CHAPTER FOURTEEN
My mouth tastes like sand as we walk down the corridor toward the arena. Baldric’s guardant is waiting next to Leon, both of them studiously ignoring each other.
Leon grabs my shoulders, leaning close, his eyes narrowed with intent. “I need you to do something for me.”
I swallow. It has been six years since Leon has asked me for anything more important than to pass him a practice sword.
“What?”
His voice lowers further, his fingers digging into my shoulders. “I need you to remember why you’re here,” he bites out. “Think about your brothers. And think about how you want to make sure they’re free. You want to make sure they grow up.”
Sweat forms along the back of my neck. Whatever is in that arena is going to horrify me.
“Leon—”
“You know what will happen if you die and Bran still has your brothers? That vampire bitch Elva will eat them, Arvelle. They’ll be a snack for her.
When she’s drained them dry, she’ll bury them in an unmarked grave.
That’s if they’re lucky. If they’re not lucky, she’ll use them as entertainment for her vampire friends. ”
My head swims, my stomach roiling. “Why are you saying this? Stop it.”
He shakes me. “I’ve seen things in this place that would make you curl into a ball and whimper. You think you’re tough, but your heart is still too soft, and you don’t have the luxury of a soft heart anymore. So go out there and fight for your brothers.”
I nod, my mouth so dry I can’t find the words to reply. Without another word, Leon releases me, stalking away.
An enforcer announces Baldric’s name, and he sends me a wide grin before sauntering into the arena.
“Arvelle Dacien.”
For a moment, Baldric’s shoulders block the view. When he stiffens, my lungs constrict.
If I don’t pull myself together, I’m dead. And I refuse to let Baldric’s face be the last thing I see.
Baldric steps aside, and something flutters to my left.
Wings.
Wings chained down, with no hope of flight.
Wings attached to a … griffon?
“Once thought to be almost impossible to trap, but no longer,” the emperor says, his voice booming through the arena.
Fuck.
Despite the chains binding the griffon, he still somehow manages to look both majestic and formidable—his powerful, feline form cloaked in sleek, gray fur that ripples as he jostles the heavy silver-laced iron confining his wings.
Gray feathers tipped in white shimmer beneath the harsh light of the arena, while his long, tufted tail sweeps slow arcs across the sand.
He turns his eagle-like head, and piercing gold eyes lock onto mine, glittering with intelligence.
Even I’ve heard the legends of the griffons, and how their viciousness in battle combined with the colder weather so far south prevented the emperor from getting a foothold in Torvellen.
The emperor’s gaze falls on me, before shifting to Baldric. “My Praesidium guards must cooperate daily to complete their tasks across my empire. Today, you will work together to kill this beast as a reminder of what happens to those who choose not to embrace progress.”
My lips are numb, my knees weak.
I … can’t do it.
I can fight anyone who volunteers for this. Who understands what they’re getting into. I’ll fight viciously and desperately to stay alive.
But this?
Killing this beautiful, majestic creature for no reason other than the emperor wants a show?
I don’t have it in me.
That vampire bitch Elva will eat them, Arvelle.
Leon’s words echo in my head. This was why he cornered me. Not because he knows I can’t kill a trapped griffon. But because he knows I won’t.
Baldric doesn’t hesitate. He dances forward, his sword already in his hand, his eyes filled with a dark glee.
Most of the chains encompassing the griffon disappear. But not those wrapped around his wings, pinning them to his sides.
Baldric slashes out, and the griffon turns, but the creature is too slow, and a deep cut opens up across its powerful chest.
The crowd roars, and a slimy surge of nausea roils in the pit of my stomach.
Like mine, Baldric’s power is unrestrained. He could kill the griffon instantly if he wanted. But he’s putting on a show for the emperor, as expected. I could almost understand it, if he wasn’t also enjoying himself.
“Fight!” an enforcer screams, cracking his aetherwhip. And this time it’s my skin that rips open, blood pouring from a thick slice down my left shoulder.
At least it’s not my sword arm.
Baldric slices again, and this time the griffon manages to dodge to the side. But it’s limping, and when it moves, I catch a glimpse of a shredded paw, blood pooling in the sand beneath it.
My entire body breaks out in a cold sweat, a deep, painful ache spreading between my ribs.
Baldric lunges once more, and this time, his sword slides through one of the griffon’s muscular legs. The griffon snaps its beak at him with a screech, and Baldric stumbles back.
The crowd jeers.
“Fight!” The same enforcer is watching me, and with the crack of his aetherwhip, another gash opens, this time along my chest, right below my throat.
