowd took a collective, disappointed breath inward.

  Octavia sat up, her legs too injured for her to stand. “She’s too big and fast for the tridents to do enough damage.” She scowled down at the water below, searching for Molly. “We need her back in her human form. Or any form smaller than that shark.”

  Emmet hovered behind her and raised his trident, his eyes like lasers blazing a hole into her back.

  Do it, I thought, leaning forward and holding my breath. One jab though the heart. That’s all it’ll take.

  I recoiled a second later. There I was, wishing for Emmet to murder Octavia. I was no better than the rest of them.

  Maybe Bacchus’s bloodlust was getting to me, after all. Or maybe Sorcha’s calming touch had loosened my thoughts.

  But Octavia had to die in the arena today. Otherwise it would be Molly. And Molly deserved to live. I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if she died.

  If Emmet was going to stay true to his word and turn on Octavia, he needed to do it now.

  But he stepped back, his posture relaxing. “I have a plan,” he said.

  Octavia rotated around to face him. “What kind of plan?” she asked.

  He picked up the rope, held onto the end, and swung it above his head. He’d tied it into a giant lasso. “Think you can get Molly back to the surface again?”

  “She got my legs—not my hands.” Octavia scoffed. “I can still use my magic. Can you make the ship hover above the water?”

  Emmet tossed her his trident, and she caught it easily. “You’ll know when to throw it,” he said.

  With one hand free again, he pushed his white air magic beneath the ship and did exactly what Octavia had requested. His magic poured out in a continual stream, the air between the water and the ship sparkling white as it kept the ship hovering above the surface.

  “Perfect.” Octavia scooted forward and used her free hand to shoot her blue magic straight into the water in the center of the arena.

  The water swirled and swirled, until it was a whirlpool going straight to the bottom. The other ship—the one painted white—was sucked into the deadly funnel, crunching and breaking until all that was left of it was debris floating on the surface.

  “Fly our ship next to the whirlpool,” Octavia said, screaming to be heard over the roaring water. “Molly won’t be able to fight the strength of it much longer. And once we see her…” She paused, her eyes glinting with bloodlust.

  “You’ll bring her up, and I’ll force her to shift back,” Emmet said. “And we’ll take her down.”

  21

  Selena

  The whirlpool swirled stronger and stronger. Soon enough, Molly’s shark form appeared on the edges.

  “Found her.” Octavia smirked.

  “Bring her up,” Emmet said. “Just the way you rode those jet streams earlier.”

  Octavia pushed out a burst of her ocean blue magic. The whirlpool slowed at the same time as a jet stream rose Molly up in the air.

  Molly flipped her fins and tail, struggling to get free. But the water surrounding her was binding her. She could barely move.

  Octavia’s command over the water was stronger than any of us had realized. Yet, because of whatever Sorcha had done to me, my emotions were still muted. I knew Octavia’s power was scary, but I couldn’t feel the shock and the horror that I should have felt while watching her and Emmet gang up on Molly. It was like the consequences of what I was seeing hadn’t sunk in. Or like the consequences didn’t exist at all.

  I didn’t want Sorcha to touch me ever again.

  Hopefully it wore off soon.

  Octavia pulled the jet stream closer and closer to the ship, bringing Molly along with it. Molly bared her teeth, ready to chomp once she was close enough to reach them.

  With the whirlpool gone, Emmet released his hold on the ship, lowering it until it was floating on the water again.

  “Stop,” Emmet said once Molly was just out of biting range.

  Streams of water and blue sparkling magic circled Molly like a net, keeping her locked in place. Molly continued to struggle, but she was only wasting her energy.

  Now that Molly was closer to them—and also closer to the trident—I saw what Octavia meant about the trident being too small to injure Molly in this form. It would be like trying to attack a person with tweezers. Not even, because Molly’s hide looked much thicker than our skin.

  “Whatever you’re going to do, do it soon.” Octavia’s mangled legs were losing blood quickly. She was using the handle of the trident like a stick, propping herself up so she remained sitting fully upright. “I can’t hold her like this for much longer.”

  “On it.” Emmet threw the lasso over his head and circled it around and around to gather momentum. His white air magic sparkled around the rope.

  He flung the lasso forward. It wrapped perfectly around Molly’s form. Just before reaching her fin, Emmet pulled tight on the lasso, locking it in place.

  Molly’s eyes bulged, and her struggling intensified. But she couldn’t pull free of Emmet’s lasso. His air magic surrounded it, holding strong.

  The longer the lasso held, the more Molly struggled. The light started to go out of her eyes. She looked like she was going to go unconscious at any second.

  He was suffocating her.

  And I was just watching, unable to stop it. Even if Sorcha hadn’t done whatever she’d done to me, there was nothing I’d be able to do. Jumping in to help Molly was against the rules. Juno would smite me on the spot. And then the Games would go on the same as always.

