The Glass Queen (The Forest of Good and Evil #2) - Gena Showalter Page 0,147

There were nuggets of gold in the information she’d so casually offered me. Why bother giving me any help at all if she wasn’t on my side?

Part of me actually dared to hope the witch wanted me to win this and save Ashleigh. But would I save her, only to lose her in an attempt to kill the phantom? And if I didn’t kill the phantom, would Ashleigh grow to resent me?

Could Ashleigh be brought back from the dead?

Should we risk it, after all?

“By the way,” the witch said. “If you hadn’t guessed, the king has some real nasty stuff planned for you during the fight.”

Didn’t matter. Whatever was planned, I would win the coming battle. I wanted the information she possessed.

I wanted Milo dead.

The master of ceremonies announced, “Now that you’ve seen the dances, tell us—who disappointed you most? We want to know.”

They were doing a punishment versus a victory. One of us would lose in the next minute or so.

The crowd erupted, shouting out our species. One word was louder than the others. “Snake.”

Ophelia knew which one and twisted slightly to wave her arm in the creature’s direction. He paled and shook. Soon, blood began to pour from his eyes, nose, and mouth. His knees buckled, and he collapsed. He didn’t rise—he didn’t move. The crowd cheered louder.

The witch dusted off her hands to signify a job well done. “Been wanting to do that for a week. Evil man. The worst in every way. He kept a harem of captives.”

When the cheers finally died down, the master spoke again. “With our final nine in place, why wait for the last battle?”

More cheers. Ophelia winked at me. “If you’re set on keeping Ashleigh, defeat Milo tonight. Otherwise, say goodbye to your love forevermore. You’re not going to reincarnate again. Oh, and don’t think to abandon the battle to get to Ashleigh. I swear to you now, I won’t let you off this battlefield until you win. I’ve got three pieces of gold riding on your success.” She vanished from the field.

Her words kicked me in the lungs. No more reincarnation? No more chances with Ashleigh? Never to see her again if I failed to win? Maybe Ophelia had lied. Maybe not. But I would win this battle. Nothing would stop me.

Aggression plumped my muscles and vibrated in my bones as the magic constraining my feet loosened, allowing me to move at last. I assumed a battle position: one foot in front of the other, knees slightly bent. With a one-two motion, I unsheathed the swords Ashleigh had made me. The one she’d had made for her father, and the one she’d made me specifically. They were lightweight with special features—spikes I could eject by pushing a button on the hilt.

“One will succeed, but all others will fail,” the master of ceremonies announced. “Let’s find out who’s who.”

Again the audience cheered. Bloodthirsty lot. What nasty surprises did the king have in store for me?

“Combatants, the time has come to win or lose.” He waited until the cheers died before beginning his countdown. “In three...two...” A horn sounded.

We launched into motion, the roar of the audience fading to the background. I wasted no time, swinging my sword and ejecting a handful of spikes in Milo’s direction. Three hit their mark, nailing him in the throat, the shoulder, and the stomach. He stumbled back, surprised, dropping his sword.

A few feet away, the vampire fell. The snake-shifter cut off his head, and it rolled across the dirt. That quickly. The fae tripped over his body, and the goblin hacked at him with an ax. The snake moved on to the wolfin, the two tangling together.

I advanced on the warlock, preparing to attack while he was down. Along the way, I bent down, plucked his weapon from the dirt and hurled it at the troll in the midst of a one-on-one battle with the mortal. Success. The troll went down and didn’t get back up—because the mortal had used my aid to his advantage and slammed his sword into the male’s groin.

The mortal’s victory was short-lived, however. The wolfin had killed the final snake and now jumped on his back, reached around, and ripped out his jugular.

Unfortunately, Milo’s wounds had already woven back together, his motions under his control once again. His magic...he was a type of healer, then. Good to know. Now I knew I had three ways to end him, with no room for error. Decapitation. A thousand small injuries to drain