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“I could if you trained me. Zander already mentioned …” My voice fades as I watch her eyes flare with rage.
“No. I do not train princesses, or Ybarisans.” Her tone bleeds with scorn.
I hold my hands up in surrender. “Okay, fine. Zander said you were the best of the best, so I just thought—” Shouts sound from outside. They’re soon followed by shrill screams.
Abarrane moves for the tent’s flap, her sword drawn. I grab the karambit and follow her out into the rain.
The quaint meadow has tumbled into chaos. Two of the bell-shaped tents have collapsed, and servants are fleeing the main rectangular tent where one side has caved in. The screams from inside are earsplitting and steeped in fear.
“What’s happening?”
A second later, a beast leaps out from the tent’s opening, a man’s limp body dangling from its maw, and I have my answer.
