“Silence,” Vallius hisses, his voice echoing through the arena.
It’s too late. He can’t kill me now. Not until he proves I’m lying. Next to me, Maeva’s eyes are wide, no longer glassy, but she’s swaying on her knees.
“A healer will examine the first novice,” the emperor declares. A guard stalks across the arena and lifts Maeva to her feet, hauling her away. “If you are lying, you will die.”
I’m not lying. But I wouldn’t put it past the emperor to make the healers say I am. Tiernon gives me the tiniest nod. He’ll make sure one of his imperiums visit the healers.
A shadow moves behind him, winding through the pulvinar.
Rorrik.
“Entering the arena is still forbidden,” the emperor says.
Someone boos, the sound immediately cut off. Moments later, a scream shatters the silence. I close my eyes.
“What shall I do with a novice who refuses to obey the rules?”
I force my eyes open, meeting the emperor’s gaze. Rorrik leans close, whispering in his father’s ear.
“Yes.” The emperor smiles. “I believe I’ll do that.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
After everything I’ve overcome in this place.
All the fights.
All the near misses.
This is how I die.
Rorrik enters the arena, prowling toward me. My blood drums in my ears, making my swollen face throb, and I force my knees to straighten, even as a cold sweat breaks out along the back of my neck.
He tilts his head, the movement all vampire. Fear punches into me, with more force than any blow I’ve faced on this sand.
His gaze drops to my neck and he goes utterly still, his face turning white. “Who has been torturing you, little novice?” he hisses, using his power to make his voice dance around outside my head.
It takes me a moment to remember writhing on cool marble while Bran stared down at me in Leon’s room. It feels like that was days ago. But of course Rorrik can see Bran’s mark.
I do a quick weapons count. Three throwing knives. One in each boot and one on my hip. My sword, still clutched in my hand. No shield. No armor.
But the throwing knives are silver. I may not be able to kill Rorrik before he kills me, but I can make him hurt.
“No reply?” He’s still taunting me, but I refuse to allow him to make me lose my focus.
Rorrik heaves a sigh, but his eyes are dark with fury as he stares at my neck. “I suppose I’ll need to get your attention some other way.”
In a flash of movement, he’s suddenly standing in front of me. I launch to the side, and he seizes my arm, yanking me close. When I swing my sword, helaughs.
Dread wars with fury. I swing again and again. Rorrik releases me, easily dodging my attack.
My eyes and brain can’t keep up with his movements. They’re little more than a blur. But I just have to …
He lashes out, the movement almost casual.
My hand goes numb, my sword hitting the ground several feet away,and the crowd explodes into a gasping, heckling, laughing mass. When Rorrik steps into my space, I’m ready.
My dagger slides straight into his gut.