  All I could do was pray for a miracle.

  “She has to return to her human form between shifts,” Emmet murmured to Octavia. “That’s when you need to throw the trident. I’ll make sure it hits its mark.”

  Molly held out for another full minute, continuing her futile attempts to break free of the rope. But then the air around her shimmered, and she shifted from shark back to human.

  Octavia hurtled the trident toward Molly. And as Emmet had promised, he pushed his white wind magic behind her throw, ensuring the center point of the trident speared straight through Molly’s heart.

  Molly’s violet wings flickered once, twice, three times. Then their light went out. There was nothing left where they’d been. They were just gone. All that remained was Molly’s bleeding corpse, held up by Octavia’s stream of water.

  Octavia pushed out more magic and raised the stream of water higher, elevating Molly like a trophy.

  The crowd exploded into cheers and chanted Octavia’s name.

  Octavia turned and focused on me. “You thought you could get rid of me so easily!” she screamed, the crowd quieting as her sha
rp words filled the arena. “But this was only a taste of what I can do. You just sealed your fate in the Games, Selena. And I hope you enjoyed seeing what’s coming for you.”

  She dropped her hold of the jet stream, lowering Molly into the now flat surface of the water below. Molly’s body floated lifelessly, her blood seeping into the water around her like spilled ink.

  A cold wave of horror sank to the marrow of my bones.

  Molly’s death was my fault. If I hadn’t trusted Emmet’s word, she’d still be alive right now.

  They’re all going to die sometime. The thought popped into my head—unwelcome, but true. Maybe not today. Maybe not next week. But eventually, if I want to win the Games, every single one of them will have to die.

  Because of the serenity Sorcha had forced upon me, the reminder didn’t frighten me as much as before.

  But was it because of what Sorcha had done to me? Or was I coming to terms with the cold hard truth of what would happen if the Nephilim army didn’t come for me, and I needed to win the Games?

  Before I could dwell on it further, Sorcha stood from her throne, staring regally out at the crowd. Everyone else in the Coliseum followed her lead—including myself and the other players.

  The golden orbs flew around Bacchus, and he raised his scepter.

  “Molly—the chosen champion of Diana—is officially the first defeated champion of the Games!” he said. “Her soul is on its way to Elysium, where she’ll be honored as a goddess for all eternity. May her crossing to the Underworld be a peaceful one!”

  “May her crossing to the Underworld be a peaceful one!” the crowd repeated in unison, their voices echoing through the concrete arena.

  Chills crept up and down my spine at the cult-like creepiness.

  Bacchus waited a few seconds, and then continued, “Octavia and Emmet have proven themselves worthy of continuing to compete in this year’s Faerie Games,” he said. “So, as always, it’s my pleasure to welcome Vejovis—the son of Apollo—into the arena to use his golden rod to heal the injuries sustained by today’s victors.”

  I barely paid attention as the healer god used his golden rod to heal Octavia and Emmet.

  Because tomorrow, there’d be a competition to crown a new Emperor of the Villa.

  Cassia and Bridget were the only players I trusted to keep me safe. And Julian, as much as I hated to admit it.

  One of them had to win.

  If they didn’t, I had a sinking feeling that next week, I’d be in the center of the arena fighting for my life.

  22

  Torrence

  The Tower kingdom was a gleaming collection of modern skyscrapers in the eastern section of Caracas, Venezuela. The buildings were so tall that they shot straight up into the clouds.

  The skyscrapers were the only things that shined in Caracas. The rest of the bleak city consisted of nearly ruined buildings and shantytowns on the verge of collapse.

  We teleported to the gate of the walled-in skyscrapers. A lineup of vampires and shifters dressed in identical soldier outfits stood in front of the arched entrance. All of the guards were male. They were armed to the teeth with longswords and daggers.

  The tallest, most muscular of the vampires stood front and center. His eyes roamed up and down Sage’s body, and then moved on to mine.

  His gaze felt like a snake slithering along my skin, and I shuddered in disgust.

  “State your business.” The guard’s voice was laced with a Spanish accent—and with magic. Compulsion. He was a vampire prince. Most likely turned by King Devin himself.

  As if his compulsion would work on us. For as long as I could remember, the mages had given every supernatural on Avalon a black onyx ring that protected us from psychic attacks.

  Thomas—also a vampire prince—stepped forward and looked the Tower vampire straight in the eyes. “My companions and I come from Avalon, under the order of the Earth Angel herself,” he said. “We require an audience with King Devin at once.”

  The vampire prince snarled. “You teleport here—uninvited—and expect the king to be at your disposal?”

  “Avalon is allied with the Tower in the war against the demons,” Thomas reminded him. “We all answer to the Earth Angel.”

  “And all meetings are arranged by the Earth Angel and King Devin,” he said. “But King Devin told us nothing about a meeting.”

