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We won’t get that this year.

The stadium is empty when we arrive, naturally. The competition isn’t for another week at least. It’s odd to be here when everything is so dead.

But the fighting arena is full. The mercenaries are waiting for us. Some sit on the ground, bored and confused as to why they’ve been summoned. Others are picking friendly fights with each other. Testing out their weapons early.

I only count thirty-four in total, so some clearly haven’t arrived in town yet.

While Skiro and Governor Erinar greet each other again, I make a perusal of the weapons visible to me.

Twin shortswords that ignite in flames when commanded.

A halberd that allows the bearer to vault unnaturally high into the air.

A morningstar mace with the ability to catch the light no matter where the sun may be facing, and blind oncoming enemies.

Throwing knives that can be directed with hand motions, coaxed to hit exactly where the castor demands.

A double-headed ax that can hold an enemy at bay, simply by pointing in their direction.

On and on I see them, smiling at each one as I remember the forging process for them. The hours of my life spent in pure bliss. Creating.

And then my eyes land on a figure that leaves a bad taste in my mouth. He carries a flanged mace. One with the ability to steal the breath from those standing nearby.

Temra’s eyes catch sight of him, too. “What is he doing here?”

“It would appear he’s an entrant in the tournament,” I say through clenched teeth.

Temra bursts out into laughter. “Magic weapon or no, the mercenaries would have eaten him alive.”

“I’ll bet he runs screaming when he hears what’s about to be asked of the contestants.”

Kellyn turns to us. “Are we talking about the fellow with the mace? Who is he?”

“No one of consequence,” I answer honestly. Though my face heats of its own volition.

“Do you have a history?” The question sounds innocent enough, but I think I hear just a hint of something more in Kellyn’s tone.

“He’s the governor’s son, and he tried to kiss her once,” Temra says unhelpfully. “When Ziva refused him, he made up some story about her attacking him. In the end, the governor didn’t believe his lies, thankfully. But Asel took the slight personally. Even had some of his friends vandalize our place.”

Kellyn cocks his head to the side, sizing up Asel.

It’s laughable when I think about the two of them standing side by side.

Kellyn’s tall, strong frame compared to Asel’s shorter, lean one.

Kellyn’s gorgeous gold-red hair compared to Asel’s dark locks.

Kellyn’s beautiful face compared to Asel’s ugly features (at least they’re ugly to me).

Kellyn takes a step in Asel’s direction, and I pull at his arm the moment I realize he means to approach him.

“Stop that,” I tell him.

“I was just going to say hello to the governor’s son.”

“Why would you do that?”

Kellyn doesn’t answer as Asel suddenly looks in ourdirection—as though he finally felt our stares. His eyes widen at the sight of Kellyn, and I realize he must think him a competitor in the tournament at first. Then his eyes slide to mine, and they narrow in some mixture of confusion and distaste.