The Bride Tournament (Hexed Hearts Book 1)(53)

Ellie scrambled to her hands and knees and crawled to face the body she’d pushed away. In the battle, she’d lost her shoes and her bare toes sunk into mud. “No, no, not you, Meera.”

Blood bubbled from Meera’s pale lips, splattering her wan face. A deep gash ran across her stomach and exposed organs that her hands struggled to push back in. Her mouth opened on quiet words. “She’s a corpse.”

A spray of scarlet accompanied the words and misted across Ellie’s face. She didn’t care. She ripped her cloak off and pressed it into Meera’s stomach. Fear turned her breath to acid.

“It’s going to be okay, Meera. I’ll get you to the castle. The healers will fix you. You won’t die. You can’t die.”

A shaky hand reached up toward Ellie’s cheek but never made contact, flopping back to the earth as spasms rocked Meera’s body. A horrible gurgling sound broke the silence of the night and Ellie realized Meera was drowning on her own blood as she tried to breathe.

Tears burst from her eyes and heavy sobs racked her shoulders as Ellie pressed onto the cloak, trying to stem the blood flow. All the while knowing it wouldn’t help.

“Olivia resurrected…Lange…she’s a corpse…balding…too fast to be human…like the old stories…you need to…run.” With one last shuddering breath, the light left Meera’s eyes, and the fight left her body.

“You done mourning? Because it’s your turn,” Dame Lange said, backlit by the sconces.

Rage tunneled through Ellie. Meera had saved her life. Took the dagger jab meant for Ellie. Light reflected off of something tucked underneath Meera’s body. Ellie dipped her fingers into the bloody mud and gripped the only weapon available. She held very still, playing the part of damsel in distress.

“Tell me one thing, before you kill me.”

“Certainly.”

“Are you really a corpse?” Ellie shifted to her knees and braced her weight on the balls of her feet, leaning over Meera’s body as if in prayer.

“Yes, Olivia raised me from my grave to siphon my magic and make her stronger.” Dame Lange lunged. “We are here to finish what was started at the last competition. A Lange will sit on the throne. Or no one shall.”

Ellie leaped to her feet and swung her weapon. Contact!

Dame Lange teetered, the force of her momentum causing her to tumble. The spiked heel of Ellie’s silver shoe jutted out from Dame Lange’s forehead like a unicorn horn. The dead woman dropped to her knees, eyes vacant and wide. Wasting no time, Ellie raced to a sconce and yanked it from the gate.

“You…you…” Dame Lange fought for words with the piece of metal in her brain.

Ellie stalked to the woman’s side and raised the torch like a bludgeon.

“Dead things should stay dead.” She dropped the sconce.

Dame Lange’s body burst into flames, her dying screams cutting the night air. Gooseflesh erupted over Ellie’s skin as she raced toward the castle. She needed to warn Gerard. The dame’s words rolled over in her mind as Ellie ran. Finish what was started. Was Dame Lange the mystery woman at the last tournament? Had she tried to kill the queen?

***

Two more women fell to the pox this morning. Lady Olivia and Ellie were the only competitors left. And once again, Ellie was late.

“If she can’t be bothered to show up on time, I win by default. Correct?” Lady Olivia addressed the king.

“Five more minutes,” Gerard ground out. He was not marrying Lady Olivia.

The back doors burst open in a replay of last night and Ellie stumbled in. Her gown was muddied and torn, bare feet poking out from the ragged hem. Blood streamed from a cut on her brow and covered the front of her dress. Twigs and leaves tangled in her undone hair.

“Elizaveta?” a woman scolded from the crowd and shoved her way to the front of the throng.

Ellie ignored her, eyes searching the dais until she found him. Their gazes clashed. He burst from his throne and raced across the floor to yank her into his arms.

“What happened to you?” He roved his hands over her frame, searching for injuries. Panic and concern filled him as she winced when he brushed along her back.

“It’s her. She’s responsible.” Ellie pointed a blood-covered hand at Lady Olivia.

“I know, dear heart, do you have proof?” He needed to keep holding her, but she pushed out of his arms and padded across the throne room floor.

Bloody footprints marred the white marble.

“The competition begins now,” his father boomed.

“Please wait, I need to—”

“If you are the other contestant and have something to say, you might have shown up on time. Now, take your spot or this lady wins by forfeit,” the king warned.

The nobles gathered to view the final event swung their heads between a battered Ellie and a poised Lady Olivia. His heart beat hard in his chest, like a battering ram seeking an exit. He needed her to win. He needed Ellie. He needed to know what happened.

She took her spot at the empty podium before the throne and pressed the pad of her thumb to the proffered needle. A drop of blood welled and splattered in the small gold dish on the stand. Blue sparks erupted, indicating that Ellie was who she claimed to be.

Lady Olivia stood at the other, her small dish already dotted with blood. An ivory scroll appeared before each contestant detailing which skill they must show. Lady Olivia spun her hands through the air and wove an illusion of flowering vines and fluttering birds.