Her overall size seems like it's getting larger, too. I'm still studying her, trying to compare the mental image I havefrom a week ago to what I'm seeing now, when I hear Gareth coming up behind me.
“…Is it just me, or is she already growing bigger?” I ask.
“You're not imagining it,” he confirms. “And it's a good sign that she's getting more attached to you.”
“Attached?” I snort. “Could have fooled me.”
He shrugs. “Dragons are complex. And the magical nature of a bond is even more complicated. Just because you two hardheaded fools aren't outwardly bending toward one another yet, doesn't mean your intertwined destiny can be erased. If she'd given up on you after the rather rocky start you’ve had, I don't think we'd be seeing these changes in her.”
“That's…reassuring?”
“Yes.”
He doesn't look particularly reassured, though.
And neither am I, for that matter.
Chapter Thirteen
Unfortunately, Gareth has decided that today will be a trial of endurance.
Again.
We've done this three other times this past week, because he claims that itshouldbe one of the easiest things for Blight to share with me—her strength and stamina. Easier than magic, easier than physical attributes, easier than sharing her thoughts, even.
If you can already take on her scales, this should be nothing for you two,he claimed.Borrowing her strength should come as easily as breathing in sync with her.
And yet, the only strength that carries me back and forth across the arena, over and over again, is my own.
Today, I'm ordered to run for what must be miles. There are soldiers stationed in all corners of the arena, forcing me to weave between them in complex patterns. Some bored looking courtiers file into the rooms and tiered seats above us, too, until no less than a dozen people are looking down on me, whispering and giggling amongst themselves.
Gareth ignores the spectators. He's merciless, barking orders with increasing impatience and cruelty. Any time I'm allowed to stop running—whenever my legs are an instant away from giving out on me—he attacks without warning, forcing me to try and defend myself. Or he sits back and sips a drink while he orders others to do the honors.
Again and again, I'm knocked around, brought to the very edge of desperation, pushed to the limits of my own strength.
Again and again, Gareth swears that I could fight him and all of his soldiers at once, if I could just trust the dragon and let her in.
Toward the end of the ordeal, I'm actuallytryingto do as he says. But it's hopeless. It's all I can do to survive by this point; the dragon, the palace, the king—all of it blurs in the background as I focus on nothing but staying conscious and upright.
Blight watches the whole thing through a sharp, curious gaze. She rarely turns her back on me anymore, at least, insisting on bearing witness to my humiliation and failure…for whatever that's worth.
The session finally comes to an end when my legs completely give out for the third time. I end up on my hands and knees, vomiting so many times that I collapse, blacking out for several minutes.
When my awareness returns, I find myself lying on my side, curled into a tight ball. The scent of my own sweat and sickness is strong enough that I start to retch again, but I don't have anything left in me to throw up.
When the gagging finally subsides, I roll away from the mess I've made to see Gareth sitting on a bench several feet away, fiddling with the lid of a battered canteen.
“If you're trying to kill me,” I groan, “could you just be merciful about it and use a godsdamn sword like a normal executioner?”
He doesn't answer right away, instead taking a moment to stretch out his left leg, massaging his knee. An old injury that still plagues him from time to time, he's told me.
I made sure to kick that knee earlier, and I hope it's hurting him like hell now.
“It's certainly crossed my mind that killing you would be the easier thing.” He sips from the canteen. “But, alas, I don't think that's your destiny.”
I push myself into a sitting position, swiping the arena’s black sand from my hands and clothing. “I've never really believed in destiny. If I did, I would have broken down long ago, based on the hand the gods dealt me. Instead, I've made a point of choosing my own path.”
He considers this, his brow furrowing, but he doesn't argue. He continues to sip silently from his canteen, his expression heavy and his movements weary—as ifhe’sthe one who’s spent the past hours getting beaten down and humiliated for the amusement of the palace nobles.
