A woman to my right lets out a curse. “We came to see blood!”
One of the enforcers steps forward, a barbed aetherwhip in his hand. When he cracks it against the sand, both fighters flinch, the aether barbs opening deep cuts across their biceps even from the other side of the arena.
A warning.
“Kill!” the enforcer shouts.
The emperor’s face is expressionless, but I’m willing to bet he’s displeased. He points at one of the other enforcers in the arena, and the chain between the men is suddenly shortened, dragging the men toward each other.
The larger man doesn’t hesitate. He strikes out with his sword, meeting the purple-faced man’s shield.
Purple Face nimbly moves to the left, forcing Wide Shoulders to turn on his damaged knee. His face scrunches, so Purple Face makes him move on it again, slashing out in a wide arc.
Sword meets shield, the clang loud enough to hear even over the cheers of the spectators surrounding us.
The man with the ruined knee is going to win. There’s a look of desperation to Wide Shoulders, his eyes wild. He wants to live more. He’ll do whatever it takes.
Purple Face is infuriated, but there was more than just fury on his ruined face as he scanned the crowd just moments ago. His eyes were filled with despair.
The fight is over quickly. And I force myself to watch as Wide Shoulders slices his opponent from groin to collarbone.
I’m sure I’ll hear his screams in my dreams tonight. I’ll hear the clanking of the chain as Wide Shoulders limps closer. And I’ll hear the thump of his blade as he slices through his opponent’s neck, leaving the man’s head to roll free.
A mercy. At least he gave Purple Face a quick death.
Rage burns in my gut, but my instincts scream at me to force my expression to remain neutral. Any negative reaction to the emperor’s entertainment will draw the wrong kind of attention.
I drag my gaze to the tiles above my head. I wish I could at least enjoy the heat of the sun.
One by one, criminals are cut down. I don’t know what kind of crimes they committed to have been sentenced to the arena, but from the pleased look on the emperor’s face at the end of each match, they were enough to annoy him greatly.
The woman with the defensive wounds is last. If her arms pain her, she doesn’t let it show, warming up her wrist with a swing of her sword. Her opponent is a mountain of a man, his long beard stained with blood, lips pulled back in a snarl.
He attacks with a roar, and my own arms ache in sympathy as she blocks the first blow. Her wounds must be screaming at her, but her expression remains placid, her eyes focused.
The arena turns hushed. This woman is so skilled, she fights like one of the imperius, sliding nimbly out of the way of each swing of her opponent’s sword, moving with perfect efficiency, expending only the precise amount of energy and force needed.
It’s enough to exhaust the man she’s fighting, but he’s enraged—either by her or by the situation he’s found himself in. Each slash of his sword cuts through the air, the force of his shoulders and biceps behind it.
It’s only because I’m watching that I see it. The bleakness in the woman’s eyes as he slashes out with that sword once more, leaving his throat wide open.
Her expression twists into devastation. But she still lunges neatly beneath his shield, slices out with her own sword, and slashes her blade across his throat.
With a choked cry, he goes down.
Unlike the others, the woman doesn’t raise her sword to the sky. She doesn’t play to the crowd or bow to the emperor. Instead, she simply waits, her gaze on the body slumped before her.
From the moment she entered the arena, she refused to be stripped of her dignity. And now, she is refusing to partake in the emperor’s games.
Murmuring begins to sound in the sands. The murmuring turns to cheers, which turns into a dull roar.
I can’t see the expression on the woman’s face when she turns to face the emperor. But I can see the expression on his. The crowd is with her, and he doesn’t like it.
He holds up his hand, and several people around me suck in audible breaths.
My own chest aches, my lungs tight. But I know his thumb will shoot up even before he lifts it. The emperor is a clever man, and he knows how to keep the people on his side.
An enforcer strides into the arena and unchains her from her opponent, dragging her toward the gate. She casts one last glance back—not at the emperor, but at the man lying dead on the sand, now stained red with his blood.
