Page 27

“Gods,” Galen said with disgust. “That’s a lot of anointed soturi.” He’d finally caught sight of the legion occupying the stands. “Auriel’s bane.” He leaned forward, squinting. “They’re all Ka Kormac.”

“Isn’t the whole point of them being here to offer protection?” Haleika frowned. “It seems like they’re just here to sit in the arena and cheer like they’re at a sports game.”

They are at a sports game. At least tonight I’m not the entertainment.

Aemon stepped into the center of the field. He spoke calmly, reviewing the rules as he always did and announcing the first five. It was clear from the power of his aura he was mad—still furious from the trial—though me and Tani were probably the only ones in the arena who knew why. Everyone else would assume he was in one of his moods.

I wondered if Rhyan could feel it, too, or if he’d gone back to his apartment.

The soturi in the first ring took their positions, and the clock started. Immediately, the novice in the center, a blonde girl from Ka Daquataine in Damara, went on the offensive, targeting what appeared to be the biggest soturion in the ring, a brute from Ka Kormac. She raced forward, springing onto his back and covering his eyes with her hands. He flailed, trying to reach her, his hands stretching behind his back, but his silvered-wolf armor didn’t allow him full freedom of motion, and he couldn’t get to her. He turned around and around again, trying to stretch his arms farther or shake her off, but he kept failing—he was too bulky, and while clearly strong, he was not flexible, restricted by both his muscle and the contour of his armor. Spinning around once more, he turned his back to the silver circle binding them in. He backed up so fast I shuddered. He was going to slam her into the binding, into the rings that were so cold, they burned through your skin.

Half the crowd cheered while the other half—Ka Kormac—cursed and howled. The soturion from Damara released her grip at the last second, dropping to the ground. She tucked herself into a ball and rolled aside just as the brute crashed into the ring with such force, he fell to his knees with a bloodcurdling howl of pain. Light flashed across the silver circle, emitting a buzzing sound of magic I could feel up in the stands.

The girl unrolled herself, sprung to her feet, and spun on the heels of her sandals, her eyes tracking her next opponent.

Tristan shifted in his seat uneasily, and I turned to see him watching me carefully. “Was that you? The other day?” he asked. “Having to fight soturi that size and…that many at once?”

“Yes.”

He bit his lip, his eyebrows furrowed together. “You were in the center?”

I nodded, craning my neck to look back at him. His eyes were fixed on the arena, his eyebrows furrowing.

The fight ended minutes later, and the discussion and critique of the battle ensued, followed by the next one, and then the last. Through all of it, Tristan remained silent, tight-lipped, and uncomfortable, holding me in his arms so stiffly I felt like I was being hugged by a stone statue.

With each maneuver executed, each hit, punch, and kick, I felt Tristan’s discomfort grow, felt his anger cresting like a wave through the pulses of his aura. His fury echoed in the flickering flames of the fires circling around us and keeping us warm from the chilled air. I was beginning to feel suffocated by their heat.

Finally dismissed, with my back aching from sitting still for so long, Tristan and I left Haleika and Galen and headed back to my apartment. I took Tristan’s hand in mine as we wound over the waterways of Urtavia. I’d wanted to avoid Ka Kormac at all costs, and every single time I caught the sound of a howl or noticed the torches lighting up the city catching on silver armor, I turned or changed direction.

Back in my apartment, I left Tristan alone in my living room while I changed out of my practice clothes and uniform. I reached back to unbraid my hair, but I couldn’t. My arms were too sore. Even my fingers felt stiff. Changing my clothes alone had been a miracle, and though I wished in some part that Tristan had been in here helping me, I was mostly glad he’d waited outside. The less he saw of my injuries, the better. Dressed in a loosened tunic to keep pressure off my back and tight riding pants to balance the look, I reentered the living room, barefoot and exhausted, my hair messily falling out of its braid. I found a still tense Tristan sitting awkwardly on my couch.

I swallowed, my mouth dry as I felt the tension crackling in his aura.

“Can we talk?” he asked.

I sat down beside him and nodded, trying to keep my knees from shaking with nerves.

“I didn’t know,” he said urgently. “I didn’t know it was this bad. Lyr. Why didn’t you tell me?”

I shook my head, heart pounding. “Tell you what?”

“How badly you were being hurt. You’ve been brushing it all off—acting like it’s not that big a deal. You never once clued me into anything like I saw tonight.”

“What?”

“Lyr, why did you underplay all of this with me?”

“I didn’t.”

“You barely wanted to show me your back.”

I bit my lip, terrified he was about to guess—to see through my lies and realize I’d never shown him a single wound because if he saw one, he’d see all. “Because…I know you don’t like to see things like that.”

“I’d look at anything for you. Don’t you know that?” He frowned. “I know you’ve been busy, that this past month hasn’t been easy. But I also feel like…you’ve been keeping me at a distance for a while now.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, my stomach twisting. He was always more perceptive than I gave him credit for, and that perception could prove deadly if he got too close. “I’ve never wanted you to feel like that.”

“No,” he said, voice gravelly. “It’s not your fault. I think since your birthday, I haven’t made the best choices with you. I just…I haven’t known the right thing to do. I only know I hate the idea of you out there. The idea of you getting hurt.” His chest heaved, and he reached for my cheek. His thumb brushed lightly against my cheekbone just under my cut—the cut that had come from Meera punching me in the face.