Finally, Seyna stood alone in the pit.
Kezren was behind her. He didn't need to lift a weapon or speak a word. His place wasn't here. It never was. His fight had already been fought and his life belonged to her now. His blood was hers to defend. And this was how she did it.
Six women ringed her.
Each one of them wore the marks of her power on their skin; heavy scars, some old and silvered, some still pink and raw from the last season's trials. They weren't amateurs. They weren't here for foolish pride or the thrill of glory. They wanted Kezren.
And Seyna was the only thing between them and him.
Her breath misted in the air. The ground beneath her bare feet crackled faintly with frost. Tiny veins of ice spread from where she stood, creeping over the scarred earth like a warning.
Seyna didn't move. Not at first.
Her hair hung in thick braids down her back, knotted with shards of bone and iron beads. Her skin, pale from decades under the lack of sun and layered with streaks of pale war paint, gleamed faintly with sweat but she didn't blink. She didn't flinch.
The first woman lunged.
Seyna didn't even look at her. She just moved.
Her foot slid back a fraction of an inch, the frost blooming under her heel like a spiderweb exploding. The air turned sharp and before the woman could even swing her blade, Seyna's hand was up, fingers splayed.
A spike of ice erupted from the ground. It speared through the woman's thigh, the crack of bone shattering echoing across the ring. The challenger screamed, but only for half a breath before Seyna twisted her wrist and a second spike shot up, punching clean through her ribs.
The woman hung there like a gutted animal.
She was dead.
That was one.
"Come," Seyna murmured. "Don't keep me waiting."
The others surged in.
Two at her left, blades glinting. One at her back, silent as shadow. Another, a tall woman with red tattoos curling down her neck, bared her teeth and hurled a javelin straight for Kezren.
Seyna's eyes snapped toward it.
Her hand flicked out and the temperature plummeted. A wall of ice erupted in the javelin's path, the spear shattering on impact with a thunderclap of sound.
But she was already moving.
The woman closest to her swung low, a broad-axe meant to cleave through muscle and bone alike. Seyna slid into the attack, dropping to one knee. Frost exploded under her palms as she slammed both hands into the earth and a slick sheet of ice spread instantly.
The woman's footing failed. She slipped, her momentum carrying her into the second attacker.
And Seyna was there.
She rose smoothly, twisting as she did, her hand forming a sharp, thin shard of ice in the space between heartbeats. She drove it under the first woman's chin with brutal precision, punching it up through her skull.
The body dropped at her feet.
Two.
The second attacker had just found her feet when Seyna's boot connected with her ribs in a savage kick. The crunch of bone was a hollow, satisfying sound. She didn't give the woman a chance to breathe. Seyna followed, hammering her elbow down on the back of her neck as she fell. Then her fingers tangled in the woman's braid and yanked.
The blade of ice she formed in her other hand wasn't large. It didn't need to be. It slipped between vertebrae at the base of the skull, severing spine from thought.
Three.
The next came from behind.
Seyna could feel the faint displacement of air, the scent of oil and sweat. She pivoted before the strike could land, catching the woman's wrist as the dagger arced for her throat.
Their eyes met.
Seyna broke the wrist in her grip, a sharp twist that sent the bone snapping through skin. The woman grunted in pain, but not enough to stop her from striking with her other hand.
Seyna slammed her forehead into the woman's nose, feeling the cartilage give way with a wet crack.
Then she drove a spike of ice through her heart.
Four.
The tall woman with the red tattoos was next. She was smarter than the others. She hadn't charged blindly. She circled, waiting.
But Seyna didn't play games. Not with her man.
Frost licked up her arms in thin veins. The air around her hissed, colder than the depths of winter. With a flick of her fingers, she sent a barrage of ice shards screaming toward her opponent.
The woman barely dodged. One shard took her in the thigh. Another nicked her cheek but she kept moving.
She wanted Seyna to fight harder.
"Fine," Seyna murmured.
The ground trembled faintly under her feet. And then it split.
An eruption of ice burst up beneath the tattooed woman, forcing her to leap clear, but Seyna was already there when she landed.
Knees bent. Shoulders tight. Elbow out.
She slammed it into the woman's temple and before the body could fall, she drove a curved blade of frost into her gut, twisting as she pushed it in deep.
She twisted hard.
Blood steamed as it hit the frozen air.
Five.
Only one left now.
The last challenger stood panting, weapon raised. There was fear in her eyes now. But she still came.
Seyna respected that. Too bad she was going to die as well.
She let the woman charge. Let her scream her fury and grief. Let her think there was a chance.
And then Seyna stepped through the attack.
Her hand shot up, grabbing the wrist holding the blade. Her other hand hammered into the woman's chest. It was open-palmed and flat, not enough to kill but enough to freeze.
Ice spread instantly from her hand. The woman's ribs crackled under the cold, lungs locking. Her skin turned pale. Then grey.
Then white.
