Page 21 of Gilded Curses

“The Tournament of what?” Zeth asked.

Desmond waved his hand at them. “The Tournament of immortals, The Tournament of the bravest, The Tournament of those who were courageous enough to venture outside the bounds of safety and onto bigger and better things! It can be whatever you wish to call it, especially since you are our first winners.”

Sahira didn’t feel like a winner, but she held that back. “How did you create such a thing?”

Desmond lifted a finger and waved it like she was a five-year-old, misbehaving child. “Uh-uh, little witch. We can’t reveal all our secrets.”

Beneath her hand, Orin tensed as a tremor ran through the corded muscles of his thigh.

“You and your friends have your secrets, and we have ours,” Desmond continued.

And apparently, this man somehow knew all their secrets. Orin had called her little witch while in the Cursed Realm; was that why Desmond said it now?

She had a feeling that was exactly why. This asshole didn’t do or say anything without knowing exactly why.

“What kind of immortals are you?” Elsa asked.

Desmond gulped some of his wine. Sahira’s stomach turned when a servant rushed to wipe his chin. If she were that man, she’d shove the napkin down Desmond’s throat until his neck bulged.

“I believe some immortals call us the Golden Ones,” Desmond continued when the servant finished dabbing at his mouth.

Sahira’s fingers tightened on Orin’s thigh, and he rested his hand over hers. Strength flowed through her when their fingers entwined.

Orin could envelop himself in shadows and try to slip away; he’d most likely succeed. She didn’t know why he hadn’t done so yet, but she was glad he was still here.

“Others,” Desmond continued, “call us the dagadon.”

“You’re supposed to be a myth.”

Desmond’s head fell back, and he laughed loudly, as did his wife. Smiles tugged at the mouths of those sitting here, acting like someone had taken their puppy.

“Obviously, we’re not,” Sheree said.

Sahira studied the colorful immortals sitting at the table, and the servants dressed so plainly. “The dagadon were said to have something to do with time; were the hourglasses meant to represent you?”

“Oh no,” Desmond said. “They are very clear clues as to how you’re supposed to leave Ground Zero and enter The Tournament.”

She briefly contemplated lifting her knife, leaning across the table, and slicing the smile off that smug prick’s face. She’d never get to him in time to inflict any damage, and if she did, the guards would probably kill her and her friends. But she yearned to destroy the hideous perfection of this asshole’s face.

“It’s very disappointing that so many of you either weren’t smart enough, or brave enough, to figure it out,” Sheree said.

Zeth’s claws clicked again.

“I mean, it’s quite obvious Ground Zero is the start, and you must follow the clues to get to the end.”

The hell it is, but Sahira didn’t argue with Desmond’s crazy bitch of a wife.

“The brownies did have a bit of an unfair advantage as they entered into the second round of The Tournament, but alas, they were too small to venture far on their own,” Desmond said. “It was a nice bonus to have them join your crew.”

“Our friend, Gior, died while traveling here. We’ve lost many others, too,” Loth said.

Desmond shrugged. “In a game of wits where only the best survive, there will always be losses. The weakest aren’t meant to survive. It’s simple evolution.”

The looks on the brownies’ faces all screamed murder as they sat on the table.

“What if we had decided to leave the town another way?” Sahira asked.

“Then you would have wandered until you died or returned. But thankfully, you were smart enough to figure out a building was missing and went in the right direction.”