Adrenaline mixed with Magick pumped through her veins and thundered in her head as Ambrose tried to gauge how far the fall was going to be, but no matter how long she looked, her eyes couldn’t adjust enough to see the bottom.
“Ambrose! Take this!” Adym found her in all the commotion. She stared at him, stunned as he shoved his sword into her hand, sheathe and all.
“Adym?” Her voice shook.
She wanted to cry. Wanted to scream. To run away as fast as she could. She was supposed to have one more day.
Fingers trembling she failed to undo the buckle on his belt and cinch it around her waist.
“Forgods’ sakesAmbrose,” he sighed. Taking the belt from her, he wrapped it tightly around her hips.
“Adym…” She gasped as she stared at the open abyss, growls and screams already emerging from inside—too lost in the darkness for her to see what horrors could be waiting.
“The tournament is starting,” he said as though he could feel her fear. He made sure the sword was firmly in place before he grabbed her hand. “Donotlose this.” He took a dagger from his other side—that she hadn’t noticed he’d been wearing and wasn’t part of his usual uniform—and sliced the hem of her dress just below her knees and in one motion cut the trainfrom around her feet. Then he shoved the dagger into her shaking hand. “Fuck. I had a feeling something like this was going to happen. I asked to be placed with Casimir’s guard so I could keep an eye on him andstilldidn’t see this coming. You have to go. Find somewhere to hide as soon as you can. Don’t trust anyone once you’re down there, even if you’re familiar. Don’t get caught.”
“But—”
“Ambrose!” Adym looked at her, his blond hair unkempt and ocean eyes fierce with determination and fear. “Hide,please.” He turned around and ran back into the crowd, glancing back at her one more time. “Survive this. Whatever you do, don’t die.”
He was lost in the chaos before she could find the words to say to him.
The tournament was starting.
Started.
Oh fuck.
Ambrose peered into the pit below. Without giving herself time to think or talk herself out of it, she flung her body into the waiting pit.
Crashing into the rubble below, she did her best to tuck her arms in tight on landing. Her body rolled and her shoulder took most of the blow as it smashed into a piece of broken floor.
Biting down against the blinding agony that shot through her shoulder and collar, Ambrose fought back the waves of pain hoping she didn’t just break it and clutched it tight against her body. She rotated her arm to make sure nothing was seriously injured and though it throbbed under the weight, it was still mobile.
All around her Trial Champions clashed in a violent display, weapons raised as bodies and blood rained down upon them. Some had clearly died from the fall, their bodies twisted and broken in horrible ways, while others had already been hacked to pieces by those still standing.
But what stood in the center of the magickal arena grabbed her attention the most as it towered among them. A horrifying creature Ambrose recognized from her studying with Ernaline but not once did it ever cross her mind that’s what they could be facing.
With leather skin the color of night, it roared at the Trial Champions surrounding it, swords and weapons held in their defense. It stood three times the size of even Rowland, who was locked in battle with five warriors in the far left corner of the arena. Its head, or—heads—held bright red eyes that burned through the darkness as Ambrose’s eyes adjusted to the arena and she could truly see what was displayed before her.
The creature had the body of a man, but only in appearance, as its clawed fingers swiped at the fighters lunging at it. It roared as those claws sliced a warrior completely in half and the Trial Champion flew away in two separate bloody pieces. Three bull heads sat on its shoulders, each one trained on a different fighter, teeth coated in the blood of the fallen as it glistened in the firelights.
The Behemoth.
The firelights surrounding the arena walls burst to life from a low glow to a blinding light as murmurs carried from above—the nobles finally settled into their seats to watch the unexpected scene. Casimir stared down, his cold emerald eyes dancing like two sinister stars from his golden perch, staring directly at Ambrose.
Ambrose threw herself against the wall, dirt crumbling into her eyes that she quickly swept away as she scanned her left and right for any oncoming fighters. She pulled her sword from her side and her heart skipped a beat when she felt its weight in her hands and the realization hit her.
It was the same sword she’d used every night training with Adym.
He’d brought her sword.
A small laugh bubbled to the surface and she pushed the hysteria down into the depths of her.
He’d broughthersword.
He hadn’t abandoned her.
He hadn’t given up on her.
