small . . . to be less than, leaving the shadows was terrifying.
Hid—that’s what she had done for countless years. From Damius. From the royals and nobles in Penryth. From the life she was supposed to have.
She’d covered her hair, masked her talents, stifled her voice. She’d recoiled from the magick that even Damius felt swelling her veins. Pushed it so deep inside herself that it only broke free on Bell’s runeday.
That’s why she’d dedicated her entire life to Bell—because by the time he saved her life, she didn’t understand how anyone could think it was a life worth saving. Why she’d given her heart so quickly to Archeron, the first male who didn’t recoil from her strength.
And why now, knowing who she was and the untold magick she and she alone could access, a part of her still desperately longed to stay hidden. Small. Unremarkable.
But she wasn’t small. She wasn’t unremarkable. She wasn’t no one.
And she was tired of hiding.
She flipped her hood back. The moment the cloak slipped from her shoulders and pooled on the sand at her feet, her runemarks flared with pure golden light that made the sun seem dim in comparison. A hush fell over the crowd. The announcer’s mouth was agape as she stared at Haven, at the runes and symbols like starlight painted across Haven’s flesh.
She understood now why Nasira had chosen this particular gown; her runelight reacted with the material somehow to create a mesmerizing display of colors and light that could make anyone look like a Goddess.
Silence choked the air. She certainly had their attention now. Head held high, she met the Morgani Queen’s intense stare and called out loud and clear, “I am Haven Ashwood, descendant of the Goddess Freya and the God Odin, Goddess-Born, the child of prophecy, and I represent the newly restored nation of Shadoria.”
For a wild beat of her heart, an inhuman stillness came over the stadium. Or perhaps time simply slowed as Haven waited to see what the hundreds of trained Solis soldiers would do. What the queen would do. The contestants gathered beneath the queen’s viewing box waited too, each one slowly drawing their bows in preparation for the queen’s command.
Haven flicked her gaze toward the Morgani Queen. Understanding slowly dawned in her eyes, followed by a dangerous sort of cunning that sent a wave of dread crashing over Haven.
Steeling her mind, Haven prepared herself for battle.
And then the sound of clapping drew Haven’s focus to the Solis the queen had been chatting with moments earlier. The Solis royal male now fully visible and staring down at Haven behind one half of a golden mask.
37
Even with his face partially hidden behind the golden mask, Archeron still looked every bit a God. A beautiful, vengeful God. He was draped in purple and gold, the largest sword she’d ever seen strapped to his back. Light caught in the jewels of his sword and mask and fingers like little stars dancing all around him.
Staring down from above with that half-sneer, he seemed so much bigger than she remembered.
So much crueler.
As if someone had taken the Archeron she loved, the soldier whose only desire was to return to his homeland, and molded him into a darker, corrupted version.
He smiled as he lifted from his seat to his full, towering height. “Look at you, Little Mortal. All dressed up like a shiny present. Are you my present? Because I’m going to be very disappointed if you say no.”
“Don’t worry,” she growled, grabbing her bow and slipping an arrow from the quiver at her back. “I do have a present for you.” When she felt the bowstring go taut, she aimed the arrow at Archeron’s head. Bright blue magick danced from the iron tip. “Where would you like it?”
She swore a few of the Morgani soldiers snickered.
A hint of fear clumped beneath her sternum as she caught the hidden rage behind Archeron’s smug expression. His nostrils flared, his smile stretching beneath cold, almost vacant eyes.
She knew what lurked beneath that arrogant veneer. She’d witnessed the infection that twisted his once noble soul into the depraved king before her.
Sunlight flashed inside the ruby and gold ring he wore as he flicked his fingers. In the span of a blink, at least twenty Gold Shadows entered the arena—
And were obliterated in a spray of blood and pulverized bone.
Instead of screams, the stands went utterly silent. Ember and Surai rushed to Haven’s side, weapons drawn. Xandrian flipped back his hood as he and