Page 82 of Hallowed Games

Godric leaned forward. “What if we destroy the wall from underneath, where no one can see us?”

Sazia shrugged. “It sounds like a good idea to me—but there is the little problem where you might end up crushed beneath the rocks of collapsing tunnels. Yes?”

“Right,” said Godric. “Sod that. We’ll keep thinking.”

But before we could continue, a hush fell over the hall. I turned to see the Magister crossing into the room, darkness billowing around him. The temperature seemed to drop, and the candles flickered.

He turned slowly, taking us all in. “The Pater knows that you have had help figuring out how to evade death in the trials.” His footfalls echoed off the flagstones, his dark cloak blending into the shadows around him. “The Pater knows that the traitor, Maelor, passed along advice to you all. Rest assured, our Luminari are hunting for this demon. Maelor is Serpent-touched. A monster. And he will burn on the pyre.”

I gripped the wooden table, staring at him. I wanted to scream that he was worse—a vampire who actually delighted in death instead of trying to control it. But the Pater wasn’t here, and it didn’t matter what the rest of us thought.

Torchlight from the chandeliers above wavered over his eerie golden eyes, terrible and beautiful at once.

“You will no longer meet with each other here in the dining hall. The Pater has realized you could use this time to conspire. He believes you have been passing along secrets and tricks about how to survive. Did you think it would work? That we’d let you live?” A wicked smile curled his lips. “Until the next trial, you will remain locked in your rooms. And the next trial, I’m afraid, isn’t much of a trial. From your windows, you may see us setting up pyres in the courtyard. You will all burn along with the traitor, and we shall restore ourselves in the glorious light of the Archon once more.”

The world tilted beneath me. We were out of time. We wouldn’t have a chance to figure out how to deconstruct thousand-year-old walls. We didn’t have the luxury of experimentation.

Maybe the others still wanted an escape plan.

But me? I’d been trained to kill.

First the Magister.

Then the Pater.

CHAPTER 37

I sat on the stone floor of my room, legs splayed. Hunger squeezed my stomach, but I was ignoring that. I was only focused on the wood in my hands, the knife in my grip. Late that night, after Sion had told us about the pyres, I’d broken the chair legs. I’d started carefully carving the end of one of the legs to a point. I considered making a few of them, but then I couldn’t imagine a scenario where I’d need more than one. Either I’d kill Sion in one single strike or he’d rip my head off in the next breath.

When you strike a vampire, you’d better not miss.

The knife had been useful for making a stake holster, now hidden in my cloak, too. It had taken ages, but I had nothing but time in here. Several days with nothing to do but cut strips from my bedding with the serrated edge of the blade. I threaded the strips through small holes in the cloak, making a little pocket.

As I sat on the cold stones, I held up my stake. I touched the sharpened tip, and it pricked my finger. A little drop of blood beaded on the tip, shimmering like a crimson jewel in the candlelight. I popped it in my mouth, sucking on it to stop the bleeding.

Looks like I had a weapon.

The problem, of course, was that I’d been locked in here, without any chance to get anywhere near the Pater or Sion. I just had to assume he’d attend the burning.

I slid my new stake into the cloak pocket and hung it on the wall. As I climbed onto the bed, a cold wind whistled in through the glass. Shivering, I peered out into the darkened courtyard. Torchlight danced on the vast, overgrown courtyard. It cast ghostly shadows of the pyres that made my skin crawl. Over the past few days, they’d set up the pyres there on purpose. Right outside our windows. They wanted us to watch through the glass as they raised one stake after another. They wanted us to tremble with dread as we imagined what it would feel like to burn.

Eight rows rose up over enormous piles of kindling. They’d even built the stairs for us to climb to our deaths. From the torchlight, shadows danced over the heaps of wood.

My breath clouded the glass, and my stomach churned at the sight of them.

At least no one had found Maelor yet. I knew this for two reasons. One, I’d discovered a note from him in my room, left on my pillow. Which was…unnerving. It was hard for me to believe I could sleep through someone opening the door and crossing inside, but I guess I did. I’d woken up to a piece of parchment that said:

“I must keep my distance from you. I’m blood-hungry. But I’m working on a way to get you out of here, mapping ancient paths beneath the tunnels. I’m sorry I cannot take more than you, but it’s simply not possible. It would attract far too much attention. Please burn this note immediately.”

As soon as I’d read it, I’d dropped the note into the fire, watching the smoke curl into the room.

The problem was, his plan of leaving the others behind to burn wasn’t good enough for me.

I pressed my forehead against the cool glass.

Besides the note, there was another reason I knew Maelor was still out there. Once or twice a day, I’d see Luminari carrying one of their own, their necks ripped to shreds. One time, I saw the blur of shadows through the courtyard. Through the window, a scream had pierced the glass—cut short.

Out there, Maelor was ravenous.