I lean against the stone wall and close my eyes. The other gladians are quiet. Someone vomits noisily in the corner at one point, and I barely contain my own heaves.
I strain, attempting to decipher the screams and roars of the crowd, but there’s no way to know what’s happening.
Another guard appears. Two more gladians are called. Only a few of us remain. But it’s impossible to know who made it through.
I pace restlessly. The waiting is the worst part. I just need this over with. Need—
“Arvelle Dacien and Baldric Volker.”
Across the room, Baldric’s eyes meet mine, and a slow smile spreads over his face.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
My mouth tastes like sand as we walk down the corridor toward the arena. Baldric’s guardant is waiting next to Leon, both of them studiously ignoring each other.
Leon grabs my shoulders, leaning close, his eyes narrowed with intent. “I need you to do something for me.”
I swallow. It has been six years since Leon has asked me for anything more important than to pass him a practice sword.
“What?”
His voice lowers further, his fingers digging into my shoulders. “I need you to remember why you’re here,” he bites out. “Think about your brothers. And think about how you want to make sure they’re free. You want to make sure they grow up.”
Sweat forms along the back of my neck. Whatever is in that arena is going to horrify me.
“Leon—”
“You know what will happen if you die and Bran still has your brothers? That vampire bitch Elva willeatthem, Arvelle. They’ll be a snack for her. When she’s drained them dry, she’ll bury them in an unmarked grave. That’s if they’re lucky. If they’renotlucky, she’ll use them as entertainment for her vampire friends.”
My head swims, my stomach roiling. “Why are you saying this? Stop it.”
He shakes me. “I’ve seen things in this place that would make you curl into a ball and whimper. You think you’re tough, but your heart is still too soft, and you don’t have the luxury of a soft heart anymore. So go out there and fight for your brothers.”
I nod, my mouth so dry I can’t find the words to reply. Without another word, Leon releases me, stalking away.
An enforcer announces Baldric’s name, and he sends me a wide grin before sauntering into the arena.
“Arvelle Dacien.”
For a moment, Baldric’s shoulders block the view. When he stiffens, my lungs constrict.
If I don’t pull myself together, I’m dead. And I refuse to let Baldric’s face be the last thing I see.
Baldric steps aside, and something flutters to my left.
Wings.
Wings chained down, with no hope of flight.
Wings attached to a … griffon?
“Once thought to be almost impossible to trap, but no longer,” the emperor says, his voice booming through the arena.
Fuck.
Despite the chains binding the griffon, he still somehow manages to look both majestic and formidable—his powerful, feline form cloaked in sleek, gray fur that ripples as he jostles the heavy silver-laced iron confining his wings. Gray feathers tipped in white shimmer beneath the harsh light of the arena, while his long, tufted tail sweeps slow arcs across the sand. He turns his eagle-like head, and piercing gold eyes lock onto mine, glittering with intelligence.
Even I’ve heard the legends of the griffons, and how their viciousness in battle combined with the colder weather so far south prevented the emperor from getting a foothold in Torvellen.
