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Roughly divided into sections, the room catered to different styles of combat. In one corner, a large space had been devoted to a towering climbing wall. Taking advantage of the vaulted ceiling, a rocky rugged surface allowed participants to test their agility and endurance. Suspended ropes, precarious pillars, and swinging objects made up another obstacle course nearby.
In another corner, rows of archery targets lined the wall. I watched as a tall, muscular brown-haired man let his bow loose and an arrow sliced through the air, hitting one of the targets with a sharp “thunk.”
Across from the archery station, racks of gleaming swords and axes sat alongside rows of wickedly curved daggers, next to a dueling ring where two men were fighting.
My heart sped up. Draven!
His opponent possessed flaming red hair and owl-like brown speckled eyes. He was a little broader than Draven was, thicker in the neck and shoulders. But Draven was meeting him, blow for blow, with seeming effortlessness. He moved with his familiar catlike grace, but at a greater speed than I had ever seen. Had he been holding back before?
Then another familiar figure caught my eye across the room. A lithe, dark-haired woman. Even from here I could see that her eyes were a striking serpentine blend of purple, yellow, and gold.
Lyrastra was moving solo through a meticulously choreographed fighting routine, her every motion a mesmerizing dance. Nearby a man I assumed was a trainer called out a suggestion. She ignored him and kept on with her routine, her slender figure undulating and weaving, each step calculated and deliberate.
Slowly, I began to understand the sort of game Beks had in mind. Some sort of a physical competition for the throne. I wondered just what exactly was involved.
A sharp cry broke through my thoughts. I looked across the training room at a sparring area with a padded floor surrounded by ropes where a man and a woman were engaged in hand-to-hand combat.
The man was tawny-haired and handsome, with a lithe, well-toned physique. He moved with an impressive, effortless grace I had only seen before in Draven, muscles flexing and rippling below the surface of his amber skin. Glistening gold scales flowed up his sinewy forearms extending up to his broad shoulders.
His partner was small and petite with blonde hair pulled back in a bun. She wore light sparring armor that showcased her delicate but strong frame. But the thing that stood out the most was the golden tiger-like tail that extended from her lower-back. It swayed with a feline grace as she danced over the padded floor around the scaled man and seemed to give her an advantage in agility and balance.
“Stop dancing, Pearl, and fight me,” the man yelled, his voice ringing out across the training room.
I was shocked. He sounded truly annoyed, as if he had grown impatient with his smaller partner's technique of avoidance. But if I were Pearl, I would be dancing around, too. The man had an attractive allure, but there was something about him that frightened me. The look in his eyes said he was not playing games. That he wanted to win at any cost.
Pearl was lightning quick. I watched as she moved swiftly behind him and landed a punch in the man's torso, then was off like a shot towards the other side of the ring.
The man scowled nastily. “You can't run forever, stupid little cat.”
Sure enough, the next time Pearl tried the same move, the scaled man waited until the blow had almost landed–this time on his opposite side–then a muscular arm shot out.
Pearl gave a yelp as she was pulled forward, then thrown face down onto the floor.
Before I could even blink, the man had his foot to her neck and was crowing loudly.
I wasn’t the only one who had been watching the spectacle. Draven and the red-haired man he had been dueling had slowly approached the sparring ring and now stood a few feet away.
“She’s fast, I’ll give her that,” the scaled man called over to Draven, his face still stretched in a wide grin. “But not fast enough.”
Lyrastra had stopped her practice, I noticed. She was standing very still, watching the proceedings.
“You caught the cat,” said the man Draven had been fighting. “Well done, Avriel. Is that what you wanted to hear?”
Avriel? This must be the cousin Beks had mentioned. So this was man was part of Draven’s family? I stayed very still, listening.
“I don’t need your approval, Gawain,” Avriel said with a sneer. He moved his foot, grinding it ever so slightly against Pearl’s neck and she let out a cry before going silent. “I only need you to step aside.”
I winced. With that much weight on her neck, I wondered that she could cry out at all.
“Pearls in this now, Avriel, just like you are,” Draven said evenly. “Now let her go. The trials haven’t even begun yet. She deserves a chance like everyone.”
“Not officially, no. But the same rules apply,” Avriel replied. “Training incidents are an accepted part of the challenge. If little Pearl didn’t understand that, she shouldn’t have come here today.” He nodded at the man he had called Gawain. “He’s not even a contender, but he understands. Don’t you Gawain? You’re only here to train the prince but if I had gotten you under my foot today, would you be whimpering like Pearl? Or would you face your death like a Siabra?” He glanced across at Draven, a grin spreading over his face. “Don’t look so petulant, cousin. What can you do, after all?”
Lyrastra was still watching from the corner. Her trainer had stopped what he was doing and was observing, too. The entire training arena seemed focused on Avriel and his foot resting precariously on Pearl’s neck.
“Do?” Draven crossed his arms over his chest. His only tell that he was truly worried.
“Nothing,” Avriel supplied. “You can do nothing. Because this match has already been won. And I’ll be doing us both a favor if I eliminate her before the challenge even starts...”
