Page 43 of Chained to the Champion
Kinsley and Asif hit the dirt like they’d been poleaxed, foreheads to the grimy stone. Submission. Smart. Me? I stood my ground, knife halfway out but still hidden under my tunic,my brain screaming odds that were laughably bad. Not good? Try suicidal.
“Please stand,” he told the other humans. “There's no need for that. I didn't mean to interrupt.”
My throat was dry. “Uh, we're fine,” I managed, forcing the words out past the lump. “I was asking them for directions. This place is a bit of a maze.” True enough.
A flicker at the corner of his massive mouth. Almost a smile. “Indeed. I'll lead you back to where you're supposed to be. Skorai's guards are on the war path today. You'll be safe with me.”
Tension ratcheted up, thick enough to choke on. Strike now? No, he'd crush me.
“Come,” he said. “Your master's match is about to begin. I'm sure he'd want you there to witness it.”
I risked a glance at Kinsley and Asif, still plastered to the floor.
“They won't be punished,” Omvar said, gaze sharp. “Not by me. But you need to leave. Now.”
No choice. Not if I wanted them, or me, to see another sunrise.
“Fine.”
Omvar’s claws, surprisingly gentle for their size, closed around my upper arm. Firm, though. No escape. He wasn't dragging, more … guiding. As we left the alcove, I glanced back. Kinsley and Asif were watching, faces a mess of fear and something else I couldn’t quite decipher.
Pity? Maybe. Or relief.
He led me up a spiraling series of corridors, closer and closer to the arena's roar. Guards snapped to attention as he passed. Warriors dipped their heads. Slaves practically melted into the walls. Yeah, this Drakarn was a big deal. Great.
“You're either very brave or very foolish,” he said finally, the silence stretching thin.
“I don't know what you're talking about,” I muttered, playing dumb. It rarely worked.
He snorted. “The Scalvaris warrior claimed you. Saved your pretty human hide. And here you are, poking around Ignarath with a sharp stick every chance you get. Why?”
I didn't answer right away. How much to give this giant red question mark? “They're my people,” I said, the truth plain and simple.
“Ah.” A slow nod, like that explained the universe. “Loyalty. A commodity in short supply in this city.”
We burst into blinding sunlight. The roar of the crowd hit me like a punch. Omvar steered me toward a raised section, prime seating for elite warriors and their … trophies. Perfect. A front-row seat to whatever fresh hell was brewing.
“Your warrior fights Dravka next,” Omvar rumbled as we settled onto cold seats. “He’ll need every scrap of skill just to breathe by the end of it.” Cheery bastard.
My eyes scanned the sun-blasted sand and found Zarvash easily. A statue of bronze scales and glinting fury at one end of the oval, his face a mask of cold, locked-down determination. Across from him, his opponent. Dravka. Scales the color of a deep bruise, a purple that was almost black. Even from there, the malice rolled off him in waves.
This wasn’t sport. This was murder waiting to happen.
“What’s his story?” I asked, my voice tighter than I wanted.
“They call him The Viper,” Omvar replied. “He loves dirty tricks. Poison. Mind games. Likes to draw things out. Make them scream.”
A cold fist clenched in my gut. “Poison? That's allowed in this circus?”
Omvar’s jaw tightened, a ripple under his scales. “No. But proving it? That’s another thing entirely. Accusers tend to have … unfortunate accidents.”
The horn blared. Match on.
Zarvash and Dravka circled warily, weapons out. Zarvash moved with that lethal grace I was starting to recognize, his injured wing strapped tight, blade a sliver of deadly light. Dravka was … different. Sinuous. Hypnotic. Twin daggers wove patterns in the air, catching the sun.
“Your master fights well,” Omvar observed, his tone unreadable. “For a grounded beast.”
My teeth ground together. “He's fine.”
