Empire of Flame and Thorns (Flame and Thorns #1)

Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

M y breath saws through my lungs as I hurtle across the grass. Boots pound against the ground as everyone tries to make it to the gate first. I push myself to the limits, running with everything I have. But it’s with growing dread that I realize that I’m not fast enough.

The first two people reach the gate.

Both of them simply sprint through and disappear inside the palace grounds. The next four people do the same.

Hope swells in my chest as about half of the contestants simply run inside without trying to stop others from following. Maybe I can make it through anyway. If I can just?—

A group of five reaches the gate, spins around, and then spreads out to block the way.

Goddess damn it. Why did I have to jinx it?

The people who were right behind them throw themselves to the sides as the fae man with curly blond hair in the middle of the gate shoots a torrent of fire straight out.

“Shit,” I hiss under my breath, swerving to the side to escape the heat of the flames.

While slowing to a careful walk, I study the people now blocking the gate. I recognize them all, but I only know the name of the guy in the middle with the curly blond hair and the green and orange eyes and the fire magic. His name is Alistair Geller, and he is an absolute bully.

I’ve only had a few run-ins with him myself, many years ago, but almost every time I see him around town, he is doing something to make other people feel small and helpless.

And now, he is blocking the damn gate.

Fantastic.

The other contestants around me watch them warily as well. Most of them have trailed to a halt, and some people cluster together in groups as if to strategize together.

Only three people keep running.

I watch with brows furrowed in confusion as a fae woman with black hair and eyes that are blue and silver runs straight for the iron wall farther down from the gate. Right before she can crash into it, a block of ice shoots up from the ground underneath her. It pushes her into the air, and she sails gracefully over the wall.

A few seconds later, a fae man a short distance from her does the same thing, except with a block of stone instead of ice.

The third person who kept running continues farther down along the wall. Her brown hair flutters in the wind as she moves. Right before she reaches the wall, a tree sprouts right out of the ground.

I jerk back in shock.

Tree magic? With wide eyes, I stare at the fae woman as she nimbly climbs the tree. I didn’t even know that we had someone with that kind of magic in our city.

The people around me seem equally surprised, because they also stare at her while she jumps over the wall and into another tree that she must have grown from the ground. Both trees then sink back into the grass.

A scream shatters through the air.

I snap my gaze back to the gate to find that a guy is trying to fight his way past Alistair and his gang. The sound seems to jolt everyone else out of their stupor too, because they all lurch into motion as well.

Magic flashes through the air as several people try to force their way through.

Desperation rips at my chest. I know that I won’t be able to fight my way through. My magic isn’t suited for that kind of brute force attack.

My gaze slides to the guy on the far right, and an idea forms in my mind. Maybe I can sneak through while they’re otherwise occupied.

Sneaking around the group of increasingly frantic contestants, I approach the edge of the gate.

The person who is supposed to guard that side is a muscular guy with brown hair. But his red and brown eyes are currently fixed on the three people trying to force their way past him from the front.

I stick to the shadows, creeping along the wall until I’m right next to the gate. My heart patters in my chest. I suck in a quick breath.

Then I dart forward, intending to quickly slip around the corner and in through the gate.

Pain pulses through me as a large hand wraps around my upper arm and yanks me back out before I have gotten more than one foot inside. I try to pull my arm free, but the grip is impossibly strong. It might as well have been a steel manacle.

“Nice try,” a voice growls.

Looking up, I meet the red and brown eyes of the man I thought was too preoccupied to notice me. His eyes glow, indicating that he is using some kind of magic, though I don’t know what kind.

Wicked satisfaction blows across his face. He moves his arm, and I can feel that he is about to use his grip on me to physically throw me away from the gate.

“I’m sorry,” I blurt out.

That stuns him enough that he pauses for a moment.

I quickly bow my head and make my voice pleading. “I’m sorry. I just really want to compete in these trials. Please.”

From his perspective, it looks like I’m begging. But what I’m really doing is hiding my eyes so that he won’t see that I’ve begun channeling magic.

