“Who?” She scanned the crowd for her would-be opponent. Across from her, back against the wall, two women faced each other in a deadly dance. One could barely stand, though she stood defiant against death, while the other brandished a sword with a curved blade in each hand and a winning grin on her face. She moved quickly and destructively, slicing the woman, again, and again. Cutting with deadly precision until the other fell to her knees and quit moving entirely. Ambrose shot an involuntary silent prayer to Zyros, the God of Mercy, that she wouldn’t be facing her on the otherend of a blade.
Akadian lifted a finger and pointed into the crowd. “Him.”
The gathering blocked the fight from view, but by the sounds coming from the other side of the spectators, it was a gruesome one. Ambrose pushed her way through the onlookers, edging her way closer to the center with each breath and step. Her heart thundered as she reached the front of the circle.
What she saw made her blood run cold in her veins.
She found herself unable to move as though she’d frozen right where she stood. Her mind screamed at her to run, but her muscles refused to obey.
Rowland.
Is he insane? Ambrose whipped around to peek at Akadian who stood expressionless over the heads of the crowd who watched her. She managed to catch his eye as she stood on her tiptoes and threw him an obscene gesture with her finger.
Rowland had noticed and was staring at her, mouth curved down into a quiet growl, hands bloodied from the battles already won that morning. The intensity with which he glared at her made her fight the chills that crawled across her skin. Ambrose pushed the fear from her mind. She couldn’t run. Not with Akadian right there, he could catch her without breaking a sweat.
She was going to have to fight.
Facing Rowland wasn’t entirely ideal, but it was better than having to face the prince. She tried to find solace in the fact that none of Rowland’s opponents lasted more than a minute, so her death would probably be quick. Easy. Maybe even painless if she was lucky.
Ambrose pushed forward, shoulders brushing hers as the others stepped out of her way. She’d never seen Rowland up this close, only heard rumors of his accomplishments as a warrior. A man who appeared one day without a word at the gates of the city covered in blood that wasn’t his. No one knew which kingdom he came from, but when he arrived, he walked right into the Grand Arena and faced anyone who challenged him. Hundreds stepped forward to test their strength and he murdered every one of themindiscriminately. He never spoke, and as far as she knew the only words he’d said since he arrived were the ones required for the pledge. Now, the legend stood opposite her, almost double her height, making her look like a child’s plaything.
Someone tossed a sword at her feet, and as it hit the ground the metal sang the song of her death. A snarl escaped Rowland’s lips as she picked it up. Avoiding any sudden movements that would signify the beginning of the match, Ambrose quickly analyzed everything she could from him. Though he carried no weapons, only a fool would think Rowland defenseless. She ran through every fight she’d seen him in and how he’d won. Not once had he used a blade to defeat an opponent and relied on his strength to finish it. He was fast. She’d have to be faster.
Pulling her sword around to the front of her body, she raised it and lowered herself into the familiar stance she’d trained in for years. The last few weeks, Magnus had been working with her on control and for the first time since she’d woken in that cell, Ambrose had relative command over the raging current inside her. It almost felt as natural again as it had before that day. She called her magick and squeezed the hilt of her sword.
Damn she felt good holding a sword again.
Her eyes shifted over her rival. Focusing on the twitch of his muscles and where he seemed to rely on his strength. Finding the patterns that would hopefully save her life—or at the very least—put on a great final show.
Rowland’s hand dashed out at her, quicker than what she was used to facing against Adym. While Adym had an unmatched ability in swordplay, a master who tuned his dance to deadly accuracy, Rowland was blunt. Aggressive. Uncoordinated and impulsive. If Ambrose hadn’t spent years dodging her brother’s attacks before she could ever counter them, she’d already be dead.
In the split second he lunged for her Ambrose threw her body forward, slid between his legs and was turning to face him again when—
Rowland wrapped his fingers around her leg, fingers so fat they went halfway up her calf, and next thing she knew she was flying across the courtyard.
Her back hit the ground and stars exploded in front of her vision, blocking the world from view. Her chest spasmed for air that wouldn’t come. She tore at her corset, incoherently trying to rip it off.
Air. She neededair.
“Donotremove your corset.”It would be creepy how the voice interjected like that after being silent for so long had she not been so distracted with her current situation.
“Not. Now.” Ambrose gritted, but her fingers stopped fumbling with her straps. Just when she thought she would pass out her lungs pulled in a giant gulp of air.
Rowland bounded towards her, tossing anyone in his way aside with brutal force as he did so. Ambrose planted her feet into the ground and pushed, running as fast as she could from him.
He crashed into the wall, stone debris flying as he burst through it. A large piece struck a bystander, crushing his body as his bones made a sickening crunch.
Move. Move.Move.
She needed to put as much distance between them as she could. If she could keep out of his grasp, maybe she could stay alive. If she was smart, maybe she could even win.
The onlookers had all stepped back safely against the walls of the courtyard to give them some room. As if anywhere in the courtyard with Rowland in it was safe. All the other fights ceased and a crowd had formed around them to watch their match intently.
It was all Ambrose could do to keep away from him. His size and weight slowed him down, but with how long his legs were, he closed the distance between them in less strides. She pumped her legs as hard as she could to stay out of his grasp, thighs burning as she cut throughout the courtyard.
Every time he lunged, she escaped only by the tips of his fingers. It was beginning to become clear of the inevitable. She could move faster but her stamina was depleting and Rowland’s rage seemed to have no bottom as he charged her again, and again. He was going to catch her. When he finally did, he would no doubt tear her apart, screaming.
She thought to her training with Adym and Magnus. Tried to think of anything that could help her but her magick was basically useless, she only just learned to gain control and using an Element was still out of her ability. Maybe Adym could hold his own against Rowland, but the blade in her hand felt more like it weighed her down if she couldn’t get close enough to strike without being killed. With his arms almost the length of her body, she couldn’t get the opening she needed.
