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The Kamorian charges, preventing his larger opponent from leveraging his size by smartly closing the distance.

The Onyx Knight stands still, a pillar of patient death.

The Kamorian swings his war hammer in a high arc that could cave in a skull. The weapon strikes the Knight’s shoulder with a broken gong. With that much force, the hammer should shatter bone.

The Knight cocks his head and slowly inspects his shoulder. Then his focus returns to his competitor.

The impact rattled the Kamorian, who’s struggling to pull his weapon back.

The Onyx Knight moves next.

I’ve seen Agnar fight with a speed that should be impossible for someone his size. This is different, because even Agnar doesn’t blur like the Knight does. His arm snaps out like a bolt loosened from a crossbow.

His gauntleted fist slams the Kamorian in the chest, and crumpling metal echoes across the arena as the Kamorian flies backward and slams into the ground without even attempting to break the fall. For a few moments, his wet breathing provides the sole sign of life.

Finally, his arm flexes in an attempt to push himself off the ground. The crowd is silent. Not even a whisper can be heard. I suppress my gasp with my palm, unable to tear my eyes away.

The Knight bends, one leg swinging out behind him, and picks up the war hammer in his free hand. He swallows the ground in two strides to loom over the Kamorian. “Yield?” Raising the hammer, he holds it over the felled man’s head.

The Kamorian taps the ground, his wet gurgles flinging blood from his mouth.

The Knight drops the hammer to the crowd’s collective gasp. “I accept your surrender.”

The weapon lands in the black sand, missing the man’s head by a length of a finger.

The Onyx Knight addresses the squire at the edge of the arena. “Your master requires medical aid. Be quick about it.”

As the squire rushes forward with a healer, the official runs out and raises the Knight’s arm in victory.

Finally, the audience responds with tumultuous cheers and screams.

I sit locked in place. My eyes have gone dry because I was too shocked to blink. Agnar has no chance of winning the Everhand by besting this man, so we have to figure out how to steal it before the tournament reaches that point. In the pouch at my side, my shadow spinners tremble, reacting to my emotions.

The Onyx Knight’s head swivels, scanning the stands. Searching for something.

His eyes find mine.

I suddenly understand how a pika feels when the hawk’s shadow crosses its hiding place.

Don’t move. Don’t breathe. Otherwise, he’ll see me.

The Knight’s fathomless gaze remains on me, and I can’t look away. The man in the armor studies me with the fascination of a wolf considering a rabbit.

Sweat trickles down my spine, but I remain motionless to avoid triggering him. My ears ring, and my lungs beg for air. I can’t seem to inhale with him watching.

Finally he blinks, turns, and exits the arena with the same patient, unhurried stride he entered with.

The air rushes back into my lungs. Screams from the crowd cascade over my ears. My spine goes weak, and I have to cling to the bench I’m seated on so I don’t fall over.

A trumpet blast splits the air, followed by the cries of heralds. As my ears ring and spectators surge to their feet, I wonder why a man like the Onyx Knight would notice me. I stand automatically, shaking, still feeling the weight of those dead eyes on my skin.

Banners at the main entrance announce that someone important has arrived. Rising to my tiptoes, I try to see who. The unfurling banners gleam gold and green.

Meridia’s crest lies in the center of those colors.

Panic slices through my heart.

Father never comes to tournaments, not since Mother died. He sends representatives, minor nobles, and other people who don’t matter if things go wrong. He wouldn’t risk himself on foreign soil for a frivolous event like this.