Episode 3: She Belongs To Me
Back to: A Mirror of Shadows
Dust rose in waves as the Condemned were herded onto the battlefield, the amber light of first dawn cutting through the haze. The air already stank of sweat and terror.
Unlike yesterday, when small groups had trained alone in the arena, today there were spectators. Figures in rough uniforms and dark cloaks filed into the makeshift stands surrounding the field. Some looked like veterans of the Games. Others were here to watch us die.
The arena itself was simple. Packed dirt circled by six uneven rows of bleachers and a raised stone platform at the far end. No throne exactly. Just a carved seat inset with a shard of deep amethyst that glimmered faintly in the morning light. Calli followed my gaze and leaned close.
“Reserved for the Regent,” she said. “If she bothers to show. She often likes to check out the new blood.”
I swallowed, dragging my eyes away.
“Where did they take you earlier?” she asked under her breath, pretending to adjust her belt. “I’ve never heard of the Warden requesting a private audience with a new prisoner.”
I liked Calli, but I wasn’t about to start fully trusting someone so soon after yesterday’s near-death experience. I reminded myself to be careful how much I told her about my situation here.
“I think he just wanted to make sure I was properly terrified before the Games began.”
“Yeah, well,” she said, jerking her chin toward the far side of the arena, “everyone’s about to start feeling that right about now.”
A woman climbed onto the platform, boots up to her knees and coat trimmed in violet leather that had clearly seen too many battles. Her hair was braided tight against her scalp, and when she raised her hand, the murmuring crowd fell silent.
“Welcome to our first trial for the Condemned of the Winter Solstice,” she called. Her voice carried easily. “Each of you has managed to survive the preliminaries. Today, we’ll see if you can earn the right to stay.”
My stomach knotted. I’d earned nothing. Just how brutal was this going to be?
“That’s the Mistress of Trials,” Calli whispered. “Adisa. She works directly under the Regent, but she’s not so bad once you get deeper into the trials.”
The Mistress’s gaze swept across the field like a blade and locked on me. A chill crept down my spine. She wasn’t just scanning the crowd. She was looking for me.
“Today’s trial,” she announced, “is an older game, once banned in the early stages for its tendency toward excessive bloodshed. But we had a last-minute request to bring it back. Apparently, we have extra Condemned this season and can afford to be reckless.”
Nervous laughter rippled through the crowd, and my stomach clenched. Last minute? Did that mean Slate changed it just to make this harder on me?
“We call this one the Scarf Game,” the Mistress continued.
From the bleachers, a group of men whooped and cheered like they’d just placed bets on our deaths.
“Each of you will be given a violet scarf. Protect your own with your life and collect as many as you can from the others.”
She lifted her hand, and a ripple of magic rolled across the field. Gasps rose as strips of silk shimmered into existence, fastening themselves to the belts cinched around our waists. My scarf trailed almost to my knees, fluttering behind me in the cold morning air.
“Five scarves to win,” she called. “Yours and four you’ve taken from your fellow Condemned.”
I tugged experimentally. The fabric came loose with barely any effort. Too easy. Too fragile.
My gut twisted.
Beside me, Calli let out a low whistle. “I haven’t seen this game before,” she murmured. “But I’ve heard of it. This is going to be a bloodbath.”
“Comforting,” I said, trying to keep my voice from trembling. “Any tips?”
“Yeah. Stay alive.” She grinned without humor. “And don’t lose your scarf.”
“Helpful.”
I really should have kept my mouth shut with Slate this morning instead of bragging about my survival skills. Why was he so determined to watch me die?
I glanced toward the platform where the trainers stood. Slate was there, tall and still among the others. Even from this distance, I could feel the weight of his presence.
His mouth curved into the faintest grin, and he gave a single, almost imperceptible nod.
Even though he didn’t turn his head or meet my gaze, I knew it was meant for me.
A challenge.
The muscles in my stomach tightened.
“Gather your five scarves by any means necessary,” Adisa said, sweeping her arm toward weapon racks that shimmered into existence along the perimeter. “Lose your scarf, and you’re out. Step beyond the boundary, and you’re out. The only thing you cannot do is kill someone who’s already outside the perimeter. Everyone else is fair game.”
