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She shuddered at the thought and brought her mind back to Senovara. This was the present, the here and now. This was what was important. Because if she didn’t beat the Gallian woman, then there was no hope for all the other parts of her plan that she was putting into place.
“No more distractions,” she said with a nod at Constantine. “Just the fight.”
He patted her shoulder twice. “Just don’t get arrogant.”
She laughed. “Have you met me?”
“I have. That’s why I’m reminding you that Senovara fights smart. She’s here to win. She’s not being forced into this tournament, like many of the others.”
“I know. I know,” she said, bouncing from foot to foot. “I can do this.”
“By the gods, I hope so.”
Constantine’s words were nearly drowned out by the gate lifting and the crushing noise of the crowd. Kerrigan grinned as she stepped away from his side, only to hear her name on repeat from within the arena.
“Red! Red! Red!”
She’d put on the performance that they wanted, and they were rewarding her with their love and devotion. Oh, to see Vulsan’s face.
“Good luck,” Constantine called.
She pushed her shoulders back, fingered her grip on her sword, and then strode into the coliseum. It was a sun-soaked day, where every inhale felt a bit like breathing in water. Sweat beaded on her forehead and down her back as she left the confines of the cooler quarters and stepped into the heat of the day. Thousands had shown up for the privilege of watching foreigners kill each other. The air stank of cheap honey wine and piss and unwashed flesh. Commoners were in nothing but loincloths with women in barely concealed togas hanging forward over the divide that held them back from her. Even a few were stupid enough to fall into the sand and had to be hoisted back up into the stands by friends.
Kerrigan took this all in with a glance as she turned to face the Doma. Vulsan was as golden as ever with a little gold circlet in his hair and a haughty expression on his plump lips. She gave him a little curtsy to the excitement of the crowd.
That was the moment Senovara rushed at her, screaming at the top of her lungs and swinging a massive broadsword.
Kerrigan had missed Senovara’s introduction entirely from the depths of the coliseum. She brought her sword up just in time to block Senovara’s attack. The Gallian woman bellowed with fury that her first stroke hadn’t been enough to end the entire thing.
Despite her bulk and additional height, Senovara was quick, and she had double the aggression of her previous competitor. She’d had to prove herself time and time again. A giant. A foreigner. A woman. The world shouldn’t force them to become killers, but there was no other choice. This was just another battlefield. It almost made Kerrigan regret what she was about to do.
Because Kerrigan had watched Senovara’s last match. She’d trained all weekend with Constantine and Evander, working on her weaknesses. They’d gone over all the players to prepare her—save Fordham. She knew his weakness, and it had nothing to do with his impeccable form.
No, Senovara’s biggest strength was that she’d entered herself. Well, her master had agreed when she prompted him. She’d won the circuit many times before this with her broadsword. She swept the competition in fights that were to a yield, but she’d never been a showman. That didn’t sound like much, but the crowd didn’t like her. And they were currently chanting Kerrigan’s coliseum name as if she were an actual Doma. The noise was deafening.
So, when Senovara opened her mouth to snarl at Kerrigan, she couldn’t even hear it. She took another step backward and put a hand to her ear.
“Pardon?”
Senovara growled and drew her sword down again. Kerrigan sidestepped her, playing with the sword strokes instead of defending herself. The crowd roared with laughter, which only riled Senovara up more.
“You—” Senovara yelled.
But the end of what she said was lost to the crowd.
Kerrigan smiled. “What was that? Going to have to speak up.”
Senovara lost her focus for a second, her gaze going to the crowd with fury in her dark eyes. Kerrigan stepped in and sliced down on her bicep. Senovara whipped back around, blocking Kerrigan out of her space again. But Kerrigan was playing cat and mouse. One demoralizing slice at a time. Her side. Her thigh. Her back. Until blood dripped freely into the sand to a determined cheer from the already-raucous crowd.
She didn’t want to end it. In fact, it was better to drag it out. Death by a thousand cuts. Until she could no longer even lift her broadsword. But as much as she had to win, Kerrigan hated the games. It was cruel. Even if it was necessary.
Finally, a blow landed on the inside of Senovara’s wrist. The audience gasped as her giant broadsword left her hand and fell with a heavy thump into the sand. Senovara’s eyes were wild with disbelief as she bled from a dozen such injuries.
