She stares directly at Samson, but he cannot see her. He taps his foot, glancing over his shoulder.
Boldly, she slips around him, a thrill riddles under her skin, knowing his gaze cannot find her.
Her bare feet pad across the stone floor toward the front doors when nearly twenty Arena guards rush the hall, flattening her to the outer wall.
“What is the meaning of this?” Samson demands as if his title means anything at the Arena.
“Apologies, sir, there is a situation outside. No one may leave.”
Avina slips around the sentries and down the steps two at a time. As she approaches the arched doorways, she observes a battle raging across the path leading to the main road.
She squints and can see the Arena emblem stitched across less than half the fighters. The majority wear ragged leather armor and fur and bear no loyalties.
Quicker than she thought possible in bare feet, she runs back up the stairs and around to the darkened staircase furthest from the gathering crowd of spectators.
Under any other circumstance, this staircase would be off-limits to anyone outside the Arena because it leads directly to the combatant holding level.
There must be an exit on the lower level I can use.
Body odor and wails welcome her as she enters the Arena's lowest level. She claps a hand over her mouth to stop herself from retching at the stench.
To her left is the first corridor. A few closed doors line the way, which leads to a bright light illuminating a portcullis.
That must be one of the combatant gates.
She trudges onto the next corridor, bearing rows and rows of cages holding an array of animals, from chickens to bears. On the right, a smooth wall continues, curving away from the combatants' unsettling noises.
I hate that I have been here before.
She drapes her arms around her midsection despite her invisibility.
The outer wall wraps around until she finds her exit leading directly to the South Sea coast. She throws it open with all her might to reveal a stormy sky overtop of a large man and a petite, intense-looking woman dressed in the Salt Province garb of leather and fur. They snap their attention to her as the door slams against the outer wall.
Realization threatens to drown Avina as she silently faces off against them, even if they cannot see her.
Those warriors around the front bear the same armor as these. They are all from Salt.
No, this can’t be.
Salt soldiers would bear the nautilus if they represented the region. None of these warriors have an emblem.
If they are not from the province army, that can only mean they are Sigvid’s Drengr.
She heaves as the cold air continues to slap at her naked form.
His two-hundred-strong army held the fiercest men and women out of the province. No one on these Endless Shores rivals their strength ofarms. And all two hundred swore a blood allegiance to Prince Sigvid alone.
Not King Thrain.
Not the Salt Province.
And now they have come for their Prince.
She feels that familiar tightening in her throat and a sudden sensation as if she is floating above her body, looking down upon it. Her life will surely be forfeit–and not quickly–if they discover that Queen Avina is within their grasp.
She has read stories of warriors getting their hands on enemy Kings and shivers at the thought.
I will remain invisible as long as I need.
