Her legs slowed with each step, muscles aching for relief. She couldn’t stop, each breath burned her throat and her lungs as tears stung the corners of her eyes. Rowland hurled himself at her, each time getting closer—
Something cracked through the courtyard as Ambrose released a soul-shattering scream. Rowland’s fingers wrapped themselves firmly around her calf again, although this time, he didn’t throw her. He squeezed. With all his might. The bones in her leg splintered under his grip and Ambrose had to fight the urge to pass out right there.
Don’t pass out. Don’t give up.
She fought the unconsciousness that flirted with the edge of her mind and forced herself to stay awake. She placed her hand around the blade of her sword and pulled, slicing her palm to make herself alert again.
She wasn’t going to die today.
Her channels groaned with a power she still hadn’t learned to harness yet and one thought played over in her head.
Don’t die.
She swung her sword around as hard as she could and her blade bit into flesh as it connected with Rowland’s shoulder. She pushed with all her might and his grip around her ankle loosened as he let out his own enraged shout. Before she could recover and realize he let go, he grabbed her arm with his undamaged one, and threw her as hard as he could.
She heard a loud pop as a sharp pain spread down her arm and she crashed into one of the pillars along the courtyard. Blinding pain—then numbness—exploded through her body as she slumped face-first to the ground and didn’t move again.
Cheers erupted all around her as she expected to feel pain but there wasnothing.
Confused, she was just grateful to be alive. But she had to move, Rowland was still a danger. She lay there, unable to get her body to move or respond at all. Panic began to rise in her chest, gripping her heart as it beat ferociously in her ears. The sounds of the crowd dissipated and Ambrose tensed as she felt someone’s presence come towards her.
What’s going on?
“Don’t move,” they ordered quietly as small hands moved across her body. “He thinks you’re dead. If you move or make a sound, hewillkill you.”
Ambrose held her breath as she asked, “Is he still there?”
“Yes. I promise to tell you when he’s gone.” The warm, familiar hands of a healing mage settled on different areas of her body. “This is going to hurt. If you want to live to see tomorrow, you won’t scream.”
With that, the shoulder that dangled loosely at her side popped back into place. Ambrose saw black as stars punched her vision and she bit back the scream that bubbled and died in her throat. It lasted only a moment as the mage’s magick settled into her bones and took the pain with it.
Tears stung her eyes as Ambrose muttered, “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” the voice sounded resolved. “Your spine is broken.”
Was that why she couldn’t move?
Throat tightening, Ambrose tried to move her legs and they wouldn’t respond. “What do I do?”
“Holdverystill,” the voice said quietly and calmly, making sure to seem like she wasn’t speaking at all. “Donotscream.” The healer moved her hands over her spine and the warm sensation filled her as it jerked her spine back into place and mended it together.
Vomit forced its way up her throat and it was all Ambrose could do not to spill it out all over the courtyard. But just as with her shoulder, the pain lasted only a moment before the magick spread throughout her body.
“You did great,” the healer soothed. “I know that must have hurt. Rowland is gone now. You can move, but please, do it slowly.”
“Thank you,” Ambrose breathed. “I didn’t realize there would be healers here.”
She made sure to heed her warning and got up as slowly as she could. She tested every muscle one at a time. Starting with her toes all the way to her fingers as she pulled herself into a sitting position and stretched each limb. She rotated her shoulder, making sure it had full range of motion and let out a relieved laugh. She ached, and probably would for a week, but her body listened once more.
“There isn’t technically supposed to be. Not officially anyway. The outcome of fights between Trial Champions is usually left to fate. I’m here to fight with the contestants and just so happened to witness your performance. I never use Magick when I’m fighting, I find it makes me hand-to-hand sloppy. But I saw you and was so impressed, it was the least I could do.”
Ambrose got a good look at her savior, shock spreading across her face as she saw it was the woman who wielded two curved blades. A skilled fighteranda healer. That had to be a dangerous combination.
The healer had to be about Ambrose’s age, with brown eyes that carried the warmth of the forest in them. Her dark reddish-brown hair pulled back into a tight bun framed a strikingly beautiful face. She wore a dark blue fitted fighting dress, leathers, and a silver armored corset across her entire chest that went all the way up to her throat. So polished, Ambrose wondered if it was brand new. The woman was truly the embodiment of the warriors Eltoria was proud to display to the world. She was without a doubt of high birth. Humans could never rise to higher noble, only the title of lesser noble when humans and fae showed exceptional loyalty to the empire.
“I lost,” Ambrose remarked. Nothing about that fight had been impressive. She was lucky to be alive.
“Yousurvived,” the woman countered. “The first one to do so against Rowland, if I’m not mistaken.” Her smile seemed genuine as she helped Ambrose to her feet.