Reaching out with my magic, I push at an emotion that I hope will be there after my little show of pitiful pleading.

It’s not there, so I keep speaking.

“I’ve been dreaming of competing in this tournament since I was a kid,” I lie, keeping my voice soft and sad and pleading. “I just want to prove that I’m good enough. Please.”

I push with my magic again.

Victory pulses through me when I find a small pink spark of sympathy inside him. I pour my magic towards it, making it grow.

His grip on my arm loosens a little.

I keep manipulating that pale pink spark inside him, increasing the sympathy he now feels towards me.

He relaxes his fingers even more.

I keep my magic flowing. Almost now. He will release me fully in three, two?—

A strong hand wraps around my jaw and wrenches my head up.

My glowing eyes come face to face with Alistair Geller.

“Don’t be fooled by her,” he snarls at his friend, his fingers still digging into my jaw. “This is Selena Soulstealer.”

Soulstealer. That’s the name people call me behind my back because they think that I can manipulate people’s emotions to such a degree that I can change them into an entirely different person. It’s not true. But I haven’t told people that. Because revealing secrets about how your magic works is not only stupid, it’s dangerous as hell too.

The other guy snatches his hand off my arm as if I have a contagious disease.

But Alistair keeps his hand around my jaw. His eyes begin to glow as he summons his fire magic.

Alarm blares through my skull.

Yanking out the knife from my thigh holster, I slash it through the air towards his face.

He leaps back, shock pulsing in his eyes.

The moment he releases me, I whip around and sprint away along the wall.

Fire roars behind me.

Throwing myself to the side, I dive down right before a blast of flames shoots through the space I was just occupying. The heat of it singes a few strands of my hair that were still fluttering above me from the dive. Twisting around, I cast a frantic look back. But thankfully, Alistair and his gang are already engaged in another fight with the other contestants.

I push to my feet.

My heart slams against my ribs. I draw a deep breath.

Alright, so the gate is out.

Looking from side to side, I scan the iron wall as far as I can see.

There might be some other way in.

After making sure that my hair isn’t on fire, I slide my knife back into its holster and then start down along the wall.

I check every side of it. Every inch. For an opening. A crack. Something. Anything.

The sun is slipping lower towards the horizon with every passing hour.

But after circling the entire palace grounds twice, I’m forced to conclude that there is no other way in.

I head back to the gate but stop along the wall a safe distance away.

Alistair and his gang are still blocking it. There are fewer people still outside, though, so some of them must have succeeded in getting inside. Regardless, it doesn’t matter. Because I will never be able to get through them.

Tilting my head back, I stare up at the iron wall before me. Up above, the sky has started to turn pink and orange. Crows caw in the trees somewhere inside the forest of thorns.

I heave a deep sigh. I guess there is nothing else for it.

I’m going to have to climb the wall.

There are small spikes on it that I should be able to use as hand- and footholds. If only I can actually manage to hold on to them.

My mind balks at the very idea. But I’m out of options.

So I steel myself and close the final distance to the wall. Then I reach out and grip the first spike.

A hiss rips from my lungs, and I snatch my hand back.

“Fuck,” I growl, shaking my hand to relieve the pain.

Then I grit my teeth and try again. This time, I don’t give myself time to react. I grab a spike with both hands and start climbing.

My magic is immediately suffocated.

Pain sears through my palms as the iron meets my skin. It doesn’t cause physical damage, but it burns cold, like gripping a frozen block of ice. And it completely blocks off my ability to channel magic.

I keep climbing, as fast as I can manage.

Burning pain spreads from my palms and shoots up through my arms.

A whimper slips from my lips.

My body is already weakening, and I haven’t even made it halfway up the wall yet.

I climb faster.

My boot slips from the spike.

Throwing my hand up, I desperately grip one of the spikes hard to stop myself from falling. Freezing, burning pain spears through my arm and up to my collarbones.

I cry out in pain as I heave myself up until I can get my foot on another spike.

Energy is draining from my body like a rapid flood.

I need to make it over the wall. Right now. Or I won’t make it at all.