Around me, the Condemned shifted. Some clutched their scarves with visibly trembling hands. Others grinned like predators at a feast.
“Once eliminated,” the Mistress continued, “you’ll cross the shimmering boundary line to the east and await your fate. Collect five scarves, and you exit to the west. Or keep collecting. The Condemned with the most scarves will win the Regent’s favor.”
She glanced at the Wardens for a moment, and Slate nodded.
“And first choice of team for the Shadow Games.”
The crowd buzzed, voices rising in anticipation.
Calli exhaled hard. “There it is. That’s what I was hoping to hear. Team advantage.”
I glanced at her. “You mean Slate’s team.”
“Exactly,” she said. “He only takes five Condemned to train, and they’re almost always the team that goes to the arena in the end.”
“But doesn’t that mean it’s also the most dangerous team to be on?” I asked, still not fully understanding the point of these Games. “Why would anyone want that?”
For the first time since I’d met her, Calli’s smile faltered. “Because you win the Games, or you never leave the Shard,” she whispered. “And I refuse to die in this place.”
Something in her voice, raw and unguarded, hit me hard. Before I could ask more about it, a deep, rumbling laugh carried across the field.
The largest of the Condemned stood a few rows ahead, shoulders broad enough to block the rising sun. His skin shimmered faintly, like obsidian dusted in gold, and a pattern of stone-like ridges traced the sides of his neck and arms. When he moved, the ground seemed to shift with him.
“That’s Brimstone. Or Brim as he calls himself,” Calli said under her breath. “Half demon, half… something else. I haven’t quite figured out what. He’s handsome as hell, but he’s also my biggest competition. It’s his first Games, too.”
He caught us staring and smiled. Not kind. Not cruel. Just aware.
As if he knew Calli viewed him as the best on the field.
I looked away fast, overcome with nausea. I didn’t have the advantage of knowing what any of these people could do. It would be a miracle if I survived.
I needed a strategy.
My eyes skimmed the weapon racks, dismissing the rows of spears, axes, and brutal-looking maces. All of it heavy, clumsy, meant for Condemned who wanted to win by brute force.
Then I saw them.
Twin push daggers gleamed against the wood, their steel curved into wide triangles, each etched with swirling lines that looked less like decoration and more like runes. The handles were bound in black leather, sized perfectly for my palms.
Light. Fast. Lethal.
When the game started, I’d head straight for those and pray I could reach them before someone struck me down. I had experience with blades like these from my training with the Order, and I knew how deadly they could be when used with precision.
“When the horn sounds, the Game begins,” the Mistress of Trials said, her lips curling into an amused smile. “And when it sounds again, you better pray you’re holding five scarves.”
“Good luck,” Calli said. The humor in her voice was gone. It struck me that once the trial started, we were no longer allies. Every Condemned out here was now a threat to me. I had to watch my back.
Adisa lifted her hand. I dropped into a crouch, eyes on the twin daggers, magic thrumming at my fingertips.
Her hand fell.
The horn’s cry split the air, and the field exploded into chaos. Screams. Steel. The crunch of bone. A woman hit the dirt beside me, her scarf torn away before she even took a step.
I didn’t stop to see what happened to her. I let my body melt into shadow and sprinted toward the weapon racks, invisible one second, solid the next. My fingers closed around the hilts of the push daggers, cool and perfect in my grip, before I phased straight through the wooden rack and came out the other side, crouching low.
The battlefield was already carnage. Blood soaked the dust. Bodies lay twisted in the dirt, lifeless eyes staring skyward as thin trails of violet mist rose from their wounds and vanished into the air above. I almost looked up to follow it, but movement caught my eye instead.
Brim.
He stood in the center of the chaos, skin gleaming like polished stone. He already had three scarves in his massive hand, which he hooked to his belt in one smooth motion. His gaze locked on mine. The faintest smile.
He could see me.
Panic clawed at my chest. I didn’t have time to question it. I just had to move. Fast. If I could grab four scarves before anyone realized I was here, I could make it out before Brim crushed me.
I kept to the edges, weaving between bodies, staying clear of the shimmering perimeter. One wrong step and I’d be out for good.
