A brisk knock on the door cut between them.
“It’s time,” a guard bellowed.
Kaelan held her where she was. “Magda—”
She clasped his hand and then removed it from her face, but held it. “Back in Lavana’s cell, you said that you didn’t know someone could give up being a Rae. And you were right. You can’t stop being who you are. And Iama Rae, even if there are days I wish I weren’t. Like today.”
She pushed to her feet, pulling him up with her.
“And so then, who am I?” he asked, his green eyes flaring.
“My Prince,” she said. “So long as you want to be.”
His hand tightened around hers and he brought it to his chest. The bright heat in his eyes stopped her breath. “My heart, my mistress.”
ONCE, IN THE HUMAN WORLD,she had attended an outdoor play. It had left her trembling and soaked in cold sweat. Not because the play had been upsetting, she barely remembered what it had been about now. Rather, her panic had been caused by the open air playhouse itself. It had reminded her too much of the dueling grounds.
Rows of benches rose above the dusty, hard-packed circle of earth. But instead of overlooking the scenic Canyonlands of southern California like the playhouse, the grounds ended at a precipice that dropped off to certain death.
Magda had never believed she would ever see them again. Even without her fear of heights, as she stepped through the western door with Kaelan behind her, dread twisted like writhing black eels in her bowels.
Guards arrayed around the semicircular wall separating the spectators from the combatants.
The lowest row of seating sat slightly higher than her head. The wind howled and swirled through the packed crowd, whipping loose carefully managed plaits and kicking dirt in their eyes. In the highest balcony, the Crown. Above her, the stone, from which the stands were carved, jutted out, blotting out the Spire, revealing only the cloud-matted sky.
By the eastern door, Lavana, knives drawn. Aquamarine eyes flashed as they tracked Magda’s every movement.
Riker hung to the side, down in a small sunken area known as the pit. Four guards stood at each corner of his little box. Only if Lavana reached beyond the guards could he help her.
Magda’s pulse threatened to bolt. It was all she could do to keep it in check.
Before he could be ushered into his own pit, Kaelan took the back of her neck again and turned her towards him, cupping his hands under her jaw.
Her pulse slowed at his touch. The tacky sweat spreading under her armor cooled and dried.
“Thanks—”
He pressed his lips to hers, firmly, quickly.
“You’re a Rae and I’m a Prince,” he said, “but we’re not like the others. The only thing that matters to me now is you. Not the Crown, not the Throne, not the rules.”
His hands fell from her and he stepped back. The guards corralled him down into the pit.
Before she could catch her breath again or think about what he had said, the Crown’s voice echoed over them.
“Present.”
She turned on her heel, unleashed her daggers at her sides, and inclined her head towards the Crown.
And, after a long second, the word came.
“Engage.”
Lavana didn’t wait, she charged and leapt.
Magda spun away before Lavana’s flying kick could connect.
Lavana landed and spun, setting Magda immediately into a defensive posture. A flurry of hand strikes came at her, knives met knives, clinking and scraping.
