She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, voice dropping low and silken. “Magic. The kind that shouldn't exist anymore. The kind kings kill for. The kind that glows in your veins when you think no one’s watching.”
The air in the room shifted. Heavy. Cold. Like the walls were closing in.
I held her gaze, jaw tight.
“What do you want, Mother?” I asked, the words clipped and bitter. “Just tell me.”
Her smile curled at the edges, slow and venomous.
“I want you to dance for me,” she purred. “My dear shadowmancer. These fighters…” She flicked her fingers dismissively toward the bloodied pit below. “They bore me. Brawn and bone and no imagination. But you—oh, you’ve always had a flair for drama. You were never like the others.”
I stared at her, the fire in my chest flaring beneath the cold.
“You want me to fight?” I asked.
She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to.
I pulled my sweatshirt over my head and let it fall to the floor. The chill hit my skin immediately, but I didn’t flinch.
“Fine,” I said, voice steady. “One fight.”
Mother’s eyes lit with cruel delight.
“You’ll show me Finn,” I added, stepping forward. “After. Win or lose.”
She leaned back slowly in her chair, sipping her wine like she’d just been given the finest vintage in the city.
“Of course,” she said, almost too quickly. “One fight.”
I knew that smile. I knew better than to trust it.
But for now, I had no choice.
I made my way down to the pits.
The corridor down to the pit was narrow and low-ceilinged, lined with flickering torches that cast long, broken shadows across the walls. My boots echoed with every step, slow and deliberate, as if even the stone was holding its breath.
I felt the weight of eyes before I even stepped into the open. Guards. Fighters. Spectators who'd caught word and crowded to watch. They whispered behind their hands, unsure if they should be afraid or amused.
Someone announced me. I barely heard it. I just took a breath and glared up at the witch in her private box.
Even though I couldn’t see her, I could feel her glee at my current predicament. She thought she had won something. I was about to show her what her prize was worth.
The crowd pulsed above me, a living wall of noise. But I didn’t hear them.
I only heard the shift of boots across packed blood-soaked earth. The rattle of chainmail. The low snarl of breath from across the pit.
He was a monster of a man—broad-shouldered, arms wrapped in old scars and fresher bruises. He had obviously fought before and blood still dripped from the wounds from his last battle.
His face was hidden beneath a dented helm, his chest bare but smeared with dried blood not his own. A spiked cudgel hung from one hand like it was part of his body.
He lunged first.
Fast—faster than he should have been for a man his size.
I ducked low, feeling the wind of his swing scrape past my shoulder. Dirt sprayed as he slammed into the ground where I’d stood a heartbeat before. I slid to the side and twisted, shadows already curling from my fingertips like black silk.
The second strike came wild—reckless and heavy. I called the shadows to me. They answered like breath, wrapping my arms, sharpening into blades as I moved. I struck low, slicing across his thigh.
