Chapter 92 Ninety-Two.
Chapter 92 Ninety-Two.
OLIVIA’S POV.
The morning arrives not with a burst of sunlight, but with a thick fog. The sharp, bitter sting of upcoming winter is fully present now, frosting the edges of the window glass.
I sit at the edge of the bed with my knees pulled tightly against my chest. The chains around my ankles feel heavier today. They feel like anchors dragging me down into the earth.
Tomorrow is the Dance of the Dead.
Tomorrow, I must step into the arena with a monster. He has spent hundreds of years learning exactly how to kill.
An unexpected, sharp click at my door makes me jump.
For some reason, I expect to see King Sven or even Isadora. Instead, the door swings open and Aunt Maggi steps into the room. Her presence immediately cuts through the heavy sadness of my room. Her long silver hair is let down today, and it makes her look younger.
The moment her eyes lock onto mine, a strange wave of relief washes over me. Maggi has been one of the few constants in my journey through the Dance of the Dead. She is a blunt, honest anchor who never looks at me with the pure hatred the other werewolves show.
“Get up, Olivia,” she says. Her voice is rich and warm. “Sitting there staring at the walls won’t stop the sun from setting.”
“Maggi,” I breathe, lowering my legs from my chest.
She sighs and rolls her dark green eyes. They are the exact same shade as Sven’s. She moves into the room until she is right in front of me. She simply stares at me as I sit on the bed. For a moment, neither of us says a word.
“Sven is currently locked in the war room with his alphas,” Maggi starts. She dusts off her furs as she helps me stand up. “He is losing his mind over the recent killings at the borders. And honestly, I don’t care what my nephew ordered. A person shouldn’t spend their last day before their final fight staring at stone walls, Olivia. Put your boots on. We’re going to the garden.”
“A garden?” I ask. A small spark of curiosity cuts through my anxiety. I have never been to a garden since I arrived at the palace.
“I grew it myself with Sven’s help,” Maggi replies, turning toward the door. “And hurry up. Winter is upcoming, and with it comes the frost. The morning frost doesn’t wait for anyone, and neither do I. It is best to see the garden before winter fully takes over.”
I quickly pull on my boots. I tie the scarf I wore yesterday securely around my neck to hide my healing skin. Then, I follow her out. The guards in the hallway look very uncomfortable. Their eyes dart between me and the older woman, but neither dares to say anything.
Maggi leads me down a series of unfamiliar, winding corridors. We go deep into the lower levels of the eastern wing. The air grows colder. It smells less of burning torches and stone, and more of damp earth and sharp pine needles.
Finally, she pushes open a pair of massive, arched wooden doors with iron studs. The world opens up before us.
I gasp softly, the sound catching in my throat.
It is a beautiful sanctuary under a massive glass dome overhead. The pale morning light filters down through the shifting fog. Because winter is only just approaching, the cold is not biting yet. However, the ground is already prepared, covered in a thick carpet of dark green moss.
Velvet-petaled black roses with thorns as sharp as daggers bloom amidst lush white ferns. Heavy vines of deep purple ivy wrap around stone pillars, their leaves glistening with the very first hints of early morning dew.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Maggi asks. She steps onto the stone path that winds through the plants.
“It is beautiful,” I whisper. I walk beside her. The crisp air clears the heavy, stuffy scent of the palace from my lungs.
“Life stays alive here, even when the cold threatens,” Maggi says softly. Her sharp green eyes scan the garden. “Most people think werewolves only understand blood and hunting. They forget we belong to the earth just as much as your people do. I started this place to keep a piece of the earth alive inside these stone walls.”
Knowing Maggi as well as I do, I can hear the rare, hidden depth in her voice. I think back to the absolute silence that festered between us when she had spoken about her time in Eris, and her first love. A Fae.
“Why did you bring me here, Maggi?” I ask. I stop beside a bush of ripening, blood-red berries. “To give me a moment of peace? Or to prepare me for tomorrow?”
Maggi stops walking. She turns to face me. Her expression becomes deeply serious, losing her usual casual, smiley demeanor. “I brought you here because tomorrow you face the Ripper Ghost,” Maggi says. Her voice drops to a low, rough whisper. She steps closer. Her heavy fur coat brushes against the rag I am wearing. “I know exactly what he said to you at the feast last night. Sven told me. He is a nervous wreck, Olivia, even if he plays the ruthless king in front of his court. He threw you into the Dance of the Dead because the High Council would have executed you immediately otherwise. The arena is the only place where the laws of the goddess protect you from politics. He gave you a fighting chance. That is the closest thing to mercy my nephew can ever give.”
I look down at the dark green moss beneath my boots. The truth of her words cuts deep. A fighting chance. But against the Ripper Ghost, a fighting chance feels like a death sentence. “He’s going to kill me,” the words slips out before I can stop it. “The Ripper. He told me last night. He takes his opponents out in a single strike. And tomorrow... tomorrow is my twentieth birthday.”
Maggi’s eyes soften just a little bit. A brief flash of fierce, motherly care crosses her face. Then, it changes back to a strong resolve. She reaches out. Her hand is surprisingly warm as she grips my chin, forcing me to look up at her. “Then you make sure you strike first,” Maggi commands. Her grip is firm but it does not hurt. “The Ripper Ghost is arrogant. He has won for centuries because his opponents fear the stories about him more than the man himself. But he is a creature of flesh and bone, Olivia. He can bleed. And you are a Fae who survived Lotus and broke a Lycan. You are not a victim.”
“I only survived Lotus because of King Sven hypnosis on me-”
“Through your own strength. Remember that,” she releases my chin and turns her gaze back toward the sweeping arches of the glass dome. “Survive tomorrow. Not just for yourself... but because if you die in that arena, I fear my Nephew would burn the rest of the world down with him. And I am far too old to watch this kingdom turn to ash.”