Evren grins at him, and my heart squeezes.
My brothers are wary of Tiernon. Evren is more forgiving, but Gerith only talks to him if Tiernon asks him a direct question. If Tiernon notices, he keeps it to himself.
We fall asleep on the sofas in Tiernon’s quarters. When I wake, I have no idea what time it is, but Tiernon is leaning over me.
“You’d better go to training,” he whispers. “I ran interference with Nyrant, but a power struggle between us wouldn’t be good for anyone.”
My teeth sink into my lower lip. Evren is asleep on an armchair, his legs sprawled carelessly over the side, head at an unnatural angle. His neck is going to be stiff when he wakes up. Gerith is curled up on the sofa, the hint of a smile on his face as he murmurs something in his sleep.
My eyes fill.
Tiernon takes my hand, pulling me to my feet. He wraps his arms around me as I bury my head in his chest, tears streaming from my eyes. I feel like I’m leaking, like all the emotions I refused to feel while they were gone have hit me at once.
Safe. They’re safe.
“Shhh.” Tiernon strokes my hair and simply holds me for long moments. When I finally regain control, he tightens his hold briefly, then loosens it as I step away.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
He gives me a faint smile, but something I can’t place flashes across his face. Something that looks almost like … sorrow.
THANKS TORORRIK’Slittle show after the council dinner, Nyrant’s power no longer makes me tremble.
If anything, the power lashing at me—and every other novice in the training hall—speaks to a loss of control.
“Are you listening to me?” Nyrant demands. It’s the most infuriated I’ve ever seen him.
“Yes.”
“You killed two strong, powerful novices, and yet you think you don’t need to come to training? You, who would be the least powerful person in this room if not for Etaina?”
Behind him, Etaina flinches, and fury begins to simmer in my gut.
So that’s what this is about. Nyrant is displeased his pets are dead. “Baldric and Hester tried to kill Maeva,” I say. “They broke the rules.”
Nyrant narrows his eyes. “And yetMaevais still at the healers. Three novices out of action, and one who doesn’t feel like she needs to train.”
“I apologize.” I keep my voice carefully neutral, but Nyrant’s eyes narrow further.
“Your guardant isn’t here to coddle you,” he hisses. “Instead of sprints, I think we’ll try something else.”
The idea of Leon coddling me would almost be amusing, if not for the hard glint in Nyrant’s eyes.
He gives me a humorless smile and my pulse races. “Line up,” he orders, without taking his eyes off me, and behind him, every novice falls into a tight line.
Counting Maeva, there are only twenty of us left.
“Since you clearly want to spend more time swinging your sword, I’ll oblige,” Nyrant tells me. “You’ve cost your fellow novices two well-trained, powerful members who would have stood with them through any attack on the emperor or his family. I think it’s only fair that you face each of them.”
Briona steps forward, her eyes meeting mine. I don’t know her well—but I’ve heard she’s the reason so many of her fellow gladians survived their group’s third challenge.
Briona’s half-crowned gold sigil glows against her deep, black skin, and she walks toward me with the kind of easy grace that likely translates to fluidity in the arena.
Nyrant points at the mat. “Fight.”
“Wait,” Kaeso calls. “They don’t have practice swords.”
“Unnecessary,” Nyrant says.
