But he doesn’t. He’s ten feet above me, clinging to ice-coated bars, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Blood drips from the small slices along his forearms. I’m breathing hard, too, and my armor is holdingon by nothing more than a few strips of leather and a prayer to fate. I can taste my own blood.
“We’ve reached five minutes!” the announcer cries. “Will this man be the first to make it to ten?”
The crowd screams, but I don’t take my eyes off Nakiis.
“I used to spar with your father,” I say, and my voice is still low. “I’m not going to let you hit me again.”
A light sparks in his eyes, and he launches himself off the bars. He’s fast, but so am I. He dodges my blades, but he can’t get close enough to make another critical hit. Still, I earn a few slices across my arms—and so does he. The air has turned so cold that my breath fogs, and frost has formed along the ground. I leap the chain so many times it begins to feel like a second adversary. We begin a dance of advance and retreat, and my entire focus narrows to this moment, this battle.
Nakiis soars low, darting under my dagger arm. He takes a swipe at my legs, but I block him and spring out of his way.
The chain catches my ankle. I go down hard on my back.
He’s on me instantly, all but crouched on my chest. One foot pins my sword arm. Those clawed fingers close around my throat. Each individual point digs into the muscle. I hold my breath, but he doesn’t break the skin.
The magic in my ring won’t help if I’m dead before I can use it.
He leans close, until I can feel the chill of his breath against my face.
“I remember you now,” he says.
“Oh good.” I draw a ragged breath, then wince as his claws tighten. “I trust you’ve been well?”
“Foolish magesmith,” he says. “Enjoy your silver.”
I frown. “What?”
A bell rings, the crowd cheers, and chains rattle. His fingers scrape free of my throat as he’s dragged off me by the chain. Suddenly I’mlying in the dirt, and he’s being forced backward through a gap in the bars, toward a waiting cage.
My heart is pounding. “Stop!” I find my feet and sheathe my sword. “Stop!” But my voice is drowned out by the cheering crowd.
Journ appears beside me. He claps me hard on my shoulder, and I wince again. “That was incredible. I thought it was going to rip your head off.”
I rub at my throat, and my fingers come away with blood. “Me too.”
Journ claps me on the shoulder again. “Let’s go.”
“Go?” I still feel a bit stunned.
“To get your silver, boy! You’ve set a standard for the rest of them, I’ll say.” He gives me a firm shove in the opposite direction, but I can’t help glancing over my shoulder. I’ve lost sight of the scraver altogether.
There’s a man waiting at the gap in the gates, and the steward looks equally bored.
“What’s happening next?” I say to Journ. My thoughts are spinning.
“You didn’t think you were the only one, did you?” The bars clang closed behind us, and they’re chained shut.
The crowd roars, and Nakiis shrieks. Journ propels me forward, into the crowd, but at my back, the scraver’s second match begins.
I watch Nakiis fight nine more men. I should be buying ale and spreading gossip about what the queen intends, but instead, I sit on a wooden bench and lock my eyes on each match. The scraver is swift and brutal, and while some men last five minutes and call for the match to end, many others try for ten—and suffer for the effort. By the end of the night, Nakiis has a dozen bleeding stripes on his limbs, but the menhave more. The dust underfoot has turned to mud in some spots where blood—and worse—has spilled.
When it’s all done, they lock him back in a cage and drag it out of sight.
I’ve been entertaining the thought of asking Journ to release Nakiis. But he doesn’t own the tourney, and I’m not even sure he’d do it.
What did Journ say?The scraver fights pull in a lot of silver. I heard the way the attendants talked about Nakiis, the way they dragged the cage out of the arena. He’s an asset, not an individual.
Journ wouldn’t turn him loose.
