“No,” Viljan snarled quietly as he came to my other side. “Don’t fucking trust him.”
I stared between the two men, my pulse thudding through my limbs.
“What are you waiting for?” the king called. “Get started!”
I couldn’t think. The crowd started calling for blood, a drum starting somewhere else, the pounding vibrating through my feet and up my body. Fear and confusion and desperation coiled into my gut until it felt like my stomach turned into one big knot.
“Elvara,trust me,” Ivren urged.
“I—”
Ivren might have been Lika’s friend, and so far he hadn’t revealed my secret.
But what was his plan now? I couldn’t win against him. Not like this.
A scoff wrapped around us before both Ivren and I were shoved forward, into the ring. “The world does not move at your command,heirs. Get fighting.” The warrior arrogantly arched his brows before nodding to someone behind me. The next second, another man took my sword and shield, leaving me facing my brother’s best friend.
A growl rumbled in Viljan’s chest. He was paler than I’d ever seen him, but that did nothing to make him seem less terrifying. On the contrary, that fury coursing through his veins made him seem like a vengeful ghost.
“Take her guard.”
At the warrior’s demand, two men came to drag Viljan away, but it took two more to actually do it. He snapped his teeth at the men who held on to his arms, but he still managed to mouth, “Don’ttrust him!”
I should have ordered him to stay back, but I couldn’t. Not when I’d doom us both, and everyone we’d ever known, if this turned out the way I expected.
Viljan was right. I couldn’t trust anyone.
“Come on!” the king called as he raised a goblet to more cheers from the crowd. “We want blood!”
“Blood!”
“Blood!”
“Blood!”
I tasted worry when the hall erupted in a low, hungry rumble. The tent got warmer, the flames from the five fires reaching for the wool and leather, when Ivren started stalking in a circle around me. His face was twisted with the shadows dancing over it, the two streaks of coal beneath his left eye making his grin seem darker—menacing instead of amused.
As he reached out a hand and beckoned me, the karls roared.
“Get her!”
“Don’t let her win, Solsken.”
“We want to see Sweengard blood!”
This was the entertainment they had been waiting for. No swords. No shields. Just skin, bone, and the desperate struggle to win.
Ivren’s brows wiggled as if he was inviting me to dance, not into a fight I was doomed to lose. He lunged, but I kept my distance, whirling away from him.
What was he doing? What was his plan here? Andwhy?
I searched his eyes for a trap, but there was nothing there I could hold on to.
“Come on,” he called. “If you’re going to humiliate me, you better do it now.”
I didn’t respond, only moved when he did, maintaining the ten feet between us.
The initiates started clapping, a slow, lethal rhythm that shook my spine. It echoed through the tent, rattling the goblets on the tables and the bone the thrones on the dais were made of.
