Page 54 of Black Sea

I willed myself not to meet it.

Not to appear even weaker.

The next moment, the gate’s mechanism was activated with a squeak, and the grating started to rise.

I gathered my sword, closed my eyes, and breathed deeply.

“I got your back, Elf.”

Amlach’s voice, both resolute and intimate, crept into my bubble of concentration. I couldn’t control myself and looked up, gazing at him as if trying to imprint every detail of his face in my memory.

“And I will try not to let you die,” I replied playfully.

He gave me a teasing smile, then we turned our attention back in front of us. The back of his fingers brushed against mine, conveying to me all his determination along with his anxiety.

The gate reached the top with a metal thud.

And Amlach and I moved forward.

32

I was burning. This was my impression as we reached the center of the circular field beneath the hottest sun I had ever felt on my skin.

The roar of the crowd gathered on the steps was more deafening than the noise of any battle I had ever fought, sending vibrations through the compacted sand beneath my feet. The Masters of Rubra watched the spectacle from their private boxes, carved into six towers at varying heights.

Additionally to the one that Amlach and I had passed through, five other entrances lined the circumference of the field.

At any moment, our adversaries would appear from one of them.

Suddenly, a stocky man in a long, wide-sleeved red and white toga leaned out from a balcony that jutted over the field. He wore a creepy plaster mask portraying a surprised expression, with his mouth wide open and adorned with vine leaves and grapes amid its curls.

He spread his arms to evoke a general silence. Then, with his voice amplified by the mask, he spoke fervently like a seasoned actor on stage. “And now, the moment you’ve been waiting for! Survivors of a brutal battle in the Lands of the East. Fallen into the Thalion Sea. Drifting for three days, at the mercy of storms and sharks, before Captain Escrain rescued them and brought them to our beautiful city . . .”

Amlach let out a half-laugh brimming with hatred, whereas I was about to roar to the spectators that those words were nothing but a vile lie. That we had been captured, not saved. That even a man who looked honorable, like Roxior, was only willing to take us home after securing his own gain.

I searched for him in the tower near the entrance that Amlach and I had crossed, finding him comfortably seated on the lower box, nibbling at his black grapes. I hoped he could sense all the resentment I felt toward him.

“People of Rubra,” the host shouted. “Meet the Princess of the Elves of Aegel and the commander of the army of men of the Lands of the East!”

The crowd erupted in ecstatic cheers.

Hundreds of fingers pointed at me. The words elf and ears echoed from one side of the arena to the other, prompting me to step even closer to Amlach, as if I were unconsciously trying to hide in his shadow.

“Who will dare to challenge the House of Master Roxior’s new gladiators?” the masked man continued.

Everyone turned to the entrance behind us as the gate swung open. The fact that I couldn’t hear its squeak, despite the shouts around me, made me shudder.

Two slaves ran into the field, halted a short distance from the entrance, tossed two round wooden shields onto the sand, and turned back, vanishing into the tunnel as if a demon were on their heels.

Amlach and I eyed each other cautiously.

“Masters of Rubra! Citizens!” the host yelled as the gate under his balcony started to rise. “Welcome the gladiators of the Ramil tribe!”

Three red chariots adorned with silver decorations, drawn by sleek sorrel horses, entered the arena one after another. The charioteers and three other men wore long beige headbands that served as both turbans and veils to cover their faces, leaving only their eyes exposed. Brown leather armor pressed against the heavy layers of clothing on their chests, where I could see various straps for daggers.

But what made me pale were the weapons that the passengers of each chariot brandished.

“Oh, shit,” Amlach cursed between his teeth.