CARDIGAN, acotar ¹

chapter thirty five

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CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE

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ERIS COULDN'T BREATHE. overcome with dread, he watched in mute horror as those two soldiers escorted one of amarantha's prisoners into the throne room. the witch, with iron nails and gleaming fangs, bowed at the waist to amarantha, then flashed a threatening smile at carson.

"you didn't warn me of this," she snapped.

amarantha smiled. "of course not. i wouldn't want to ruin the surprise."

eris's hands clenched into fists at his sides.

"i thought i would give you an easy first talk," amarantha went on lazily, resting a hand on tamlin's knee. "let's see just how deep your love runs."

the crowd cleared, forming a circle around the clearing of the throne room. eris shoved his way to the front, and noted cecelia and lucien doing the same. their faces were a mirror of his thoughts — fearful.

"you see, we hold fights every night — just to keep us entertained," amarantha went on. "my little witch, rowen," she said, peering down at her prisoner, "hasn't been beaten yet. the last one standing wins."

carson, with a twinkling gleam in her eye that eris was slowly starting to hate because it meant she was up to something, sized up her assailant. she had height and weight on her — not to mention years of battle experience. and yet carson pretended to be unimpressed. vain and arrogant to the bitter end.

"she has weapons," carson said flatly, not bothering to acknowledge the iron nails and fangs. "how is this by any means fair?"

amarantha rolled her eyes. "i'm not entirely cruel, you know." a fucking lie, but no one dared to speak against her. she flicked her fingers to the wall near her dais, adorned with weapons of all kinds. "i'll allow you one weapon of choice."

carson glared at her.

"fine," amarantha said with a scoff. "two. but remember, if you die attempting this task, as does everyone you love."

"and if i fail this task?" carson asked as she made her way over to the wall of weapons. her footsteps were casual and strolling, as if she wasn't moments away from walking into a battle eris prayed she would survive.

"no such thing, pet," amarantha crooned. "it's kill, or be killed."

carson went very, very still. then she sucked in a sharp breath and studied the weapons. she looked over the swords and lances, over the short and long daggers — until her gaze halted on a bow and quiver of arrows. but she went on, passing the spears, weighted chains, and spiked clubs.

the crowd watched carefully. even amarantha seemed interested.

but eris had a feeling he knew what she would choose.

and just as he had assumed, carson reached for the battle-axe, tested its swing, then sheathed a dagger at her thigh. the witch tilted her head, like a predator sizing up its prey. evaluating where to strike, where to avoid.