My heart beats steady and hard as I process this information. “Oh.”
“Don’t grab the chain, though. It tore some poor sap’s hand off.” He swipes at his nose. “You ready?”
I nod, and he unchains a bar to let me in. Once I’m through, the metal clinks back into place and the crowd erupts with cheers. The first bit of fear pricks at my heart.
I turn to look at the steward. “Which way does the scraver—” I begin to say, but an earsplitting screech tears through the tourney, bringing an ice-cold blast of wind with it.
I cringe involuntarily, looking for the source. It’s been years, but I forgot they cansoundlike that. I forgot their magic that brings a chill to the air.
I see nothing, though. The cheers from the crowd redouble, mixing with the shrieks, until the sound is deafening. I move to the center of the arena and turn in a circle, looking for an opening, but the crowd seems to press in around the cage, until I can’t see a break in the faces.
Without warning, the shriek is closer. A chain rattles at my back. A dark shape rockets into the arena, and I register coal-black eyes, wings the color of night, and then nothing else because the scraver slams right into me.
I swear and hit the ground rolling. A claw slices through my upper arm, but I draw my sword as I roll to my feet. I sense more than see hissecond attack, so I spin a tight circle with my blade, barely nicking his forearms.
The scraver shrieks and retreats to the air, wings beating hard as it prepares to attack again. Blood is a bright-red streak against the darkness of his skin. The chain is attached to a manacle around his ankle, trailing all the way to the side of the arena.
I don’t know if it’s Nakiis. It’s been too long.
“I don’t want to fight you,” I say in Syssalah. The crowd is so loud, but I keep my voice low. I know he can hear me. “I just want—”
He dives for me, heedless of my sword, his claws outstretched, fangs bared.
I don’t want to hurt him. I swing my sword but duck under the movement, and he sails past. Claws drag against my armor anyway, tearing through the buckles at my shoulder. The crowd gasps as I stumble to a knee. Blood slips down my back, but stars flare in my vision as I call for the power in my ring. The injury closes just as the scraver tackles me again, and I crash into the dirt. My sword goes skittering away.
I roll quickly, before he can pin me. My sword is just out of reach.
But the chain is right there.
I grab hold as he takes to the air. The chain jerks taut, but he must be used to this tactic, because he changes course to round on me before I can blink. His shriek echoes through the arena, so loud ithurts. He’s too fast, too hostile.
It tore some poor sap’s hand off. Silver hell.
I don’t duck this time. I let go of the chain and leap for him.
Those claws slice through the straps on the left side of my breastplate and drive into the skin below. But my arms close on his rib cage, and I can feel his shock. His wings beat hard, but he can’t support my weight. We crash into the ground, but I don’t let go.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” I gasp. “I just—”
His fangs sink right into my jaw. The pain steals my vision, my thoughts, my grip.
This was perhaps a bad idea.
“We’ve reached three minutes!” the announcer calls, and the crowd cheers. “Can he go for five?”
There’s a good chance I’ll be dead in five. I throw a punch, and it dislodges the scraver. Skin and muscle tear, robbing me of breath. But it gives me the tiniest bit of leverage, and I’m able to flip him onto his back. I’m panting, blood dripping from my jaw, soaking into my shirt beneath the armor, but I brace my arm across his neck. He’s struggling, his claws digging for purchase, but now he’s scrabbling at my bracers. My vision is still spotty from blood loss, but I can feel the magic in my ring working. I just need to stay conscious long enough for it to knit my skin back together.
The scraver’s wings beat against the dirt floor as he struggles, but this close, I can see the scarring on the underside of one, where he was once taken down by an arrow.
“YouareNakiis,” I say in surprise, and for a fraction of a second, he stops struggling. His eyes fix on my jaw, which has stopped bleeding.
“I can help you escape,” I say in a rush. The crowd is roaring now. “I can—”
“No magesmith can help me,” he growls, and then his claws sink into my upper arm, digging deep, severing muscle and tendon. I cry out and jerk back—and it’s all he needs to wrench free.
I am quickly reconsidering my vow not to hurt him.
He’s in the air before I can blink, those chain links rattling. I scramble to get my sword before he can pounce on my arm.
