Elyse could no longer keep her eyes open, and she let them flutter closed against Killian’s skin. “Well, it worked,” she said, voice as soft as a shadow. “You know, the first time we met, I offered to sell you that very potion.”
She had replayed that day in her mind a thousand times. Killian had come marching into the Emporium, trying to act like he wasn’t disgusted by the shoppe’s very existence. And she had taunted him with jeers about his manhood.
“Oh, I remember,” he replied, his voice growing dark. “I made sure to prove to you how very wrong you were.”
“You did,” Elyse muttered. Or at least she thought she did. She was too exhausted to know.
As she drifted off, Killian kissed the top of her head. “I love you, my sweet witch. I will be with you tomorrow, and every day after.”
41
Elyse
It took the stadium around two hours to fill, but eventually, it did.
Elyse realized, with a nauseating trepidation, that she had no prior understanding of what exactly ten thousand people looked like. Men and women stood shoulder to shoulder in nearly every square foot of the stands. And that was only the attendees. The competitors, the monarchs and their servants, the members of each kingdom’s guard—they all made up another thousand or so individuals. It was enough to make Elyse sweat—even more so than she already was in the blistering summer sun.
The Sammerhan Games had started at midday. They’d kicked off with a parade showcasing all the competitors, during which Killian had done a lot of grunting and scoffing. At that point, most of the attendees were properly drunk. Theyhad cheered—and vomited, with near equal fervor—as their kingdom’s representatives were announced. Then came the opening festivities, a celebration of the art of combat and the unique cultures across the continent. Elyse’s favorite had been the soldier who performed a choreographed routine with a longsword that was equal parts dance and deadly maneuvering. As he swiped and swayed across the floor, she’d been distracted enough to forget the dread curdling in her stomach.
The rest of the performances—a juggler, a slapstick trio of buffoons, and a woman in leatherettes who hurled throwing knives at volunteers—weren’t enough to placate her anxiety. She and Killian sat together about halfway up the stands, surrounded by civilians. It unnerved her to be among the very people she was trying to keep safe. Even the ones who cheered in her ear and spilled mead on her boots deserved to make it home in one piece.
Meanwhile, Manny and Sera were stationed with the monarchs. They were all gathered together in a covered pagoda, enjoying a front-row view of the spectacle. The king of Otsuk and the queen of Evaria had each brought their spouses, but Maelor had attended the event alone. Elyse wasn’t sure if there was no one he wanted accompanying him, or if he’d elected not to invite anyone in order to keep them out of danger.
Shame squeezed at her chest. Maelor may have chosen to put aside his grudge against her for murdering his father, but her guilt hadn’t lessened.
Today though, she would take the final step toward that peace.
She turned her attention to the arena floor. Roughly thirty men were battling one another in a free-for-all event deemed themelee. Each had a helm, a sword, and a shield, but none of them had much grace as they swung their weapons with force over precision.
Killian shook his head as one of the soldiers knocked himself in the helm with his own shield. “They could have paid me a thousand gold pieces to participate in the melee, and I still would have declined.”
“Oh, the ever-humble Lieutenant Southwick,” Elyse jabbed. She frowned as she watched another soldier trip over a sword on the ground. “But really, why are they so bad?”
“New recruits,” Killian sighed. “Each of them has been in the service for only a few months, and they still have no idea what they’re doing.” He shrugged. “The event’s a fan favorite though, and where most of the betting happens.”
Elyse looked over her shoulder at the surrounding patrons. They screamed instructions to the fighters, ranging from, “Hit him in the head!” to “Stop falling on your ass!” Fortunately, most of the crowd seemed more sober than they’d been at the start of the festivities. The arena stopped selling alcohol once the actual Games began, which gave Elyse hope that the civilians would be sober by the time Lazarus attacked.
Ifhe attacked. She was starting to have doubts.
She turned her attention back to the melee below and leaned closer to Killian. “Is no one worried about the soldiers hurting one another—or themselves?”
Killian grunted and pointed to the nearest competitor. “Blunted swords,” he explained. “The worst they’ll end up with is bruises.”
Ten minutes later, a winner was declared, and the tournament personnel began scrambling to set up for the archery contest. Elyse, no longer entertained, scrutinized the arena once again. She raised a hand to shade her eyes as her gaze raked over everything: the arena floor, through the stands, all the way up to the pennants waving in the breeze. There were no signs of anything amiss, but she didn’t let herself relax.
She spotted Manny climbing up the stairs toward them. He looked sharp in his Royal Guard leathers, even with the sweat beading along his blond locks. He gave them a shaky smile as his eyes darted about. “All good back here?”
Killian nodded. “You?”
Manny threw a glance over his shoulder, back to where Sera had stayed with Maelor and the others. “Sera’s getting along well enough with the fat cats,” he said, a bit of amusement in his voice. “Though, if King Halren touches her arm one more time, I’m liable to start a war.”
“Oh, poor you, sitting in the shade with the food and the wine and your beautiful wife,” Elyse said with a faux pout.
“Ignore her,” Killian deflected immediately. “She’s just antsy.”
“She has a point, though,” Manny ceded. “I came up here to tell you to grab something to eat and drink.”
“No thanks,” Killian said, turning his attention to the arena floor.
