None of the barons or trainees noticed. Not even when a handful of maddened rotated in my direction, abandoning their opponents to concentrate on me. But I thought Cyrus once told me the infected avoided the light?
Either way, my limbs suddenly came back online. With a previously untapped grace and speed, I took down my attackers, then shielded a guard from a biting maddened. To my shock, I absolutely, utterlydominated. For a little while, at least.
“On your left, on your left,” Miller shouted, netting the maddened until he ran out of ammo.
I angled in that direction, swinging at a new challenger. Success! Miller didn’t screw with my rhythm, and I didn’t screw with his. We flowed in harmony. Maybe it was my new aptitude or the adrenaline rushing through my veins. Perhaps the fact that we were more concerned with staying alive than annoying each other. One after the other, we took down our targets without incident.
If only our synchronicity and my newfound expertise lasted.
More maddened flooded into the room, each stronger and faster than the last. The newest cluster came at us, growling and drooling, snapping their teeth and swiping their fingers. Unlike the feeders in Theirland, with advanced cases of Madness, these “newly” infected lacked claws, thank goodness. I tried not to cause fatal damage as I defended myself, a mercy that allowed many to land their strikes.
The chain around my waist jerked when Miller sprang at an opponent. He yanked me from my defensive stance and into the kick of a maddened. An elbow to the chin followed, knocking air from my lungs. I lost my hold on the dagger. My glow snuffed out until the only light I detected came from the pinpricks winking through my vision. I wobbled on my feet, weaker than before and ready to topple.
The guard behind me noticed and attempted to help, but three maddened glommed on to him, taking him down.
My partner surprised me, pivoting to serve as my buffer, taking the next blow himself and giving me a moment to regain my bearings. The moment I straightened, Miller returned to my side.
I worked on freeing my guard, punting a maddened in the face and throwing a hard one-two punch at another. Unfortunately, a new group swarmed us. Too many! Though overwhelmed, I punched, blocked, and ducked, exactly as trained. If we could just neutralize this throng, we could exit the gym and search for Mykal. I didn’t expect to encounter Victors; he’d been too injured to leave his bed.
Chaos mounted as students fell. Grunts, groans, and curses created an erratic chorus accompanied by constant shouts of “Love Soal!” and “Find Soal!”
The instructors and my guards did their best to protect the fallen as the battle raged on. Miller and I made more mistakes and got in each other’s way again and again. Every time, we paid a high price. Aches and pains assured me I would feel every injury later.
“I’m not sure how much more I can take,” someone panted, his voice ragged.
“Keep fighting,” a baron bellowed.
An army of knights and other barons rushed into the room, firing netter guns, catching maddened inside thin metal nets. Just like that, the threat downgraded, and my adrenaline crashed.
Both Miller and I hunched over, struggling for breath. He dropped to his knees and dragged me with him. I took in the carnage around us, dismay swelling to new heights with each trainee I spied strewn across the floor, writhing in pain and bleeding.
A thin line of crimson trickled from Roman’s nose, and bruises were already forming under his swollen eyes. Merlot clutched a broken wrist between her breasts. Cash and another teammate remained motionless, as if ...
I swallowed a barbed lump in my throat. Unconscious. Only unconscious.
“Talk to me.”
The authoritative voice cut through the noise, my head, and my very being. My heart leaped with recognition and relief. Cyrus. He strode inside the gym, radiating fury and full authority.
Behind him were Mr. Vyle and four others. The ultra-stunning High Princess Lolli Dolion and three men I recognized as high princes, each dressed in decorated uniforms reserved for royals.
A gaggle of medics rushed into the gym after them, approaching those with the worst injuries first.
“Royals on deck,” someone called.
Everyone awake lumbered to their feet as Cyrus and his entourage looked us over, their eyes sharp and unreadable. My heart poundedwith the urge to run to him, but I held myself still. Now wasn’t the time. Or the place.
The future king of Ourland looked me over and stiffened. When his gaze met mine, he arched a brow in question.
I nodded to convey the fact that I had no mortal wounds, and he nodded back. A quick, clipped incline of his chin before he shifted his attention.
“I can feel his chill from here.” Miller sucked air between his teeth with an exaggerated wince. “Guess things are over with the HP, huh? Makes sense. I wouldn’t want to be with the girl banging my grandpa either.”
I lifted my nose in the air and said nothing.
Cyrus called, “If nothing is broken, line up.”
Trainees rushed to stand shoulder to shoulder. My body protested the action with sharper aches and pains, but not by word nor deed did I display it. I kept my gaze on Cyrus, my safe place.
