Page 59 of Kiss of Embers

Struan’s expression darkened. “Finn tried channeling, too. No luck. Whatever dumped us here wants us here.”

Anger rose like a noxious cloud. “It’s sabotage, and maybe not the first time.” I relayed all the suspicious things that had happened since I arrived at the Games, from the strange incident with Galen of House Baudelaire to Brader threatening me alone in my tent.

When I finished, Finn growled low in his throat. “I knew I should have relieved that fucker of his balls when I had the chance.”

“I can’t be positive Brader is behind this,” I said. “He definitely doesn’t have the magic for it. He’d have to be working with someone.”

Struan frowned. “Do you have any reason to believe Baudelaire would target you on his own?”

“Honestly, no.” I drew a deep breath. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you any of this before. I just…”

“You weren’t sure you could trust us,” Finn said.

I swallowed. “You need the elixir as much as I do.”

He stepped into me, tiny flames dancing in his gray eyes as he threaded his fingers through my hair and gently tipped my head back. “Aye, but we need you, too.”

My heart beat faster, and I heard the breathlessness in my voice as I said, “You might change your minds if saving me costs you the competition.”

“Not possible,” Struan said, moving behind me. He brushed my tattered ponytail aside and planted a soft kiss over my pulse. Despite the cloying humidity, I shivered.

Finn stroked my temples with his thumbs, smoothing the tiny hairs that had escaped my ponytail. “The three of us are in this together, Zara. Life and competition. The lines are blurred now, lass.”

Maybe. But the lines still existed. And now the three of us were stuck with no food or supplies—and no clear path out of whatever magical prison we’d been thrust into. The competition was important, but none of us could win it if we were dead.

Finn must have read the worries in my eyes, because he released me and stepped back. “The first step is to get out of this jungle. Illusions require a great deal of power. Few immortals, witches or otherwise, can sustain one over a large area. If we start walking, we’re bound to find the edge. Once we do, the whole thing should disintegrate.”

“From your lips to the gods’ ears,” Struan muttered. He glanced at the sky, then rolled his shoulders like he was working a kink from his neck.

Finn eyed him. “Is the moon getting to you?”

Struan stopped moving. “I’m fine.”

Finn looked skeptical, but he eventually nodded. “Right. Let’s go.”

Chapter

Sixteen

FINN

Zara was obviously determined to resist Struan and me. It wasn’t working, but she was nothing if not stubborn.

And cranky. In that, she had company. We’d been walking for two hours, and Struan grew surlier with every step.

It was the moon. Bloated and round, it shone almost as brightly as the sun at midday. Its argent glow spread over the trees and rivers we’d been traversing for three hours.

And the scenery never changed. At first, I’d dismissed the repetition. My mind played tricks on me, I reasoned. Or maybe I was just tired. But the fifth time we passed the exact same bend in the exact same stream, I knew dark magic was to blame.

We were locked in a holding pattern. Infuriating? Absolutely. But it was also impressive. Galen of House Baudelaire was no fool. He’d planned thoroughly, creating a magical “treadmill” that kept Zara, Struan, and me walking in place. We couldn’t burst the illusion because we literally couldn’t reach the edges.

Hunger gnawed at my gut. Sweat was a sticky film over my skin. In my peripheral vision, Struan stomped over a clump of low-lying shrubs, muttered curses spilling from him. On my other side, Zara shot him an irritated look. When I finally tracked down Baudelaire, I was going to compliment him onhis spellwork. Then I was going to enjoy watching his intestines splash the ground.

“Fuck!” Struan bit out. He hopped on one foot, his features contorted in a grimace. “Bloody tree stump. That’s the third one!”

I bit my lip against the impulse to tell him it was thefirstone. He’d just smashed his foot into it three times because he’d spent the past three hours dividing his attention between Zara’s tits and the moon.

Zara observed him, her eyes narrowed and her hands propped on her hips. She’d done her share of moon- and man-gazing. More than once, her stomach had voiced its displeasure with our circumstances.