It hadn't occurred to me before that there had been a reason why we'd been placed in a cell together, or why the prisoners were retrieved in batches. I wonder what similarities they found between us to decide, anything to give me an advantage when I face them in the Shadowthorn. All I can come up with is our gender. But could it be something else? Something more?
This time, when the king opens his mouth to address his following, he’s so close that his poised voice reverberates through my body.
"Those of you in this group requested something out of the ordinary. Something spectacular. A challenge, perhaps. A delicatessen."
Spectacular?
I glance between the sorry faces of the women I've been imprisoned with for the past week. There's nothing spectacular about any of us, unless you count being starved and plucked from our homes by ravenous monsters spectacular.
"At first glance," the king says, gesturing down to us. "The three humans before you might not seem like much. But I assure you, you will not be disappointed. I am delighted to present to you the greatest prizes in the entire Hunt, and they're all yours for the taking.”
The king hops down from his horse, leather boots thudding in a patch of dirt where he lands. With the presence of a prowling predator, he strides toward us, snatches our chains, and pulls each of us forward, one at a time, into his darkness.
Elison is first.
"May I present to you a woman with child. Two heartbeats for the price of one."
He shoves her back in line.
Next, he grabs Mira. Spinning her around with pale fingernails that dig into her shoulders, King Tor parades the frightened girl before the hungry mob.
"An innocent twice-over.” He explains further, “A virgin who has not yet bled on her moon. The blood you feast from her will be the first she's ever given."
Another careless shove, Mira stumbling over the hem of her long skirts as she crashes into Elison. Her sun-kissed complexion burns with embarrassment as she withers into herself, and I grow to hate the king all the more.
Then King Tor stands before me.
He's just as tall and as looming as his son is. But there's something far more vicious in his cold gaze. Something detached. In the dark depths of his eyes, thousands of the dead cry out for justice. I can see the limbs he's severed without a hint of remorse. The gallons upon gallons of blood he's spilled out of anger, not even bothering to lap at it.
This isn’t just about survival for him. It's about power.
Whatever happened to him in the Shadowthorn, it made him snap. He lost his humanity long before he became a noctis.
When he reaches for me, it's like the dead guide me, their vengeance becoming my own.
My bound hands ball into fists and I take a swing at the king.
With a muffled curse, he dodges, my hands flying past his shoulder. I stumble forward, off-balance. He catches me by the back of my neck and steadies me, his sickening smile slithering into place as he addresses the crowd and their roar of laughter.
"And let's not forget those of you who requested a challenge. Dare I say that this one has just proven that she will not disappoint.” He glares down at me as if in warning, the sickening stench of copper wafting from his every breath. “She killed two of our own during the expedition. She'll make for a delicious kill." He leans low, mouth pressed to my ear so that I alone can hear his threats. "I hope they make you suffer."
This time, instead of tossing me back in line with my cellmates like a discarded piece of trash, I'm flung forward.
Toward the Shadowthorn.
With a hammering heart, I realize my wrists are no longer bound either.
My wide eyes meet the king's. He shoves the remaining prisoners forward and utters one final word.
"Run."
20
AN ACT OF TREASON
From the window in my stone tower, I watch the noctis assemble. We’re doing things differently this year, thanks to the humans my team and I procured, and a half-hearted suggestion from yours truly. The prisoners are retrieved and sent to clusters of noctis, instead of the usual free-for-all-frenzy. I told my father that giving the Hunt an element of elitism might make up for the fact that we’re short on humans this year.
To my surprise, he liked the idea.
