Frost (Frost and Nectar #1)(33)

The news crews stood at the edges of our throng, cameras trained on the princesses at the front. They’d formed their own little clique near the starting line, while the rest of the common fae milled around behind them. I was happy to hang back for now.

Moria and a few of the others had decorated their faces with bright blue war paint, which didn’t help ease my nerves. Clearly, we were going into battle, not for a Sunday fun run.

At last, one of King Torin’s footmen strode to the front of the starting line, a man with long red braids over his blue uniform. He carried a silver staff that he banged twice on the frozen earth.

“Thirty seconds from now, at the sound of the trumpet, the race will begin.”

His words sent my nerves juddering, and I clenched my fists, repeating my mantra to myself.

Fifty million dollars. Fifty million dollars.

Around me, the contestants were jostling for good positions, though no one seemed to be moving toward the princesses. I found myself about a row back, sandwiched between a muscular fae with pink hair and one who was mysteriously soaking wet.

I glanced to my right. A footman marched toward the starting line with his trumpet. He put it to his lips, and I held my breath, waiting for the sound.

When the horn blared, my heart thundered.

The contestants surged forward in a mad rush, pushing past the starting line and down the hill. I kept a decent pace behind the princesses, but they were running at an all-out sprint. How were they going to keep up that pace? We were all fae here, and I doubted they spent more time running than I did. They were going to burn out in half a mile.

As the distance stretched between us, a bit of concern twisted in my chest. What were they planning with this sprint?

While I raced down the hill in the stinging winter air, the sun came out from behind the clouds.

Golden light shone off the stone, glinting on the drifting flakes around us and turning the iced tree branches into glittering crystals. Clouds of breath puffed from the princesses ahead of me as they ran at the maximum of their capacity.

A cameraperson raced alongside us in a little vehicle, an image that seemed bizarrely out of place here. But they were mostly focused on the frontrunners.

I’d been saving some energy, waiting until I knew what they were up to. At the forest’s edge, they sprinted even faster and in unison, without saying a word to one another.

They’d planned something ahead of time, and maybe I shouldn’t be in the front lines when the plan came to fruition. Because it wasn’t just a race, but a battle.

I drifted back into the pack of runners, remembering Torin’s warning about the forest being the most dangerous part of the race.

We crossed into the shade of the trees, and an unnatural, icy fog billowed around me until I could no longer see a thing. All I could hear was rhythmic breathing and the pounding of feet against the ground.

A few women sprinted ahead of me, out of my sight maybe five seconds before agonized screams pierced the quiet. My heart skipped a beat, and I hung back a little. Didn’t seem like a good idea to run toward the screaming.

Ahead, another horrified scream pierced the air. None of us could see what was happening, but it sounded brutal.

Clearly, the princesses had laid a trap for the rest of us. Around me, the other common fae stopped at the edge of the mist, and I could just about make out their silhouettes in the fog.

“What the hell is going on?” someone nearby asked. “What are we supposed to do here?”

No one—including me—seemed to have an answer, but time was running out. If I waited too long, there’d be no chance to catch up, and it already felt like I’d lost the race. I had to beat at least one of the princesses to make the cut, and they’d all slipped far ahead.

I considered my choices. The mist stretched into the woods. Running around the fog wasn’t an option.

The potions weren’t helpful. Gas, fog, anti-pain…

Maybe I could climb a tree?

It was at that point that I heard the low, mournful song of the bean nighe. I moved toward the sound and found her standing by the stream. She stared at me, her eyes black as coal, skin shining with silver like she was bathed in moonlight. My breath caught in my throat at her unearthly beauty.

She turned, slipping into the fog—a smudge of darkness in the cloud around me.

Wind howled loudly around us, drowning out the song of the bean nighe. When I glanced up, I saw the wind blowing the snow from the trees and shaking the branches. The freezing gale swept away the fog, too. But the wind also carried with it the sounds of torment. Screams floated between the boughs.

Had the bean nighe done this?

As the mist cleared, I caught a glimpse of four injured fae, and my stomach turned. One of them lay crumpled in the middle of the path, clutching her right ankle. I sucked in a short breath as nausea roiled my stomach. Her foot had been hacked clean off, and blood stained the snow around her. Her face was gray with shock.

“Oh, my gods,” said a woman next to me.

My gaze slid to the other contestant writhing in the bloodstained snow. Both of her feet were missing, her legs ending in bloody stumps.

I stared with dawning horror. This place—these people—were fucking barbaric.

The runners around me screamed in panic.

The princesses stood just beyond the injured runners, catching their breath. Just as I’d predicted, the early sprint had knocked the wind out of them, and they’d burned themselves out completely.