I did this to him. He’s going to die because of me. Because I’m a monster.
I physically shake my head, trying to clear it of the horrific thought and instead focus on the horrific scene before me. “Hey, look at me Jax, okay, buddy?” My voice is soft, shaky, but his eyes find mine, nonetheless. I can see the wound already leeching the life from him, his eyes unfocused, his breathing shallow.
“You’re going to be fine, alright?”
His eyes flutter closed, and I pat his cheek, forcing him to look at me, to stay with me.
“Do you hear me? You’re going to be okay.”
My eyes well with tears, the feeling foreign as I blink furiously.
“I’m going to fix this.”
My voice breaks just like I am about to.
My little brother.
The sound of the Elites fighting around us suddenly comes into focus again, and I can hear the clink of weapons and the cries of pain. Everything floods back. I remember why I’m here, what is going on around me, and who really did this to Jax.
A cold, chilling laugh echoes close by. His laugh. I whip my head around, scanning the field for any sign of the bastard that I will make bleed and brutally die for this. But he’s nowhere to be found. I hear his laugh again, coming from only a few paces away.
Nothing. No one is there.
And then it hits me.
He cast an illusion on himself.
The bastard molded himself to our surroundings, wrapping his body in an illusion that makes me see nothing at all while letting Jax play his role. If it weren’t for my dying brother beneath me, I would scour every inch of this field until I found Ace. And then I’d rip him to shreds. Slowly.
Jax grunts weakly, his eyes drifting shut. My gaze darts to his wound. If he doesn’t get to a Healer, he will die. And it will be all my fault. My heart hammers against my chest, my head spinning. There are no Healers among us for me to draw power from.
Jax’s head rolls to the side with a soft moan.
My little brother. My little brother. My little brother.
I look up at the sky and find the sun peeking back at me. It has almost fully risen above the horizon, and when it does, we’ll be free of this Trial. My eyes land on the crowd of people less than a mile from the chaos all around me.
There will be a Healer in that crowd.
I wipe away tears that I don’t remember shedding and pull Jax into my arms. And within the next heartbeat, I’m standing up and running towards the throng of people. Jax is barely breathing now. He might be unconscious, I’m not sure, but I sprint as fast as I can towards his salvation.
I push Braxton’s Brawny ability into my muscles, making Jax significantly lighter in my arms and allowing me to run faster. I don’t need to make it all the way to the crowd, only close enough so I can latch onto a Healer’s power and use it to save him.
“Jax!” I shout at him. He barely stirs. “Jax, just hold on a little longer!” I’m panting, petrified that I’m too late. But the crowd of people is getting closer, and I can see them pointing and shouting as they watch me sprinting straight for them.
And then I begin to feel it—a tingle spreading through me, my bones, my very veins. It grows into a buzz before it becomes a roar and a rush of power. There are so many abilities at my disposal provided by the crowd still dozens of yards away from me. I feel overwhelmed as I search for the Healer’s ability within the wave of power crashing into me.
There it is.
I focus on it, hone it, and shut out all other abilities fighting to come to the surface. Laying Jax on the ground, I drop to my knees at his side. I ignore the fact that I don’t see his chest rising and grip the part of the throwing star still peeking out of his chest, needing to pull it out before I can heal him.
“If you can hear me, Jax, this is going to hurt like hell. Sorry.”
And then I yank. It rips from his skin with a sickening sound.
He doesn’t so much as stir.
I ignore the dread pooling in my gut and place my hands over the now exposed, opened wound. I let the Healer’s power seep into his body, the gash, and begin mending and molding the skin back together. I recall learning to mend each wound my father inflicted on me as a boy and push that power into the boy beneath me.
The blood stops. The skin knits back together. Leaving nothing but a large, pink scar decorating the center of his chest.
But he isn’t moving. “Jax?”
I pat his cheek lightly. Nothing. Then shake him vigorously. Nothing. Now I’m shouting shakily. “Jax!” My voice cracks as he lies there, lifeless. My fingers frantically search for a pulse. “No, no, no, no, no…”
Little brother. Little brother. My little— His eyes fly open, and then he’s gulping down air.
I half-laugh, half-sob as I watch him blink, his hand flying to feel the smooth skin where my throwing star once was. He looks around, his brown eyes landing on me. His grin is weak, his voice hoarse but humming with humor. “Are you going to try and kill me again?”
I croak out a laugh and run a hand over my face, wiping away the tears on it. “I’m not planning on it, bud.” And then I’m pulling him against my chest and crushing him into a hug, my hand ruffling his hair.
The sound of beating drums startles us both, and we turn towards the crowd not too far from us. They are cheering, applauding, stomping their feet in celebration.
The sun has risen just above the horizon.
The first Trial is complete.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Paedyn
Thousands of eyes pin me to the uncomfortable seat I’ve been forced into. The Bowl is packed to the brim with buzzing Ilyans, all bubbling over with excitement. The last of the audience has filed into their seats high up in the benches of the stadium encircling us, now staring down into the Pit beneath them expectantly.
It’s been three days.
Three days since the final fight at the edge of the Whispers.
And there are only seven of us left.
I hear the stomping of impatient feet coming from the crowd around us, and my heart trips at the sound. Suddenly, I’m back in that clearing, the sound of thundering feet morphing into the pounding of drums, signaling the end of the Trial.
But no one stopped.
The drums meant nothing to us. We were all still at each other’s throats. If it weren’t for Andy’s help, Blair would have torn me limb from limb and scattered whatever remained of me across the field for the birds to feast on. But just because she didn’t kill me doesn’t mean she didn’t leave her mark on me. Several, actually. Marks and mangled flesh that the Healers had a hell of a time mending back together.
It was as if none of us saw the risen sun or heard the drums sound. We were ravenous, refusing to simply lay down our weapons and surrender to each other. The Flashes made it to us first, weaving around and between us. Then the Brawnies arrived, using force to pull us away from one another. I was rudely ripped off Blair after finally managing to pin her down and was thrown over the shoulder of a burly man before being carried through the gawking crowd. But I wasn’t the only one. The opponents around me were all being hauled away and shoved into separate coaches to cool down.
It wasn’t hard to figure out why the king wanted to break up the fight and cut us off before we could do any more damage. Since it is forbidden to fight another contestant outside of a Trial, keeping our anger stifled will only ensure that the rest of the Trials will be even more interesting. Even more bloody.