Page 47 of Her Manticore Master
The crowd erupts in excitement, sensing the promise of extraordinary bloodshed.
"Teams of gladiators will compete in mortal combat," Valdris continues when the noise dies down. "And the winning team—should any survive—will earn something beyond price."
He pauses for maximum dramatic effect, pale eyes gleaming with malicious satisfaction.
"Their freedom."
The word hits the arena like lightning, electrifying every gladiator present. Freedom. The one thing none of us believed possible.
"Let the grand melee begin!"
As the crowd roars its approval, I catch Ronan's eye and see my own desperate hope reflected in steel-blue depths.
Freedom.
If we can just survive whatever hell Valdris is about to unleash.
19
RONAN
The guards escort us back through the stone corridors, but the arena's roar still echoes in my ears. Freedom. The word tastes like poison on my tongue because I know it's a lie.
Men like Valdris don't give away their prizes. They dangle hope like bait, watching their victims scramble for something that was never real to begin with.
"Quite a show," Thane comments as we descend toward the gladiator quarters. "Freedom for the survivors. Generous offer."
"Very generous," I agree, keeping my voice neutral.
But my mind races with darker possibilities. What's the real game here? What does Valdris gain from this spectacle beyond entertainment?
The other gladiators buzz with excited conversation, already forming alliances and plotting strategies. Fools. They're so desperate for freedom they can't see the trap being laid.
"You don't seem excited, beast," Korven observes. "Not interested in earning your liberty?"
"I'm interested in staying alive."
"Same thing, isn't it?"
"We'll see."
They herd us into the large holding area where gladiators wait between matches. The space erupts with voices as fighters debate team formations and assess potential threats. Everyone's calculating odds, measuring strengths, planning for the fights ahead.
Everyone except me.
Because I know this entire exercise is designed to break us in new and creative ways. The promise of freedom is just another chain, heavier than iron because it weighs on the soul.
Still, what choice do we have? Play Valdris's game and hope to find an opening, or rot in these cells until death claims us.
Some choice.
The moment the guards leave us alone, Corrina whirls around and her fist connects with my jaw in a wild, unpracticed swing.
The impact is negligible—she has no idea how to throw a proper punch—but the fury behind it is absolute. Her green eyes blaze with rage that goes deeper than simple anger.
"You bastard!" she hisses, shaking out her hand. "How dare you!"
"How dare I what?"
