Maybe that's why the question feels like mockery. Like I'm a jester in this cruel court, brought here to entertain these bastards who'vealwaysbeen able to do more than just survive. The king, the princess, the servants, and now Gareth—it feels like they're all just poking me with sticks, trying to see who can make me snap first.
And I'm alreadysickof it.
I race for the weapon rack, snatching the first sword my fingers close around.
It's a much lighter weight than my mother's blade was, so I'm clumsier than usual when I spin and slash toward Gareth. But my fury carries me onward, as it always has, burning away every thought except survival.
Again and again, we collide.
Blight eventually settles down, stretching out on herplatform, but continues watching the fight. Her tail gives an occasional, restless thump.
This goes on for over a half hour, at least—until Gareth seems to decide we're finished with this particular lesson.
He takes a cheap shot, darting away, weaving in a confusing maneuver before sweeping directly into my blind spot.
I sense him coming, but I don’t see him in time to react. His sword comes down hard, and I barely get my arm up to block. Its edge is blunt, but the impact is hard enough to daze and send me staggering backward.
Warmth claws at me again, only now it feels more likeanger. Frustration. It's mixing with my own rage and resentment, such a tangled knot that I can't tell what belongs to me and what belongs to the dragon.
Gareth strikes again, and this time when I try to dance away, my injured knee finally gives out on me. As I stumble, he plants a boot into my side, sending me flying.
I slam face-first into the ground, ending up with a mouth full of blood and sand.
The point of his sword presses against the back of my neck a moment later. “And now you're dead,” he says flatly. “Is that really preferable to accepting a dragon's help?”
“Yes,” I cough, before rolling onto my back with a groan.
“Stubborn fool,” he mutters.
Blight makes a strange noise, something between a hiss and a chitter. It sounds almost like...laughter.
“Go to hell,” I mumble, though I'm not sure if I'm talking to Gareth or the dragon. Both of them, I guess. My vision is starting to blur at the edges. The world is tilting sideways, the sky above spinning in a slow, nauseating circle.
I hear the commander returning his weapon to the rack. “I'll leave you to reconsider your stubbornness for a bit. I'm going to take a lunch break, in the meantime.”
I want to call after him as he walks away, to curse him out properly, but I can't seem to make my mouth work.Nothingseems to be working.
Blight makes that chittering sound again.
Definitely laughing at me.
“Shut up,” I manage to whisper.
The last thing I hear before I slip out of consciousness is the rustle of her wings, and what sounds like a snort of derision as she turns her back on me.
Chapter Eleven
Idrift in and out of awareness. The patch of blue sky spins faster and faster above me, bleeding into the colors of the coliseum until it’s all one giant blur. A dragon roars from somewhere high above; it sounds relatively close. My eye twitches with pain in response, and I hear Blight shifting in her chains, too. I expect her to try and send another insistent wave of heat my way.
She doesn't.
Good.
I press my palm over my blind eye, gritting my teeth and pushing through the traumatic memories on my own, same as I always have.
I'm not sure how long I lay there with my eyes closed, regretting every decision that's brought me to this palace. Long enough to feel every new bruise Gareth has left. Long enough for a pang of hunger to make me groan out loud, and for me to start wondering if the commander is even coming back, or if he's decided to extend his lunch break into a lavish feast while I lay here suffering.
I hope he chokes on whatever luxurious food he's undoubtedly eating.