A boy no older than ten stumbled backward into my path. Three Condemned circled him like predators. One tore his scarf away. Another raised a blade, aiming to kill him just for the fun of it.
I didn’t think. I moved.
Sliding low through the dust, I slammed into the tallest one’s legs. He hit the ground hard. Before he could roll, I ripped the scarf from his belt and darted between the other two. Their blades clashed against each other instead of me.
The boy’s wide eyes found mine.
“Run.”
He bolted, pushing through the shimmering boundary to safety.
Eliminated but alive.
A hand seized my hair, yanking my head back as a blade sliced through my shoulder. Pain shot down my spine, and I twisted, desperate to protect my scarf.
Shadows flared around me, and instinct took over. For half a heartbeat, my body gave way, more shadow than flesh. I slipped through their grip like smoke and gasped.
What was that?
That wasn’t invisibility or my normal phasing. That was something else. Something impossible. My stomach lurched as I watched the shadows dissipate, but I tightened my focus, knowing that any loss of concentration now meant death.
The tall man cursed, spinning wildly, but I was already behind him. My blade slashed clean across his belt, and I tore his scarf free.
I pushed into the crowd, letting my body disappear. I tied the two new scarves to my belt and forced myself upright.
Two more to go.
But I was bleeding, exhausted, and running out of time. Saving that boy had nearly gotten me killed, but at least he’d lived.
With a quick glance, I could see that several Condemned had already gotten their scarves and stepped into the winner’s section, while a handful of others had joined the boy in the elimination quadrant.
How many others lay dead in the dirt?
Too many.
And I didn’t want to become one of them.
Partly because I wanted to live to see another day, even in this version of hell. And partly because of the small, amused curl of Slate’s lips as he condemned me.
I wanted to see the surprise on his face when I walked out of this field with five scarves.
Instinctively, I scanned the bleachers for him.
Was he watching? Smiling at my wounds? Waiting to see me fall?
Unfortunately, even a few seconds of distraction was a huge disadvantage out here. The giant who had been watching me earlier found me.
Brim.
He hadn’t bothered with a weapon. His fists were enough. He swung at my head with the force of a battering ram. I felt the wind of it on my cheek before the punch landed.
Thankfully, bigger meant slower. I slipped behind him, fingers closing on the push daggers at my waist. I sliced along his side, but the blade met stone instead of skin.
What the—
He was not all flesh. He moved like carved rock.
And he was purely amused by the shock written across my face.
“You don’t remember me, do you?” he asked, nearly knocking the breath from my lungs.
He backhanded me, and the blow sent me flying. I crashed into the dirt ten feet away. Before I could get my breath, he was on me, grabbing for the scarves at my belt.
I rolled, slashing at his wrist with one dagger and his ankle with the other, searching for a weak point.
No luck.
It was as if his entire body was made of granite. I had no time to puzzle it out. They hadn’t told us how long the Game would last, and I still needed two more scarves.
I pushed to my feet and plunged back into the melee, boots kicking up dust as I tried to reconnect to what little magic I had left. A spear pierced through a woman’s chest right next to me, crimson splattering on my jeans.
Looking backward in horror, I collided with another Condemned. A grinning man with fresh scars across his throat. He already had three scarves, and hunger lit his eyes.
He lunged. I dodged and ducked under his arm, a hair too slowly to avoid his blade as it sliced across my injured shoulder, hot and sharp.
Pain flared, but I kept moving, throwing one of the push daggers into his back. He stumbled forward, and I ripped the scarf from his belt.
“Thanks,” I breathed, tasting copper.
It was too dangerous to grab the other two scarves from his hand, so I ran.
A few feet ahead, the girl I’d seen last night—the one with claw marks across her arm—stood frozen in horror. The blade of an axe swung toward her head.
I lunged, driving my shoulder into her side just as the blade cut the air where she’d been standing. She crashed into the dirt with a cry, her scarf quickly snatched by another woman racing by.
Pain flared across my shoulder as the attacker’s follow-through clipped me. I stumbled, dragging in a ragged breath as I shoved the girl toward the safe zone.
“Go.”
She bolted, and I turned back just in time to see the man raise his weapon for the killing blow.
Too close. Too fast.
