Page 95 of Daughter of the Drowned Empire
“Sorry,” I snapped. “Did I hurt your pride?”
“You think that’s what I care about?”
My gaze fell on the three silver circles, and fear gripped me. “Rhyan, stop, I’m sorry,” I said sincerely, and reached forward, gripping his tunic. His hand closed over mine. There was something instinctual in the movement, natural. Like when we’d held hands in the prison long after my panic attack had subsided.
“It’s all right,” he said. And then as if he’d just noticed the contact between us, he let go of me. My hand dropped to my side.
“I didn’t mean to lie…. I just thought I had to…. It’s done. I’m here now. Tell me. What do I do?”
His jaw flexed as he glanced between the arena and me, but his gaze softened, the fury and fire in his emerald eyes fading as they locked with mine. “I know. And, Lyr, I’m…I’m on your side.” He exhaled sharply, stepping back. “They’ll be clumsy,” he said. “Not sure yet how to work as a team. Trying to show off and one-up each other. Not yet focused on proving themselves in a fight. You won’t be in there long. You don’t need to fight them. Just survive. Avoid, duck, and retreat as much as possible. No one has combat moves yet—not on day three.”
I bit my lip, trying not to cry.
“We’ll work on this. How to get through a five. You have strength, Lyr. It’s just different than theirs right now, but you can still use it against them. Just stay focused. It will be quick.” Rhyan gave me a slow nod, then took another step back, arms folded neatly across his chest, allowing me the space to leave our corner. Two of the circles were already full of soturi, preparing to fight.
The third, the one in the very center, had five soutri I didn’t recognize—the five who would be fighting me. Four were female. One was male. Ka Kormac. Shit.
The silver rings hummed with magic, buzzing and sparking with glittering lights.
I wrapped my arms around myself. “Rhyan, how…how hot are the circles?”
“The bindings?” Rhyan’s green eyes raced back and forth as he shook his head. “Not hot. Cold. Ice cold.”
I swallowed and stepped forward, closing my eyes. I was back in the temple. Tristan looked pained as he held up his stave, and the fiery ropes came out. I shrugged my shoulders, feeling them against me, the memory still too strong.
“It won’t be like before when….” Rhyan said. “They aren’t wrapped around your body.”
I stared up at him. “How did you know?”
He reached for me, his hand brushing against my arm, before he pulled back, flexing his hand at his side. “Just focus on what you need to do now. All right? Can you do that? Stay in the present?”
I nodded, biting my lip.
“I’ll be here after,” he said. “Don’t worry. Aemon wouldn’t let this go too far. No one is supposed to….” He closed his eyes slowly. “In Bamaria, the rules of conduct are stricter to—to minimize injury. The goal isn’t to interrupt training or purge soturi who are….” He shook his head. “You’re going to be all right. I’ll find you as soon as it’s over.”
Blue lights flashed across the night sky as the bells rang, louder than they ever had before. The sound echoed and vibrated inside of me, banging against my every bone and muscle. Beads of sweat rolled down the nape of my neck, the leather laces of my sandals cut into my calves, and a roaring from the crowd pounded against the brewing breeze as I stepped onto the field.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
MYFEETTOUCHEDthegrass, stepping, stepping, stepping until I reached the silver circle. My hands opened and closed into sweaty fists. The bells came to a halt, and the silence seemed to ring louder through me than any other sound in the arena. The binding circle glowed and sparkled, the silver almost appearing like starfire as small flames licked the conjured magic. But those were merely the reflections of the torches lighting the stadium from above.
Beyond the silver binding, five sets of eyes watched me with disdain. I could feel their impatience with me and sense their itchiness to start the fight, to release the violence and energy their magic was building up inside of them. Still holding my breath, I stepped forward, feeling the ice of the binding’s magic sweep out to kiss my skin. Then I was through, the freezing magic nipping at the backs of my arms and legs.
It didn’t hurt. The magic wanted to let you in, but it would not let you out—not until the spell was recanted. While Rhyan had been right and the magic wasn’t tied around my body, it still jolted me into feeling just as trapped, just as helpless as I had been the night Tristan had used it on me.
Blackness bled into the indigo sky. The stars were dulled out by the fires circling above. I positioned myself in the center of the circle, my attention now on the cheers erupting all around me. Every fighter was in place. I took in a deep breath, eyeing my opponents. The one male from Ka Kormac was already sneering at me. His hair was dark, unlike Viktor’s, but he had the Bastardmaker’s beady eyes.
The other four female soturi, I watched closely. Tani was there, already gleaming with sweat. She sneered as I got closer, baring her teeth. Though she was from Ka Elys in Elyria, loyal to the Ka who’d replaced Ka Azria, she was always by Pavi’s side and had been sneering at me since Pavi’s lashing. Two more of the soturi I faced were also Ka Elys with ashvan horses adorning their armor. They shared a look with Tani that left my throat dry. They blamed me for what had happened to Pavi and were now in an arena with free reign to make me pay.
The last girl I didn’t recognize. She had the whitish blonde hair that was common in Damara, and her armor showed a cresting wave. Ka Daquataine, like Haleika’s apprentice Leander. Maybe not my enemy, but Damara always produced soturi with natural strength.
Turion Dairen stepped onto the field, his cloak flying behind his shoulders as he stepped onto the center dais. Fuck. He was in charge tonight. I wasn’t going to be given any slack. My opponents knew this, too. Their eyes gleamed watching him.
I tensed and tried to listen to Dairen’s instructions, but his voice was drowned out by the ringing in my ears. Each circle had fifteen minutes to fight. All blows were to be below the neck. When it was our turn, we were to go until he called time at exactly fifteen minutes. There’d be a discussion after, a critique of each warrior—what went well and what went wrong—and then the next circle would fight.
My stomach twisted. We were in the center circle, which I guessed meant we’d go second. I started to exhale, knowing I’d have at least fifteen more minutes without pain.
But without warning, Dairen called on the center circle to begin.
