Chapter 64
Diary: Page 34
I can only leave the castle when Dagen is here to run things, now that Kathreen is gone, so I’m stuck here for another two weeks, stewing over what could possess the Zos to threaten the stasis of the three kingdoms by attempting assassination. I’m drawing blanks, so I’m rereading my unauthorized Zo books that keep mentioning two possibilities: the true King of Kings, or the heir of Zo wearing two First-Mades.
The Megadome wraps around me like a pit of madness. Black-and-red flags wave from the sidelines, drinks are being splashed over side rails, and a uniform stomping of feet is spreading, acting as a bass to the fight or die type music.
The siren is about to sound and my Zem opponent is smiling at me as if he’s imagining all the painful ways he plans to kill me.
Liha is mumbling.
My father’s not here.
Soriah and Tarella are still gone.
The only person in the royal box is Halix.
Dae is still looking for Lo.
The siren screams overhead. I go to rip my opponent’s sword out of his hand with Liha’s power, but it only wiggles—a polite tug.
He looks down at his sword, then up at me, nothing but a shit-eating smile on his face.
“I’m fading,” Liha says.
“Don’t you pull this shit on me. You are the Heshena elf princess of the largest continent in all seven realms. You fade for no one.”
A nudge—so soft—comes beside my ear.
The Zem in spiked red leather summons his own vast, orange smoke. My long black sword, along with every dagger on me, is hurled out of my space from his power. They sink through the mat at his feet.
“It’s the void gems,” Liha says, as if there’s not a giant, bloodthirsty dueler waiting for me to retrieve my weapons at his feet. “They weakened Gravera some, but they’ve nearly drained me.”
“Gravera,” I pant. “The goddess of grief.”
My opponent curls his fingers, telling me to come get my weapons, so I charge without a blade. “Void gems?”
I dodge, bend, spin, barely avoiding his massive sword.
“Yesss.” Liha’s voice is barely audible. “They drain us.”
I duck under a whooshing blow and roll, reaching for my sword jutting out of the mat, but his spiked boot connects to my gut, puncturing through black leather. He smiles at the blood dripping to the mat, and it ignites my rage. I surge up, ignoring the searing pain under my rib cage and roundhouse kick his fist that grips his pommel.
Surprise. That’s the only reason his sword dislodges from his hand; because he wasn’t expecting it. I catch the ruby blade, spin to face him, and death-grip it.
I’m anticipating his orange smoke to pull the sword from my hand. That’s why I miss his first soaring dagger.
It buries hilt-deep into my dominant shoulder.
The rest come in a rain of hellfire. I barely manage to chop them from the air, using my left hand to direct the sword, bracing the weight of it with my injured arm.
Liha pools power into me and I know if I release it, it will end her.
“Use it,” she hisses.
“No.”
I grit my teeth as the Zem man yanks my black sword from the mat and advances toward me.
My opponent lets loose. I block a downward swipe but miss his drive for my leg. I dodge a thrust for my chest but gain a slash down my arm.
Then he moves faster, as if this is all just to wear me down—for his amusement.
I’m all defense and evasion. As my blocks and spins grow slower, my body catches more and more of his blows. I manage to block a slice to my neck, bringing our swords at a trembling cross in front of our faces.
“You will not leave here alive,” he says.
“Use it,” she whispers.
My opponent looks calm, put together, and in control.
Until I yield an inch, leaning him closer, and drive my boot between his legs—through his balls.
He howls, and I drive his sword through his shoulder.
A wave of orange smoke erupts from him like a dust storm washing through the ring. It grabs hold of my leathers. My clothes freeze me in place.
His blue eyes find mine.
My fingers move, my head moves, but my clothes are being held firmly in place. Every movement of my arm feels like cutting through a hundred pounds of resistance.
The crowd loses their shit, like they always do when they get to see something new.
He rises from the mat, dragging the tip of my black sword along the mat as he comes, then drops it at my feet.
“Use it!” Liha’s panic is palpable.
I raise my chin as he nears. I will face my death without fear on my face.
He pinches my cheeks between vice-like fingers, his wrinkled nose and wild eyes not looking so calm now.
“I’ll kill you slowly.” He pries his red sword from my hand and drops it beside my black one.
A tendril of orange jerks a dagger to his hand. His smile is more teeth-gritting than anything as he peels open my clenched fist and drives the eight-inch blade clean through my palm.
I clench my teeth and pinch my lips together, denying him the satisfaction of hearing my pain. This only seems to deepen the maniacal sneer on his face.
Another trail of orange and another dagger appears. He drags the tip up from my palm and sinks this one into my forearm.
I hold back my scream, tears building.
Another trail of orange, another dagger, slammed into my bicep. A tear runs.
He sinks the next one into my injured shoulder. A sob breaks through, but I clamp down.
The angry lines around his face are disappearing with each dagger, and when he’s holding his next blade at my neck, he’s all sunshine.
“Nizzara!” Liha begs, but I only lift my chin to give him an obstructed view.
His hold on my entire body is too strong. I refuse to drain Liha, and I will not die a coward. Gold screams toward me, but I’m more afraid of it than I am death. If I become possessed by its power, I will be no better ruler than my father.
My opponent is drawing his dagger back, as if planning to hack at my neck, when the Megadome creaks from a sudden, depthless cold.
Black ice breaks across the red dagger aimed for my neck, down his arm and up to his lips, giving them a black tinge. The Zem man stops, eyes darting around, and backs up a step.
Dae is towering behind me, invisible to everyone but me. I allow him to see my memories of this duel, of Liha.
His dark, velvety touch brushes my shoulder. “Do you trust me?”
I open my shield to him.
He enters my mind like a puzzle piece sliding into its assigned spot. Liha, slumps with fatigue—and what feels like relief.
Power. Like I’ve never experienced surges through every vein, every pore of my body.
“I will not kill him.” I speak to Dae inside my mind and his velvet touch brushes my cheek.
“I know.”
He allows me to call his power, and when I release it, every blade in the vicinity vanishes, including those in my hand and arm.
They reappear with fiery vengeance. The two swords surge through my opponent’s shoulders, dropping him to the ground in a shriek of pain, and pinning him there to the mat, sinking and twisting.
I use his own trick and pin his red, leather outfit to the ground, sprawling him out like a battle star.
My rage is building now, assessing the extensive damage in my hand bones and shoulder.
My mangled arm curls to my side.
I want him to pay.
“Don’t let me kill him,” I whisper in my head, Dae’s dark, silky power building.
“He deserves it . . . But I won’t let you.”
The battle-cry erupts from my throat when his power releases from me like a raging sea of black smoke. Daggers sink through every limb in two-inch intervals. Another flick of my wrist has each blade cranking a ninety degree turn to the right, ripping through muscle and sinew.
A cry of agony tears from his lips and the audience is silent. Either that, or I can no longer hear them.
I stalk over to him. A hint of fear in those blue eyes.
I hate how I love that.
I crush his vesseled hand with my boot and rip out a blood-soaked dagger from his thigh.
“No!” he begs, but I’m already slicing through his finger bone.