But Dayton doesn’t care. He turns in a circle, grinning wildly and pumping his sword toward the crowd. The people ignite like leaves in a forest fire, screaming and hooting. I even spot one woman yank down her dress and flash her breasts.
The hulking behemoth across from Dayton is no showman. His eyes are stern and focused.
Pay attention, you idiot,I think.
Dayton flicks one look up to the royal box—probably searching for his brother—then surges. He’s all coiled energy and dazzling grin. His swords sparkle left-right-up-left, deftly avoiding the other gladiator’s huge shield. The crowd roils like a stormy sea, their chorus of cheers resonating throughout the arena.
The giant fae roars, and now Dayton is on defense. He dodges expertly, the other gladiator heaving his sword down in slow, powerful arcs.
The taste of blood wafts over my tongue, and I realize I’ve chewed my nail down to the quick.Why am I so nervous?
The larger gladiator can’t get a hit. Dayton keeps rolling away, then smacking from behind, only to turn and grin up at the crowd.
“He’s playing with him,” Keldarion grunts out. “Classless.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Tilla says. “The skill with which he’s wielding those blades is unmatched. If I could get a better look at them…”
Dayton leaps away from every swing, laughing and smiling at the spectators—as if their cheers and applause are all the energy he needs to keep going.
“What kind of madman laughs while he fights?” a tinny, cold voice says, drawing my attention. A cool shadow falls over me as the youngest Prince of Spring, Kairyn, stands at my side.
My sweat turns icy as I look up at his armored face. His mask has always reminded me of an owl with two extended protrusions over the dark visor that look like feathered eyebrows. But the shape is almost completely obscured by his black hood.
How does he not boil in that thing?I wonder as my eyes trail over the intricate black armor adorned with silver filigree, the cape that puddles on the floor like spilled oil. It’s as if he absorbs the surrounding light, the visor where his eyes should be like a pool of dark water, deep and inscrutable.
“I’ve always thought his laughter hides his fear.” The heir to the Spring Realm steps up beside his brother, and I feel more at ease. His silver armor, with the beautiful floral designs, glitters in the high sun. “But perhaps he truly is mad.”
“No,” I breathe and turn back to the fight, watching Dayton dance around the other gladiator, so light on his feet. “It’s who Day is. He’s not thinking or pretending. He lives only in the present moment. There is nothing for him except the sword and the crowd. When Dayton is doing something, he’s there completely. He’s living.”
Maybe that’s why those moments together last summer were so special to me. Because I knew there was no one else that mattered to him but me. To exist like that—wholly taken away from your problems, if only for a little while—was euphoric.
The hulking gladiator is bent double, panting, and Dayton takes the opportunity to stroll toward the crowd, basking in their cheers like they’re a healing balm. Even from here, I can see the sweat dripping down his chest.
Dayton throws his head back and laughs as the spectators chant his name. But the other gladiator has regained hiscomposure. He hulks behind him, massive weapon raised. Dayton doesn’t notice. He’s looking up at the crowd.
“Dayton!” I cry.
The huge gladiator brings down his sword, and Dayton turns at the last second. He dodges out of the way, but the blade nicks his shoulder, and a drop of red blood ekes onto the sand.
Something switches in Dayton’s form, and although we’re too far above to see, I can feel the darkness falling over his gaze. He ignites, rushing forward, and in two vicious blows, his opponent crumbles to his knees.
The massive gladiator holds a single finger up in surrender, and the Colosseum shakes with the roar of the crowd. Dayton tilts his head up at the box, and I swear he’s looking straight at me as he winks.
Dayton is the victor. He is going to proceed to the last battle for the chance to take the title of Champion.
“Hmm,” Keldarion grumbles and leans over the banister with the rest of us. I take a moment to look from him to Ezryn, then down at myself. One day, the three of us will rule as High Princes alongside Dayton’s oldest brother, Damocles.
I am unworthy.
“An interesting theory you gave, little prince,” Keldarion says. He looks down at the arena, as if the whole thing is distasteful to him. “We will see if he’s still laughing when there is true blood to be spilled.”
Kairyn gives a low laugh, echoing strangely beneath his mask. “It is the way they should always fight. None of this surrender. There is no way to test a fae’s merit without life on the line.”
A pit settles in my stomach, and I turn to them. “What do you mean?”
“I thought you knew.” Decimus places a hand on my shoulder. “The final fight of the Solstice Games is to the death.”
17