I hiss out a curse. The emperor is watching Baldric, a pleased smile on his face. Next to him, Rorrik sits, watching me. I meet Tiernon’s eyes. He stands behind the emperor. He’s not wearing his helmet, and his eyes burn into me. I can practically hear him urging me to swing my sword.
“Excuse me.” The words are tentative, the voice unmistakably male.
My throat thickens. This is it. The horrors of this place have already driven me mad.
“Over here.” The griffon’s eyes meet mine. “I find myself in the unique position where I must ask you to show mercy.”
My eyes burn.
“I don’t expect you not to kill me,” he assures me. “I have accepted my fate and made this sacrifice for my people. I would, however, ask that you do it quickly. I do not wish to die like this, slice by slice, as entertainment for your emperor so far from my home.”
I want to tell the griffon that he’s not my emperor. But I choke on that excuse. I’m fighting in the man’s arena.
“I don’t want to kill you.” My words come instantly, and it’s not until the griffon’s eyes meet mine again that I realize he heard me. He must have somehow opened up a bridge between our minds, allowing me to reply.
Baldric dances closer to the griffon and feints with his sword, laughing as the griffon flinches back.
“I know,” he says. “And I thank you for that. It is both easier and harder to ask you, knowing you would spare me if you could. But I too have my pride, and I do not want to be slaughtered by one such as him.” The griffon turns his birdlike head and pins Baldric with a hard glare.
Baldric simply lunges forward, slashing once more. Only this time, the griffon moves smoothly across the sand, beyond Baldric’s reach.
When the griffon looks back at me, my eyes fill.
It’s not fair.
None of this is fair.
“What is your name?” he asks gently.
“Arvelle. And you?”
I can somehow sense his surprise, as if he wasn’t expecting me to return the question. As if he wasn’t expecting me to care. And I know then that this creature has been treated awfully by every human and vampire he has come into contact with.
“My name is Antigrus.”
When I glance up at the emperor, he’s frowning down at me.
“Will you help me?”
“I …”
There has to be another way. Another option. Anything.
The enforcer cracks his aetherwhip once more, and pain explodes across the back of my neck. Dizziness swamps me, blood dripping down my spine.
“There is no need for you to suffer any longer, Arvelle. There is no need for me to suffer any longer either.”
“I know.”
I’ll do this. I’ll be the one person who will give Antigrus what he wants. A dignified death. I’ll live with the knowledge that my blade put an end to this incredible, proud creature.
And at the very least, I can take pleasure in the fact that Baldric will be furious.
“I’ll do it.”
“Thank you.”
I can hear the pain in his words. And I focus on the rage clawing at me, instead of the hopelessness I want to drown in.
When I step forward, the crowd goes wild. I stalk resolutely toward Antigrus, ignoring Baldric as he slashes at him.
Antigrus’s eyes meet mine, and this time, I see hope. Hope and relief and gratitude.
It’s the hope that allows me to dodge around Baldric, slamming my shoulder into his and pushing him off-balance.
It’s the relief that allows me to ignore the agony shooting through my ankle as Baldric kicks out at me in retaliation.
And it’s the gratitude that allows me to shove my sword through Antigrus’s powerful pectoral muscles, between his ribs, and into his heart.
Blood sprays, and I barely suppress a heave, nausea choking me.
“Thank you,” Antigrus tells me once more. His face seems to glow gold, and his gaze finds my sigil, his eyes widening suddenly. “Use it well.”
Use what well?
The light in his eyes goes dim, and Antigrus slumps to the sand. I know he’s not there anymore, but I want to dust off his body, take it with me, and give him a proper burial.
Something that can never happen in this place.
Baldric lets out a roar, launching toward me. I dodge to the side and almost throw up, the pain in my ankle unrelenting.
The arena goes silent. All I can hear is the panting of my own breaths and Baldric’s violent curses.
His sigil flares, and flames pour out of him.
I dart left. Right into his trap. His boot slams into my bad ankle once more.
My body goes one way.
My foot stays in place.
CRACK.
The offensive scent of my own blood fills my nostrils and I collapse, agony radiating up my leg.
Baldric looms over me, too consumed with hatred to notice the emperor getting to his feet. An enforcer steps forward and cracks his aetherwhip. Thick ropes wrap around Baldric, pinning his hands to his sides.
I take a single moment to appreciate the irony.
And then I meet the emperor’s eyes.
He’s not happy. If our second challenge was supposed to prove that we can work together while giving his people a long, drawn-out show, I failed.