Chapter 14
As I finish my set of push-ups, my arms shake. My days of being the best fighter in the kingdom are long since over, that much is clear.
There’s only one week left until the first round of combat trials, and I’ve spent every waking hour either training or searching for grail clues. So far, neither has amounted to much.
In this dark sepulcher, it smells of soil, moss, and bones. Bruises cover my body from the past week. Four hours of sleep per night.
Catching my breath, I curl back onto my hips in a kneeling position, arms stretched against the cool stone floor. My leather trousers have made me too hot, and I’m glowing with sweat. The cool, dank floor of the crypt feels good on my bare arms.
Niniane told us to enjoy life, lest we find ourselves entombed by time—and here I am among the literal tombs beneath the castle.
I imagine the other contenders have been getting drunk on mead and zipping around on that castle roller coaster.
Rion probably doesn’t need to do push-ups in a crypt, inhaling skeleton dust. I imagine he was born muscular, a gods-blessed golden warrior baby who took his first steps just to slit a peasant’s throat.
I suppose training down here is better than some of the jobs I’ve had.
There’s no one here saying things like, Careful with that chair, it costs four thousand pounds, while I calculate how many months it would take me to earn four thousand pounds.
At least there’s no blonde named Sharon saying things like, Can you stay an extra two hours?
I’ve got plans. You probably don’t have anything on, do you? Cheers, darling, you’re a star.
I raise my eyes a little, wondering how long I’ve got until Tristan yells at me to get up again. Guttering candles cast dancing light over ancient stone effigies of knights and ladies.
“Syn.” Tristan’s deep voice echoes off the stone. “You need to get up. That’s plenty of stretching.”
Ah, there it is.
I swallow hard and push myself up on shaking legs, facing Tristan.
He raises his eyebrows, his moss-green eyes glinting, candlelight flickering over his dark hair.
As he peers down at me, I know he’s assessing me.
He’s got the clean orderliness of a soldier.
His short-sleeved shirt is white as sun-bleached bones, and dark tattoos curl around his forearms. As he crosses his arms, I can see the fabric of his shirt strain over his muscles.
His expression tells me he’s not pleased with me. Possibly because I haven’t landed a single punch yet.
With the look he’s giving me, I know what he’s thinking, and I stare right back at him. “For the last time, I’m not quitting. I want the grail.”
“You’ll do a better job of looking after Vero alive than dead.”
“While I’m hunted by the Cloaked Ones? No. I was raised a soldier, and I’ll die one if I have to in pursuit of the grail.”
He arches a dark eyebrow, and a muscle ticks in his sharp jawline.
“Fine, then. Let’s try this again. Remember what I said about balance and focus.
But Syn? This time, I’m not going to hold back as much.
Your opponents will be fighting to the death, and you need to get used to it.
We don’t know that you’ll have a sword the entire time in the arena, or at all.
So, you have to be prepared to fight unarmed. ”
I nod and slide my weight slightly onto my back leg.
Immediately, I swing for him. Tristan dodges easily.
I’m off balance, and before I can right myself, Tristan’s fist slams into my cheek.
Pain vibrates through my skull. I hold my cheek and stagger back.
I don’t even get the chance to recover before his left fist smashes into my other cheek, and pain splinters through me.
I wonder if he’s using his magic. He did say he wouldn’t hold back.
I fall flat on my back, lying on the dusty stones next to an effigy. Pain cracks through my head, and nausea wells in my gut.
When my vision clears again, I look up to see Tristan standing over me. He holds out his hand to me.
Fuck.
His expression is stony.
I take his hand, and he pulls me up.
“Were you using your magic?” I ask, holding my cheek.
He folds his arms, his brow furrowing. “No. I’m worried you won’t survive this. I just hope this isn’t some kind of penance,” he mutters. “Because you don’t need to repent for anything.”
The unspoken memories freeze the air between us. “Ah. You want to talk about the past now?”
“Not really, no.”
I clench my jaw. “I didn’t ask for this, but I’m here now—and someone needs to heal Vero. Why should only the aristocrats have access to the grail?”
“I think I hit you too hard.”
“I’m thinking perfectly clearly.”
“No, I know that. You’ve always been unhinged. I mean, I literally hit you too hard.” He’s scrutinizing my face now, and he lifts my chin gently in his hand, carefully tracing the back of his fingers over my cheekbone. “You have a bruise forming there.”
I swallow hard. “It’s part of training. We used to hit each other all the time.”
“Feels different now.” He steps away again, his gaze shuttering.
I take a deep breath. “Are you going to tell me about your mission at some point? Why are you here in the first place?”
He shakes his head. “I can’t tell you, Syn. You don’t have clearance. But I’m heading to Avalon Tower for a few days. Maybe I can get you clearance while I’m there.”
“How exactly are you getting in and out of here without anyone noticing?”
“I don’t have a halo, and I have portals opening at very specific times, for short periods.
But it’s chaos at Avalon Tower right now.
Some members of the Iron Legion have managed to find a way in through Camelot’s magical protections.
They’re attacking Avalon Tower, and we’re just trying to repel them from breaking into the fortress. ”
“When are you leaving?”
His green eyes pierce me. “Tonight. But I promise to come back before the first trial.”
With Tristan gone, I’ll be able to spend more time looking for grail clues and less time training.
I lean back against the wall, tilting my head against the cool stone. “Give it to me straight. What do you think my chances are of surviving the combat trials?”
A line forms between his dark eyebrows. “It depends who you’re matched against. I don’t know what magic anyone has, but I don’t think Elizabeth and Lady Lunette will be formidable opponents.
Duke Mabon, I think, is a skilled fighter, but he’s been drunk the whole time.
I think there are a number of people here you could beat, even if you haven’t been training.
We just have to hope you don’t end up facing off against someone like Rion or Dagonet. ”
“Any other advice from the best teacher in the world?”
He folds his hands behind his head. “I guess you have a solid chance against many of them, even without the Song. And assuming you’re evenly matched, your history gives you an advantage.
Maybe your magic is gone, but you’re used to combat.
You can manage pain better than anyone, and you won’t panic at the sight of blood. ”
“I do have that going for me.”
“You remember what Auberon taught us. Simply keeping your mind clear and focused is the best advantage you can have. Rational thought is more powerful than anything. Make them panic if you can.”
“How?”
“The sight of blood can instill fear immediately. Use that to your advantage. Go for the jugular, the arteries. Spill crimson all over the stones and let their primal terror take over. You can let them think you’re weak before the start of the trial, but that will only work once.
After that, you need to make them feel horror.
End it all as quickly as you can. And if you’re truly fucked in a fight, there’s only ever one solution. ”
I swallow hard. “Surrender and hope they don’t kill me.”
He closes the distance between us, and I feel the heat washing off him. He brushes a finger over the bloom forming on my cheek again, sending hot shivers over my skin. “Surrender if you need to. I promised to get you out of here alive, and you will not make a liar out of me, Syn Malleore.”