I drop my satchel to the ground. The sickening crack is unmistakable, and I know at least a few of the bottles have broken. My hands find their way to Char’s back, grazing over his tense muscles.
“We don’t want any trouble,” he says, his words now directed at the men who are eyeing us like wounded prey.
Five of them hold dry pieces of wood. Three grip bricks the size of my foot. And two aren’t holding anything at all. As far as I can tell, none of them are in possession of a real weapon. Steel bladeslike mine are hard to come by. If weapons were easily available, the streets would be a bloodbath.
We all know that fewer numbers in the arena means a better chance of survival come trial day.
“You hear that, Norin?” one of the men not holding anything says. He has coal-black hair, brown skin, and a round face. I’ve seen him before. Many times. He’s in our trial year, the same age we are. But I’ve never bothered to learn his name. There’s no point. Not until the third trial is over.
“Char doesn’t want any trouble. It’s all but confirmed that he’ll be handed the number one spot, but he doesn’t want any trouble. What do you make of that?” He glances at the man standing next to him. The one that must be Norin.
“I don’t know, Tee. I think if he didn’t want any trouble, then he shouldn’t have come down this alley. What do you think?” Norin cocks his head to the side, his red strands falling in his wide-set brown eyes.
He moves his hand from behind his back, revealing the broken piece of glass he’s been holding onto. He smacks the flat side against his palm.
“Why don’t you run along,Fi.”
He must have heard what Char called me because there’s no way he knew who I was before this moment.
“By the looks of you, you won’t be surviving the final trial anyway. Who am I to deprive you of your remaining days?”
His words make my stomach churn, and I resist the urge to scratch his eyes out.
He smacks the glass against his palm again.
I may not be a threat to them, but Char certainly is. If any of them are gunning for the top position, then Char needs to be removed from the competition. And the only way to removesomeone is to kill them.
They’re right. He never should have come down this alley.
And he never would have, if it wasn’t forme.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I say, my voice sounding far braver than I feel.
I remove my hand from Char’s back, preparing to reach for my blade. Doing it now would be foolish. I need to wait for the right moment. They don’t think I’m armed with anything, let alone actual steel. I need to use that to my advantage.
“Fi, I think you should listen to him,” Char says slowly, angling his head so he can see me. “Get out of here.”
His eyes flicker across my face, giving me a look I’ve never seen on him before. At least, not directed atme.
Longing.
Desire.
Heartache.
Is this how people look at each other right before they’re about to die?
Suddenly, there’s a lump in my throat, but I force it away with a heavy swallow.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I repeat. It’s my fault he’s in this mess. There’s no way I’m leaving him. “He’s the mayor’s son. There will be consequences,” I remind them, but I know it won’t do any good. There’s no going back now. They’ve made their intentions all too clear.
“Screw the mayor,” another one of the men calls out. “I’ve spent my entire life hungry. And he hasn’t done a damn thing about it.”
“We’re all hungry. You know it’s not his fault,” Char says, and his fists tighten. I squeeze his shoulder. Now is not the time for this argument, but Char will never not defend his father. “The fields are barely producing food anymore. What they do yield needs to berationed. There’s only so much he can do.”
“Well, someone needs to do better, and I won’t stand around and watch that person be you. You don’t deserve the number one spot.” Norin spits, and Tee grabs a brick off the ground before taking a step toward us.
“And you do?” I challenge right as a gust of warm wind tunnels through the alley, tousling my hair, threatening to hinder my view. I brush the dark strands from my face.