My arms lifted on instinct, blade ready, but I knew I wouldn’t be quick enough.
Only the blow never came.
The man’s eyes bulged wide. His body jerked once, then again, like a puppet tangled in its own strings. Blood spilled from his nose, then his ears, then his mouth in a sudden spray. Dark veins webbed beneath his skin, pulsing as something inside strangled the life out of him.
He dropped the weapon with a dull thud. One hand clawed at his throat, the other reaching blindly toward me. Then he collapsed at my feet, twitching once before going still.
What in the world had just happened? Shocked and trembling, I looked around.
That’s when I saw her.
Elara stepped from the dust a few yards away, her palm streaked crimson where she’d sliced it open. The blood shimmered unnaturally, drawn into threads that still seemed to tether her fingers to the corpse on the ground. Her dark eyes glittered with something feral, and when her gaze cut to me, the corner of her mouth curled.
“Did you hear it?” she asked, voice smooth and strange as she bent to tear the man’s scarf free. Nine now hung from her belt. “His heart made the most satisfying sound when it stopped. Better hurry. Not much time left.”
She walked away unconcerned, back into the chaos. Maybe she was after the top prize. Maybe she just wanted to kill again.
Gratitude and horror twisted inside me. She had saved my life, but at what cost?
Elara was right, though. I still needed one more scarf, and time was running out.
Unfortunately, I was severely wounded now in multiple places, blood pouring from my shoulder and arm, my shirt now shredded to pieces. I barely had any magical energy left, and the only ones left on the battlefield now were either the strongest of the bunch, going for the grand prize, or people like me who were injured and hoping for one or two final scarves to claim the win.
There were no easy targets at this point, but I didn’t want to know what Slate would do to me if I lost this battle. I thought of his blood-soaked blade, and the way his eyes flashed with satisfaction as he threatened me this morning.
He would not let me live if I lost.
That’s when I remembered the small vial of liquid tucked into my pocket. The gift from Lavender. Would this help me? Or kill me?
Desperation overruled fear. I yanked the cork free and swallowed. The potion burned like acid, and for a heartbeat, I couldn’t breathe. Pain lanced through my shoulder and side. My back arched. The world fractured around me.
Then the pain vanished, leaving behind a chill that spread through my veins. The bleeding stopped. Time itself seemed to slow.
Shadows curled around my arms as I fixed on a man at the far edge of the arena. The one who’d attacked the boy earlier and got away.
I moved.
The world dragged around me, every sound drawn thin and distant. My body cut through the air like smoke. Before he even realized I was there, I tore the scarf from his hand.
At the same instant, the horn blared, loud enough to rattle my teeth.
It was over.
I staggered to a stop, lungs burning, clutching my fifth scarf in one blood-slicked hand. Dust stung my eyes. Bodies littered the ground.
Some groaned, still alive.
Others would never move again.
My knees threatened to buckle, but I forced myself upright. If I fell now, I was afraid I’d never rise again.
I searched for Calli on the battlefield. Had she made it?
Maybe thirty people stood in the elimination circle, having lost their scarves but not their lives. Another thirty or so stood in the winner’s circle or out on the battlefield with me, victorious.
I couldn’t begin to count the fallen. More than fifty. Much more.
My eyes furiously scanned the dead bodies littering the arena’s floor, praying for anything but bright pink hair mixed with blood.
Before I could find her, though, the Mistress of Trials raised her hand, and the moment remaining Condemned stilled.
“Well fought,” she said, her voice ringing across the arena. “Many lives were lost today, and because of that, the lives of those standing in the elimination area will be spared.”
Sobs and cries of relief echoed off stone as some of the eliminated players embraced. Others fell to the ground, the last of their strength gone.
“Mikaela will take you to the healers this afternoon, and tomorrow, you’ll all be assigned to your new duties in and around the Shard. You will not be allowed to compete in the Games, but you will serve the Regent with honor.
Tears stung my eyes. I should have just stepped out of the circle. Handed someone my scarf and called it a day. Instead, my victory meant I’d have to compete again. To train. To face death how many more times?
I wanted to sink to my knees in grief.
