Spring (Evermore Academy #2) - Audrey Grey Page 0,127
the thighs of my tight ice-blue uniform they dressed me in, to match my Keeper’s court. Dark streaks of sweat stain the stretchy fabric, joining an ever-growing wet spot.
I crack my neck, ready to begin.
Along our waists they’ve tied a spelled leather sack. We’re allowed to conjure two mundane items from it for each phase of the gauntlet to help us, like clothing, food, approved class one and two weapons, or tools.
The Unseelie sigil is pinned just above my heart. Every Unseelie shadow in the meadow wears the same black diamond brooch, a snake consuming its own tail. But it’s not just for show. When pressed, the spelled head of the pin shows a magical map.
A murmur stirs the shadows as Hellebore strolls to the front of our group. He’s in his element. His honey-blond hair is artfully styled to fall on one side, revealing the other half of his skull. Someone hand-painted a spiderweb over the cropped side. Flowers are trapped inside the delicate web, a winter and a summer rose.
Really original, douchebag.
He exudes the energy of the Spring Court: vitality, beauty, life. But I know that just like the flowers here, spelled to stay fresh indefinitely, a hint of rot and death lurk just below his handsome facade.
His sky-blue eyes sweep over us, lingering on me for a too long moment. “Shadows, welcome to the Spring Court’s final gauntlet, a race famous around the world for its ability to cull the weak from the strong. There are forty of you and only twenty victory spots. If you want to pass this year, I suggest you are one of those twenty.” He smiles, making no effort to hide his stare as it locks on me. “Like always, those who fail will have their slave contracts put up for immediate auction right here.”
The stadiums thrum with excitement at the prospect, and I clench my jaw to hide my disgust.
“You will travel through the four seasonal courts by way of portals,” he continues. “If you pay attention, each portal has a clue regarding the season you’re about to enter and the obstacles you might face. Use that information to choose your two items from the pouch at your waist.”
To demonstrate, a servant holds up a leather pouch. Hellebore puts his hand inside. “Field rabbit.”
We all gasp, including me, as he pulls out his hand holding an adorable gray rabbit by the nape of its neck. The creature twitches its nose, oblivious to the monster holding it.
As the bunny goes hopping into the group, a tense hush falls over the meadow. We can all feel the speech coming to an end.
Which means the race is about to begin.
“If you’ve trained and studied to be the very best,” Hellebore continues, “you’ll pass. Otherwise, you’ll fail or die. Both are undesirable options, I can assure you.”
The prick smiles at that. Psycho. I can’t wait for Valerian and the others to expose him for the snake he is.
As if he can feel my burning hatred, he meets my glare with a smug look. “Make no mistake. This race will define every single one of your futures for the rest of your brief lives. Now run, little shadows. Run for your lives.”
Awed murmurs stir the morning air and quickly turn to shrieks. When I see why, I understand that Hellebore was being literal when he said run for your lives.
A swarm of huge blue butterflies the same color as Hellebore’s eyes descend on us from above.
“Caeruleum mortem!” Mack hisses as she shoves me into a sprint. “The blue death!”
Blue death. Blue death. Ominous as heck, but where have I heard that?
I watch one of the delicate blue butterflies land on the arm of the fourth year boy to my right. The fabric of his suit disintegrates as if something eats away at it.
An ungodly scream rips from the boy’s chest. He grabs his arm, blood spurting beneath his fingertips as the butterfly flits in the air and lands on his cheek . . .
I jerk my eyes away before I can witness what happens next, but I suddenly recall where I’ve heard the blue death.
They’re butterflies from deep in the Spring Court territories, and their touch is like acid to mortal skin.
The portal looms. Azure fire licks along the portal’s rim. Not fire. Magic. Snowflakes drift from the other side . . .
“The first phase is the Winter Court!” I yell to Mack. We push through the stampede of panicked shadows as students scream around us.