  I stepped forward, unable to contain myself for a second longer. “We were sent here by the granddaughter of the former head witch of the Tower,” I said. “She passed along some very interesting—and very private—information about one of King Devin’s affairs.”

  “Mind your place, woman,” said the shifter next to the vampire prince. “Or should I say, girl? You lack the maturity of a real woman.” He licked his lips, his leech-like gaze traveling over to Sage.

  Sage’s eyes hardened. “We’re here to discuss the information we’ve learned with the king, and only with the king. We have every reason to believe this is personal information he wants kept secret. But if he won’t grant us an audience…” She let the sentence hang, the implication enough to get her threat across.

  The shifter growled. But the vampire guard stuck his hand in front of him, stopping him from attacking.

  “What’s the name of this former head witch of the Tower?” He directed his question to Thomas.

  “We only have a first name,” Thomas said. “Donatella.”

  The vampire prince’s nostrils flared the moment Thomas uttered Donatella’s name. “You’ll be escorted to the lobby, where you’ll have your identities confirmed,” he said. The other guards looked at him in shock, but he continued, ignoring their surprised expressions. “I’ll go to King Devin and see if he’s willing to speak with you. But first—surrender your weapons.”

  Reed’s hand went protectively to the handle of his sword. “You’ll return them to us when we leave?” he asked.

  “If you leave, then yes, we’ll return your weapons.”

  “‘If?’” Thomas stared down the vampire prince in challenge.

  “Yes—if,” he said. “If you are who you say you are. And if you’re truly here by the orders of the Earth Angel. After all, like you said—we’re allies. We can’t have our allies deceiving us, can we?”

  “We’re not deceiving you,” Reed all but growled.

  “Good,” he said. “Then follow the guards to the lobby. I’ll meet you there once I’ve spoken with the king.”

  The sleek lobby was full of supernatural patrons at bustling bars and restaurants. Women in short, tight dresses clung onto the men they were with, remaining mostly silent as the men spoke amongst themselves.

  Shifters took our blood samples and hurried away with them—assumedly to an apothecary where witches would examine them. Guards surrounded our table, standing stick straight and looking blankly ahead.

  Thomas looked around intensely, presumably tuning in to the technology around us. His gift of controlling technology was a huge asset in a place like this. Given all the security cameras, he probably had a detailed map of the entire complex in his head already.

  The only people allowed near us were scantily clad human women holding round trays who asked if we wanted drinks. Well, they asked Thomas and Reed if they wanted drinks. They didn’t speak to Sage or me.

  The guys said no.

  The women looked at Sage and me with pity, and scurried off to their next customers.

  The vampire prince returned less than fifteen minutes later. “Come with me,” he said.

  Thomas stood up. Sage and Reed did the same.

  I looked over at them in alarm. Because “come with me” could mean anything. He could be escorting us to the dungeon, for all we knew.

  Reed gave me a single nod, as if reassuring me it would be okay.

  It will be okay, I told myself. Throwing us into the dungeon would break the Tower’s alliance with Avalon. Our kingdoms might not like each other much, but we share an enemy. We’re on the same side. At least u
ntil the demons are defeated.

  I stood up, and we followed the guard into the center of the grouping of skyscrapers, where an elevator waited with its doors open for us to enter.

  23

  Torrence

  The elevator had glass walls, so we could look out at the complex surrounding us. It took us straight up to the topmost floor of the central—and tallest—skyscraper in the kingdom.

  The doors opened, and we stepped into the two-storied foyer of a grand apartment. Two sets of stairs curved around the entryway, the floors and the walls covered in shiny black marble.

  The guard led us back to a sitting area with a giant floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the entire city.

  King Devin sat on a couch facing us, dressed in black jeans and a matching leather jacket.

  Three frail, human women in corsets and fishnet tights sat around him. One of them had her wrist raised to his mouth as he drank her blood straight from the vein. Her neck was tilted back in pleasure—she didn’t even notice our arrival.

  But King Devin did, because he pushed her wrist away from his mouth and dropped it into her lap.

  She blinked a few times and looked to him in question.

  “Go to my room,” he commanded. “We’ll finish this later.”

  The women stood, although the one wobbled from blood loss. The other two rushed toward her to help her balance. Hanging on to one another, they hurried down the hall and up the grand staircase.

  Once they were gone, King Devin wiped the excess blood from his lips and stood up. “I rarely let anyone interrupt my feedings,” he said, finally focusing on the group of us. “But Gustavo here tells me that you mentioned an old head witch of mine whose name I haven’t heard for decades.”

  “Donatella,” Thomas said.

  “Dear, sweet Donatella.” King Devin smiled, his grin laced with debauchery. “She was one of my favorites. Until she deserted me for that wretched kingdom full of unbridled females.”