She tried to scream but her throat froze shut.
Seyna let her freeze solid. And then, without ceremony…
She shoved.
The woman toppled backward, hitting the ground with a hollow sound.
Six.
Seyna exhaled slowly, watching the cloud of her breath fade into the stillness. Around her, silence hung. Even the crowd had stopped cheering.
Because they knew this was why she was Commander. This was why she was the Chieftain's chosen.
Seyna turned, her gaze finding Kezren.
He hadn't moved but there was pride in his eyes. She walked to him slowly with no hurry. She wasn't winded. And when she stood in front of him, she reached out, her fingers gentle now, as they touched his jaw.
"Mine," she murmured.
He smiled, and the faintest breath of frost curled from his lips as he said it back.
"Of course I'm yours."
And the horn sounded again. Mate Stealing was done. And Seyna? She was undefeated. Again.
°°°°°°
The air was sharp with cold enough to sting Raika's lungs. The blood from the Mate Stealing fights had barely dried. Some of it still glistened on the stone floor beneath her boots, dark and sticky. The slaves had dragged the bodies out fast but they hadn't bothered to clean the mess. No one ever did. Blood was part of the ritual.
Veyn stood behind her, quiet like always. His arms crossed over his chest, his face blank, but Raika knew he was watching everything. He always did. He was the reason she stood here now.
Six years of blood, broken bones, and women who thought they could take him. Six years of keeping him free, because he didn't want to be chained to anyone. Yet.
The final event was set only for her since she was the daughter of the late clan leader of Clan Spine.
She flexed her fingers, rolling her shoulders as the crowd shifted.
It wasn't tense. It was too quiet. No woman had stepped forward yet.
And that wasn't right.
Raika narrowed her eyes, scanning the crowd again. Usually, by now, someone would have charged in, itching for a shot at taking Veyn from her. That was how it went every year.
Fights. Screaming. Bones breaking. But today? Nothing.
Until the heavy thump of boots on stone echoed across the grounds.
The crowd stilled, as if someone had flipped a switch. Conversations died. Even the wind seemed to shut up.
Up on the high stone platform, the Chieftain of the Northern Tribes stood. Zarvana. Her voice cut through the silence. She didn't shout. She didn't need to.
"Who dares to claim Veyn of Clan Spine? Who dares challenge Raika, daughter of Clan Spine Hollow for the mate she has protected for six years?"
She knew the answer before the silence stretched too long.
But to her shock, nobody moved. There were no challengers.
Not one woman stepped forward. The crowd was restless but quiet. Raika's grip on her club tightened. Something was wrong. She didn't know what it was yet, but every instinct she had was screaming at her.
Veyn was watching too. She could feel his eyes on her back.
Then Zarvana moved.
She stepped forward from her throne like she'd been waiting for this moment all day. Her boots cracked the frost on the stone steps as she came down from the dais.
Raika's stomach clenched. This wasn't right.
Then Zarvana smiled.
It wasn't a warm smile. It wasn't even smug. It was the kind of smile Raika had seen once before. It was the day Zarvana broke the neck of a warlord who challenged her for leadership.
And then she said it.
"Then I will challenge Raika of Clan Spine. I will claim Veyn as my mate."
The arena exploded into noise. Women slammed their fists in excitement. Men just stood there, stunned. Raika didn't move. She was watching Zarvana descend those steps one by one, each stride heavier than the last.
This was bad. This was really bad.
Zarvana wasn't just another woman. She was the Chieftain. She hadn't fought in a Mate Choosing Ritual in over two hundred years. She didn't need to. No one had ever dared challenge her authority, let alone her strength. And now she wanted Veyn?
Raika's pulse was hammering. Her fingers itched around the hilts of her club. She should have expected this, but she hadn't.
Not from Zarvana.
Veyn didn't say a word. But he stepped closer, just a fraction. Enough for Raika to feel the heat of him at her back.
"Don't die. This isn't a Mate Stealing."
Zarvana reached the bottom of the stairs. Her frost aura was already spilling out around her feet, creeping across the stone like veins of ice. Runes flared to life along her arms and throat, ancient markings glowing faint blue under her skin.
This wasn't just a challenge for a mate. This was personal. This was political. Raika wasn't stupid. She knew if Zarvana took Veyn, it would mean control. An iron grip on the only male in the North completely immune to the curse of the Fallen Bridge. A man untouched by sickness, still fertile, still strong.
Raika's jaw clenched. She'd been ready to fight anyone. But this? Fighting Zarvana? That wasn't a fight. That was a death sentence.
And Zarvana knew it.
"I will take him," Zarvana said. "And when I kill you, it will be as it should have been six years ago."
The crowd went wild again, roaring for blood. Raika tuned them out. Her breath slowed. She adjusted her stance, her club hanging loose in her hands.
The horn hadn't sounded yet. But it would.
And when it did, Raika knew that one of them wasn't walking away from this fight.