Gods, my head hurts.
Baldric’s sword slashes in a wide arc, and I duck, driving my own sword toward his unprotected side. He lurches back, barely keeping his balance.
The crowd laughs, and color rises to his cheeks, his lips pulling back in a snarl.
I need that rage to make him sloppy.
But Baldric strikes fast, each movement flawless.
I dance back. He follows, slashing in the same pattern once more. One. Two. Three. Thrust.
Good. I can work with a pattern.
The sand shifts beneath my feet, churned and softened from everyone who has fought and died here today. My face feels as if a spike has been driven into my jaw, straight through my brain.
I meet Baldric’s next strike, studying him as our blades clang together. His crooked nose wrinkles in an almost-wince.
My senses heighten further. Something about that movement hurt him.
Dodge, slice, parry. For the first time, I’m using my own sword in the arena. And it feels natural, like an extension of my arm.
I meet Baldric’s blade again, the impact reverberating through my entire body. If my blade snaps, I’ll be down to my throwing knives.
There. The slightest grimace when he slashed down. He’s hurt—his shoulder or perhaps his upper back.
Slice, slice, slice.
Darting to the side, I switch my blade to my left hand to block his thrust.
And slam my right fist into his ear.
The crowd roars. But I still hear the breath wheeze from Baldric as he sways.
His eyes are just a little glazed now. I hurt him. And the blow impacted his balance.
But, gods, I’m tired. My jaw aches, my head throbs. I know what my blurred vision means. I’m at least a little concussed.
If I don’t finish this soon, I’m dead.
And if I’m dead …
Wait. What—
My heart stops and then kicks in my chest.
Maeva’s moving in my peripheral vision, her body a blur. I keep my gaze firmly on Baldric’s face.
He fakes a lunge at me, forcing me to stumble back. His next smile is grim. “You never should have come here, voidborn. You’re going to die today.”
Maeva’s still making her way around the outside of the arena, her movement slow but purposeful. She’s trying to pin him between us.
I just have to keep him distracted.
I swing my sword loosely in my hand. Baldric’s gaze drops, and he sneers.
But he’s watching me, his huge chest expanding as he sucks in air. He’s tired too.
I slice my blade in a wide horizontal arc. His sword meets mine, but I’m already moving, reversing the strike. He curses, dodges, and parries with his own blade. The blow makes me stagger, and he keeps coming, forcing me to dodge each swing and thrust.
