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“Have you…ever been in one before?” Lyssa asks carefully.
And I have to nod, though I hate to admit it. “Not been tested myself, but…” I swallowed. How to explain the hate and the anger that comes over you when one woman is the sanctioned target for all of those horrible feelings?
And she had lived through it, that trainee. Or so we were told, but I’d never seen her again. She’d been sent out of Grandmother’s house to prove herself in another city.
That was the story, anyway.
Lyssa looks so horrified at what I’m telling her that I can’t stand it another second. “I’ll do it. Let’s go,” I say, climbing out of bed. My body still feels weak from the blood loss, and from the battle into Grandmother’s lair—I went hand-to-hand with more than one guard—but I refuse to show that weakness. Not when I seem so close to proving myself to the Syndicate.
To Lyssa.
But Lyssa’s eyes widen in alarm, and she pulls me back into the bed, into her arms. “No, Scar. Not now. And anyway, I want you to think it over. Because it’s not so simple as just surviving. If it looked like…well, I’m not going to let you be beaten to death by the Syndicate. I’d kill them all before I let that happen.”
I soften as I understand what she means: it’s not just about me and what I want. Any threat against me seems to spark her fierce protectiveness. The Big Bad Wolf, ready to bare her teeth for me.
I like the feeling.
But I’m not some damsel in distress, either.
“Lyssa,” I tell her softly, snuggling back under the bedclothes with her, “I understand you don’t want me hurt. But I…I want to be part of your world. And that means being accepted by the Syndicate.”
Lyssa’s face darkens. “I don’t want to be part of an organization that would treat its people like Grandmother did.”
“I know,” I say gently. “But whatever you think doesn’t matter right now. It’s what Hadria thinks.”
Lyssa’s jaw clenches. “It seems to be what Aurora thinks, actually. I can’t fucking believe Suzy was—how can she not be grateful to you after you saved?—”
“I killed her friend,” I say simply. “Doing one good thing doesn’t make up for it. I get that.” I press my lips to her forehead in a silent plea for her understanding. “So I’m going to run this gauntlet, Lyssa. And you’re going to let me. Then you can patch me up afterward.”
I try for a smile, but it feels more like a grimace.
And Lyssa just looks fiercer than ever.
It happens at night, as most business does for the Syndicate.
A few days later, so both Hadria and I have had time to recover, under a heavy moon leaning toward full. It casts a glow over the lawns outside Elysium. Lyssa told me that this is where fights between Syndicate members take place—and where many of them were sacrificed during Nero’s invasion. A sacred place now, soaked with the blood of their members. The very ground seems to groan beneath my feet, hungry for more.
The Syndicate stands in two lines, each member facing another, a human corridor leading to Aurora at the far end, who will have the honor of striking the final blow.
And I’ll be wrecked by the time I get to her. She could well kill me.
Hadria is abstaining from casting a blow, partly because it would be beneath her as their leader, and partly because of her injury—she’s still got her arm in a sling. My blood saved her life, but she did take a shot in the chest, after all. She was lucky it didn’t hit anything more vital than a few arteries, but she’s not in any state to be throwing punches right now. She stands at the head of the gauntlet with Sarah, beckoning Lyssa and me over. I want to object to Sarah’s presence but I bite my tongue. Not the time.
“This is the assassin known as Scarlett,” Hadria announces. “She killed three of our own. Bulldog Brassi. Eddie Torres. Yuri Petrov. And we remember them.”
A low hiss ripples through the Syndicate.
“However,” Hadria continues, “since she also saved my life and has been working with Lyssa to bring down Grandmother, and since the Syndicate previously voted against immediate execution, Scarlett has agreed to a trial by gauntlet to absolve herself.” Hadria steps back, ushering me forward with a regal sweep of her arm. “So let justice be done.”
Mario and Ricky are right at the start of the line. I know Ricky hates me, voted against sparing my life. My palms grow clammy as I step forward.
“Wait,” Lyssa says softly, reaching to grab me back, but I shake my head and pull away.
“You need to let me do this.”
I step up to the starting place, and then over the line, head down instinctively, bracing for the blows.
But none come.
