She threw her back against a wall and pressed the dagger against her chest, working to catch her breath as her mind raced.
Taking in the sights around her, she listened closely to each of the hallways that invited her down their dark, curved paths. The hallways were curved, indicating that she was going in a circle, but closing in with each choice. They got smaller and longer, no rhythm to how long one would last but each one curved and gave her little visibility than maybe ten feet in front of her. No matter how much she tried to map her way in her mind, she couldn’t get a clear image of where she was going.
It looked like the tunnel system inside the palace but completely unfinished. A subterranean maze built beneath it that rivaled the size of the palace itself, which meant the maze could go on for miles. She hoped that if itlookedlike the tunnel system, then somehow maybe it was connected to them and she could find a way out. If there was a way in, there had to be an exit.
She knew the palace was an arena but she never dreamed it was so large—or that Casimir would use it as such.
Unable to recognize anything, her guess was as good as any which hallways she should take. She avoided any with obvious sounds of fighting, but shouts carried from all ends, bouncing off the walls to feel as though they were coming from everywhere.
Maybe they were.
She took inventory of her body, making sure the adrenaline coursing through her wasn’t distracting her from any other injuries that she hadn’t noticed. Aside from the throbbing in her shoulder, she seemed fine.
Tucking the dagger into her corset, she had just enough room for it to fit without slicing her skin open so she figured it made as good of a hiding place as any.
Shouts carried from down the hall she was in from the direction she’d just come from. Metal screamed as a sword clashed against stone and her heart raced in her chest. Whoever it was must’ve been at the beginning ofthe hall because she couldn’t see them past the curved wall. Yet.
Ambrose lifted her hand in the air and waved it, extinguishing the nearby firelights with a forceful gust of wind. Covering her mouth she pushed herself as flat against the wall as she could and pulled the shadows over her body, too terrified to even breathe.
“Stop! Stay back!” someone yelled as another fighter forced him back with stalking steps.
Ambrose recognized the voice who spoke as belonging to a lesser noble from the Capital whose parents encouraged him to join the tournament. She’d watched him fight a few times and while he was a rather skilled swordsman, he didn’t compare to the size and brutality of the man that faced him.
The noble backed away as a man the size of a half giant towered over him.
Rowland.
She could barely make out their silhouettes in the darkness, but there was no mistaking the feel of how Rowland filled the space as though all the empty air was sucked from it.
Sword raised and steady, Ambrose had to give the noble some credit as he held his stance strong and didn’t back down from Rowland’s challenge.
Brave.
And a fool.
Ambrose fought to keep her breathing even, pressing her hand over her mouth and nose so not a whisper escaped them.
“I said stay back!” The noble swung his sword and Rowland batted it away with his massive forearm.
The hallways were narrow, Rowland almost didn’t fit inside them, giving him a disadvantage. But unfortunately for the fighter, they were also too curved and small to accurately swing such a large broadsword, making their odds a little more even—if not tilted towards Rowland’s victory.
The other fighter wore mostly leathers but had enough armor to make running through the halls difficult, giving him no choice but to face his opponent head-on. He swung his sword but caught thetip on the ceiling, taking most of the force away from it.
Rowland saw his opportunity and took it. Grabbing the fighter’s arm he bent it sideways, snapping it in half at the forearm.
The noble’s scream filled the darkness, invading Ambrose’s mind as it bounced off the walls and echoed into the distance. Dropping the sword in his broken hand, the blade rang when it hit the ground as the man fell to his knees, clutching his mangled arm.
Grinning, Rowland reached forward and wrapped his hands around the noble’s head, so big they all but made his face disappear. The fighter thrashed and screamed as Rowland pressed his thumbs into the man’s eye sockets. Blood spurted out, washing his hands in it as the man clawed at Rowland’s forearms to no avail. Rowland stabbed his thumbs all the way into the man’s skull whose mouth fell open and his body went limp.
Rowland tossed his corpse to the ground and stepped over it like it was nothing.
Ambrose bit back the scream that wanted to claw its way from her throat. She closed her eyes and counted to five as she focused on keeping her breathing quiet and steady.
“I know you’re there,” Rowland growled.
Ambrose didn’t move or make a sound.
“I can smell your fear.”
