Chapter 89 Eighty-Nine.

Chapter 89 Eighty-Nine.
OLIVIA'S POV.

The sheer aura radiating from his side of the table makes the air feel ten degrees colder. It’s a heavy, suffocating pressure that smells faintly of old iron and dried blood.

“Sit, Olivia,” Isadora instructs softly, gesturing to the empty wooden chair opposite the monster.

I swallow the massive lump of terror in my throat and slide into the seat. My hands find my lap, clenching the fabric of my green dress tightly to keep them from visibly trembling.

Sven raises his golden chalice, his booming voice echoing across the entire square, instantly silencing the thousands of people below. “People of Māui! Tonight, we honor the ancient traditions of our ancestors. Before the final blood is spilled in the arena, we offer the fighters a night of peace. Let the feast begin.”

The crowd below explodes into a roaring cheer, the sound of drums and music start to fill the vast space.

But at our table, the silence is absolute.

I look across the expanse of the black velvet cloth, staring directly at the dark abyss of the Ripper Ghost's hood. I can’t see his eyes, but I can feel them drilling into my skin, analyzing me, dissecting me before the fight even begins.

“You aren’t eating, Fae," a low, raspy whisper suddenly drifts across the table.

The sound makes my hair stand on end. The voice doesn’t sound like a being; it carries a strange, metallic echo that vibrates uncomfortably in my ears. The Ripper Ghost slowly lifts a pale, scarred hand from beneath his dark cloak, his long, pale, fingers hovering over a wooden chalice unlike the silver chalice in my front.

I know vampires do not like silver so it makes sense he is given a wooden chalice.

“I’m not hungry,” I reply, my voice remarkably level despite the panic screaming inside my head.

“A pity,” the Ghost whispers, tilting his head slightly beneath the hood. “A well-fed vessel always puts up a better fight. Lotus was weak because he stopped aging before his body developed, so I would not have enjoyed fighting him. The werewolf you broke in one strike though was a bit surprising because I have heard news of how powerful he is.”

It is still surprising to me too, but thinking too much about it won’t solve anything because what’s done is done and I survived which is the most important part of participating in the Dance of the Dead.

“That Ogre was trying to save you that night.”

He is talking about Linnet.

“But you killed her the next day during your fight. That was heartless of you.”

I say nothing. I do not know how he expects me to react, but I feed him nothing. Linnet’s death is sad and regrettable but I did what I had to in order to survive. I won’t be guilt tripped.

“She seemed to like you a lot because she approached me that night before your arrival. Told me about a Fae friend, a pragmatist, who she was scared of facing in a battle. Even though I did not entertain her rants, she kept talking. Said in another life she wishes you two would be friends and she would teach you how to belly dance,” he adds. “She also said she wished you would win the battle, and if her savine had not worked she hoped you killed her because you are just a kid who hadn’t lived for as long as she had.”

Linnet… even till her death she remained nice to me. Even when I thought she poisoned me for her own selfish reasons, it was all to save me. Even with her last breath she had hoped I would win the Dance.

Maybe in another life, where being a Fae does not matter. Where every Kingdom can peacefully coexist and where being a slave is a system that is abolished we would be best of friends.

My lips tremble and my eyes stings with tears, but I do not cry. In another life.

“The Ogre was merciful to you during your fight,” he adds. “But do not expect the same mercy from me during our fight."

“I don’t expect mercy from anyone in this kingdom,” I snap back, a spark of defensive anger flaring through my sadness.

A low, dry sound rattles from his chest. One that chills me to the bone. “Good. Because when the gates open, I will take your life in a single strike, just as you did to your last opponent. Enjoy the bread and the meat, Fae. It will be the last luxurious meal you will ever eat.”

I grip the edge of the table, about to fire back another defiant remark, when I feel a heavy, burning gaze lock onto the side of my face.

I look up, my eyes instantly colliding with Sven’s dark green stare. He is watching us, his jaw clenched so tightly the muscles are pulsing. There is a strange, dangerous glint in his eyes as he looks between me and the hooded killer sitting opposite me. He looks like a predator waiting to spring, his massive hands gripping his chalice with enough force to bend the gold. He looks like the Sven I first met, the ruthless King Sven.

I look back at the Ripper Ghost, then back to Sven, the sheer weight of the upcoming battle settling heavily on my shoulders. Less than three — no, two days now. Two days until the end of everything.

And as the music swells and the people of Māui cheer for our deaths, I feel uneasy knowing my death is just a matter of days away.

My last battle would also be on my birthday. My twentieth.