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I figure my chances are roughly sixty-forty that I duff this stupendously and end up embarrassing myself and my family line.
Scanning the faces of the surrounding witches, it seems like some of them might’ve prepared for this moment their entire lives.
Suddenly, I feel like I’m a tribute in the Hunger Games. Surely the stakes aren’t as dire as that, though…right?
The witches around me stretch out their limbs, while others sit cross-legged in the dirt, meditating. A couple are in the process of shedding their poofy gowns to reveal unrestrictive athletic wear.
Good Gaia, I’m seriously out of my league.
The violent churn of my stomach makes me wish for an entire bottle of Gravol to chug back, so I can make it through this without hurling.
I search for my Celt in the crowd of onlookers, needing a heavy dose of his calming reassurance. It isn’t hard to pinpoint him, standing in line with Sebastian, and then Rune.
As if my trio of vampire plus-ones didn’t stick out enough, the crowd has formed a gaping chasm around them.
Fintan looks worried, but lifts his chin with a smile and gives me a subtle thumbs up.
Rune is more boisterous in his encouragement. He pumps a fist into the air. “You got this, Josie!”
It earns him more than a few looks from the Sun Witches around him, but if he notices, he doesn’t care. His gaze is fully focused on me without an ounce of doubt coming through our connection.
Though, his judgment might be in question because he offered me up to a crowd of vampires less than a week ago.
Maybe he just likes to watch me fight.
It must be the Viking in him.
Ironic, considering I had to pester him into our deal to train me how to fight properly. And while we haven’t had nearly enough lessons to raise my confidence, I’m hoping something he’s taught me will come in handy tonight.
My gaze drifts to the King of the Quarter. Sebastian looks on with mild interest. It isn’t like I was expecting him to offer me any words of encouragement, but it would have been nice to have his support.
He seems distracted, but I don’t have time to wonder about that before the crowd falls to a low hum of excitement, signaling the arrival of Francine and the elders.
My stomach tightens as they take their seats on the second-story balcony to oversee the proceedings, and constricts tighter still as Elder Edith steps up to the railing. “Let’s get the formalities out of the way so we can move on to the selection trials, yes?”
Her voice carries over the courtyard with a wave of magic that tickles the hairs on my arms. “The first trial, physical fortitude, will continue until only five contenders remain. Those five will then move on to the second test in two days’ time.”
Five?
I glance around, doing a quick head count. There are nearly two dozen witches spread out in the makeshift courtyard arena.
I don’t like those odds.
“If you break the boundary, you are disqualified. If you can no longer compete, you are disqualified. If you yield, you are disqualified. And, of course, in the case of death, you are disqualified.”
“Death?” My pulse pounds in my ears, so loud I barely hear Elder Edith address me.
“Did you have something you’d like to enquire about, Miss Dumont?”
I shift uncomfortably under her stare.
“What are the rules?” I ask.
The corner of her wrinkled mouth quirks up in a smile. “Other than what I’ve laid out, there are no rules.”
I’m liking this less and less by the second.
“Whatever you deem necessary is what you are allowed, but remember: the eyes of your sisters are upon you.”
