Page 51 of Wild Flame

I smiled politely at him, noting how similar and yet different his much sharper, more narrow features were to Malik’s. “You have been missing out. I have been most impressed.”

Distracted by the prince’s arrival, I hadn’t noticed that the young trainee warriors had vacated the space and it was now filling with adult warriors. All the warriors were pairing off and were spread out around the Nest. Each man or woman held a spear, and a determined, viciously focused expression. The men wore nothing but loincloths, and the women wore the same, but with tight bands of cloth around their breasts. I had never seen so much skin on display in my life and fought the ingrained urge to look away. Each warrior’s skin was covered with stripes of different colored paint, some with swirling designs down their arms or chests, while others had swiped it on their foreheads and cheeks. No two warriors were identical.

“Time for the Blood Rite,” Zara commented excitedly.

“Blood Rite?” I asked.

“By making it to the games, each of these warriors has already earned the right to be Malik’s Talonar,” Zara said. “But now they fight for the title of First Warrior. It is called the Blood Rite.”

“There are four rounds,” Amir explained, cutting in. “Each pairing will fight until first blood and the victor will move on to the next round. Each round requires the use of different weapons until there are only five warriors left.”

“What happens when it gets to five?”

“You’ll see,” Zara said with a wink from my other side.

All the warriors had paired off now, and each stood a few paces apart, with several yards of space between themselves and the next set of combatants. My eyes surveyed the impressive sight, and unexpected anticipation filtered through me.

All was silent for a single, tense moment as the warriors faced off. My breath held.

Then, somewhere, a gong rang out.

The fighters burst into action, and I didn’t know where to look as they all attacked each other with a swift ferocity that stunnedme. Several warriors were taken out immediately with a slice to an arm or thigh, while others spun and ducked and feinted.

“Wow!” Zara breathed beside me, her eyes glued to the battles taking place before us.

I had to agree. “They’re magnificent,” I whispered, truly impressed.

“They’re no dragon riders,” Salim said derisively from where he sat, but his voice still carried to us over the bellowed battle cries and strikes of metal and wood.

“Harun, isn’t your brother competing today?” the Queen asked pointedly, shooting Salim a stern glare. I liked her.

“Yes, he is, Your Highness,” Harun replied, obviously unaffected by Salim’s statement.

I turned to Harun. “Which one is he?” I was genuinely curious to learn this about Malik’s second. I knew so little about the rider.

Harun pointed to a warrior wearing gold paint, fighting in the center of the arena, who looked a few years his junior. “His name is Yesh. And he’s a wickedly good fighter, if he can keep his head about him.” He tried to mask it, but I heard the pride of an older brother in every word.

I smiled at him. “Well, now I know who I’m rooting for.”

His brows lifted in surprise, and then he, too, smiled. I was stunned at how it lit up his entire face. He didn’t reply, but simply nodded in acknowledgment.

Faster than I thought possible, the first round was over and the twenty combatants who lost their fights moved to stand and watch from the edge of the floor. The winners moved to face their new opponents. This time, they were all given a pair of daggers.

Harun’s brother had made it through and now faced off against a massive warrior in blue-streaked paint. The gong rang again, and I glanced back to see Harun watching his brother withquiet focus. I had the feeling he wanted to call out advice and encouragement, like so many of the crowd were doing.

Yesh won that round by the skin of his teeth, and my heart was pounding with anxiety. There were only ten warriors left now. For the third round, they were given short swords. These battles took longer than the previous two rounds. These fighters were more evenly matched.

After a vicious fight with several close calls, Yesh made it through by feigning a strike to the left, then ducking right and sliding on his knees in the sand to slash at the other fighter’s calf.

Zara and I stood and cheered when he won. Harun and Tajan did as well. Zara let out a whoop, and Yesh glanced over to where his brother was and grinned.

“Where is His Majesty?” I finally dared ask as we took our seats again. I had been wondering since I got here, but no one else seemed concerned. I suspected they knew something I didn’t.

Zara opened her mouth, but Amir answered first. “He’s been watching this whole time with the warriors. Waiting to make his grand entrance.”

“Oh hush,” his little sister scolded him.

Amir shot her a lazy grin.

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