Black spots dance before my eyes as I throw everything I have into a burst of speed.

Pain and exhaustion tear through my whole body, but my hand finally reaches the top of the wall. With a scream of pure desperation, I haul myself up and roll over the edge. Icy pain streaks through my back as my bare skin meets the iron. But I don’t have enough energy left to reach up and yank my shirt back down to cover my skin. I don’t even have enough energy left to sit up. Let alone climb back down the wall.

So I do the only thing I can.

I roll over the edge and simply plummet down to the ground.

My body hits the grass with a loud thud.

More pain pulses through my body, but I can barely feel it. The prolonged contact with iron from something as massive as a wall has left me completely drained. I know that the fall from the wall won’t be enough to break any bones. And I can survive the bruises. So I just lie there on my side, staring at the soft grass before me. It smells of damp soil.

Everything hurts. I don’t have even a smidgen of energy left inside my body right now. But I made it.

Without my magic, it would never have been possible.

The fae who don’t have magic would never have been able to climb this wall, because the iron would go straight for their energy. And the strength of the iron is in direct proportion to its size. Something as small as a bracelet would steal much less energy than something as massive as this gigantic wall around the entire palace grounds. So climbing this without any magic would leave people catatonic.

But if you have magic, the iron feeds off that first. It blocks our ability to channel magic and it also leaves us weakened, but not nearly as much as those without magic.

Except if the iron happens to be this gigantic fucking wall. Then I would argue that I feel damn close to being catatonic too even though the wall fed on my magic first.

Rolling over on my back, I draw in a few shuddering breaths. It’s going to be at least half an hour before I’ve recovered enough energy to stand up.

But it doesn’t matter.

Because I made it.

I’m inside the palace walls. My registration is finished and I will be able to compete in the trials.

I smile up at the orange and pink streaks in the sky above. This is the beginning of the rest of my life.

Footsteps sound from somewhere on my left.

It’s probably Imar, the administrator for the trials, who has come to register my presence. I know that I should probably try to sit up or do something to show a smidgen of respect, but I still can’t make my muscles obey me. So I just lie there, my chest heaving and victory sparkling in my soul.

A shadow falls over me.

I shift my gaze to the person now standing right next to me.

The breath freezes in my lungs.

Draven Ryat stands there, looming over me like the Shadow of Death that he truly is.

Shadows from the wall fall across his face, painting it with harsh lines. He is no longer holding a sword, but the furious look in his eyes is just as damning.

“You really should have given up and stayed out of this when you had the chance,” he declares, his voice dark and low.

I want to shoot to my feet. Or sit up. Or do literally anything other than simply lie on the ground before his feet. But I can’t. I can barely even summon the energy required to speak.

“I made…” I begin, gasping out the words. But then I have to wait for air to return to my lungs again as my chest continues to heave. Sucking in another breath, I try again. “I made it inside the walls.” I drag more air into my lungs before I manage to finish with, “So you can’t exclude me from the tournament now.”

A sly smirk tilts the corner of Draven’s lips as he holds my gaze. “I could always just toss you back over the wall before anyone sees you.”

Dread snakes around my spine.

I stare up at him. He stares back down at me. My chest continues heaving. And I know, without a doubt, that he could pick me up and throw me back over the wall if he wants to, and there is absolutely nothing that I can do to stop him.

The very air around us crackles with tension.

Draven opens his mouth.

But before any words can make it out, Imar comes jogging across the grass.

“Another lunatic desperate enough to climb the wall,” he says, and snickers when he reaches us. His blue eyes scan my face. “Selena Hale, right?”

“Yes,” I gasp out.

Draven draws his dark brows down in a scowl. Then, without another word, he turns and stalks away.

Imar looks up from his paper in surprise, but then just shrugs. Shifting his gaze back to his paper, he continues scribbling something for another few seconds. I focus on trying to get air into my lungs.

Then he looks up and meets my gaze again. Clicking his tongue, he slides his pen into the slot at the top of his writing board and gives me a curt nod.

“Welcome to the Atonement Trials.”