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He leaned against the arena railing. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

My mouth was dry, and I stalked to the water station, taking a cup the attendant handed me and gulping down the cool liquid. It didn’t help.

“My sister needs to practice her knife work,” Demos announced loudly. “Who wants to help?”

The heavy weight on my chest instantly lifted, even as the backs of my eyes burned.

His sister.

His sister, who he was counting on.

I wouldn’t disappoint him.

A man jumped the rail, stalking toward us. Dark-haired, bearded. The same man who’d been fighting when I’d arrived at the arena to train with Galon. The one who’d spat and stalked away when he’d learned who I was.

That weight reappeared. I’d watched him fight and admired his speed. What was Demos thinking?

Roran handed his sword to his friend and pulled a knife, eyes glittering as he waited for me. He wasn’t thin, but he wasn’t bulky either. No, he was light on his feet, moving gracefully as he stepped into position.

“First blood,” Demos said as I made myself approach. “You know the rules, Roran. We don’t have enough healers to go around, so don’t do anything stupid.”

My hand trembled, and I squeezed the hilt of my dagger tighter.

A crowd was gathering, and I glanced behind Demos at where Asinia was clutching the railing, Tibris next to her. He shook his head at me, clearly unhappy. At least he was close if Roran decided to gut me like a pig.

I’d fought for my life on more than one occasion—and won. But that wasn’t what this was. This wasn’t about brutal tactics and doing anything to keep breathing. This was about demonstrating skill, self-control, and, of course, power.

“You shouldn’t have come here,” Roran said, so quietly I could barely hear him. “You’re giving false hope to people who deserve better.”

Perhaps that hope was all I could contribute until someone else came along. Someone who would be able to lead the hybrids home. Maybe…maybe that would be enough, and one day, when this was all over, I could stand in front of a mirror and look myself in the eye. Roran was wrong. Hope was worth everything.

“Are we doing this?”

He rolled his shoulders.

And then he attacked.

He slashed out with his knife, and I darted right, circling him. Several laughs broke out. It looked as if I was running from him.

Roran swung his other hand, and I felt the wind shift next to my face. My kick was more of a stomp, but I slammed my foot into the side of his knee.

He let out the tiniest noise. Triumph roared through me. Oh yeah, that had hurt.

He swung again and again. I dodged each time. My own knife slashed out, but his arms were longer. My power slipped free before I realized I’d reached for it, giving me enough time to bat his arm away and sink a punch into his gut.

Roran grunted, and his backhand caught my jaw. Stars burst in front of my eyes. The pain hit a moment later, exploding through my face. I dropped to my knees, and Roran’s eyes lit up with victory. I yanked on the thread of my power, giving myself enough time to get to my feet and take a breath. And then he was on me.

His knife whistled past my head. Demos yelled something, but it was too late. This fight had become more than just training.

I dodged, right, left, right, using my power to freeze Roran at key points. To keep myself just out of his range. My power worked in sync with my movements. Pure joy danced along my spine, and for the first time, I understood what Lorian had meant. I was still overusing my power, immediately feeling the drain, but I would get better.

Roran bared his teeth, obviously frustrated. He was better than me, and we both knew it. But he couldn’t work out why he couldn’t land his hits.

I pulled the tiniest thread of power free, and Roran froze again, just long enough for me to evade a wicked slice that would have slashed open my throat.

“Finish it, Prisca,” Demos called.