“Brim, please step forward,” Adisa said. “Our victor, holding the highest number of scarves”
A hush fell as he stepped forward, sweat and blood streaking the carved lines of his chest. Even battered from the fight, he carried himself with the calm of someone who’d already accepted pain as part of living.
Dark braids framed a face too handsome to seem cruel, and his sharp amber eyes cut through the crowd like firelight through smoke.
“You will train under Warden Slate in the coming trials.”
Brim inclined his head toward the Wardens’ platform. Respectful, but not afraid. Slate didn’t return the gesture, though his gaze lingered for a moment before moving on.
“The Wardens will each step forward now and claim their chosen Condemned,” Adisa said, bowing to Slate as he took her place on the platform.
“Elara,” Slate said, his voice booming across the blood-soaked arena.
The witch glided forward to stand beside Brim, her bare feet leaving faint prints in the sand. Her eyes gleamed as she smiled up at Slate, crimson still drying across her palm.
“Orion of the Veil.”
A tall, elderly man in deep gray robes stepped forward to take his place next to Elara, his hair silvered, his presence oddly still amid the chaos.
He bowed once, his movements slow and deliberate.
Slate’s gaze swept across the remaining Condemned, and I had to stop myself from ducking behind the man next to me. Not that he would ever choose me for his team. At least I was safe from that fate.
“Calliope,” he said after a long pause. “Eight scarves and a broken rib, but still standing.”
At the sound of her name, I let out a long sigh of relief. She’d been there the whole time, sitting on the ground next to another group of Condemned. Not only had she survived, but she’d gotten her wish.
She would be trained by Slate and sent to the Shadow Games.
Calli hobbled forward with a grin that was half pain, half pride. “You should see the other guy,” she mumbled, causing those of us still waiting to laugh.
The Mistress turned toward the Wardens. “Four chosen,” she said. “Warden, one more for your team.”
All around us, the surviving Condemned straightened. A few lifted their scarves like trophies. Others shouted their names. I stayed still, thankful to have survived and hopeful that I’d get a Warden who would go easy on me. Teach me how to live through these Games.
Then Slate spoke.
“I want her.”
Every sound in the arena died as hundreds of eyes shifted toward me, a weight pressing down until I could barely breathe. I didn’t dare look up. My heart hammered in my chest, wild and uneven.
I was going to faint.
The Mistress frowned. “Bex? She’s unranked. Barely standing. You can’t—”
Slate’s head snapped toward her. His voice cut through the air, low and sharp. “You know better than to question me, Adisa.”
The words hit like a whip. The Mistress went rigid, any protest dying on her tongue.
“As of this moment, she belongs to me.”
“No,” I said, regretting the word the instant it crossed my lips.
Maybe it was exhaustion. Madness.
Maybe I just wanted to go home.
The arena seemed to shrink around us, soundless except for my pulse pounding in my ears.
Slate turned to me slowly, his expression unreadable. Then he began to walk, deliberate and unhurried, until he stood close enough that I could see the faint line of a scar along his jaw. The air between us shifted, heavy and electric. Energy rolled off him, brushing against my skin in a way that made my pulse race.
“That’s not a choice you get to make.”
He leaned close enough that only I could hear him.
“I don’t know if you’re truly innocent in all of this, or if you know what that pendant means and are just playing your own game. But you will live and die by my word now, whether you like it or not.”
My throat tightened, but I forced the words out anyway. “I never asked for any of this,” I said. “I’ll fight for you if I have to, but I do not belong to you. I’ve never belonged to anyone.”
For a moment, the silence was absolute. Then his mouth tilted, not quite a smile, more like a promise.
“Not yet,” he said softly. Definitively. “But you will.”
He straightened, the heat between us breaking like a snapped thread.
“Take her to the dungeon. She’ll learn respect before morning. For now, mark them all. My team is complete.
The crowd erupted in whispers and gasps, everyone shocked to see me still standing there, alive. Placed on the most coveted team. Envied and hated by those who had desperately fought for this spot.
But me?
I barely heard them. He hadn’t touched me, yet the space he’d left behind still felt charged, like a storm waiting to break. My body betrayed me, trembling not only from fear but from something I couldn’t name.
I’d survived the first trial, but something told me the real game.
A far deadlier game.
Had only just begun.