Page 20 of Immortal Origins (Chronicles of the Immortal Trials #1)
W eeks passed without Ambrose speaking to anyone aside from Magnus or Akadian.
She’d been taking private lessons with Magnus and had yet to be allowed into a group setting.
The servants didn’t speak to her out of fear, and she couldn’t blame them.
The nobles watched and whispered whenever she passed but never spoke directly to her, and she had little to say to them.
Kept under a careful watch, Akadian never let her out of his sight unless she was with the Grand Mage.
Even in the moments that appeared as though no one were watching, he was there, never far, like a panther on the prowl.
Only in the dead of night did she have a quiet moment to her own thoughts.
So far, she found no way of getting out of Akadian’s sight long enough to try and make her escape, but that didn’t stop her from searching for new opportunities every day.
“Has anyone ever told you you’re kinda creepy?” Ambrose rubbed the sleep from her eyes as Akadian unlocked her door that morning. “I heard you shuffling outside for hours last night.”
“Good morning to you too,” he replied sarcastically, rolling his eyes as he ran a hand through his messy curls. “Your day is going to be different today.”
“Do I finally get a group Magick lesson?” she asked eagerly, desperate for anyone else to talk to.
“Today, you’re fighting.” He threw a pile of clothes at her as well as some leather shoes. “Get dressed.”
Ambrose stood there as his words sank in and her excitement grew. “Fight training? ”
“No, Little Rose.” He sat in one of the arm chairs and bit into an apple, tossing her one of her own. “Fighting. It’s time to see what you can do with a weapon. Put those on.”
Weeks gone and in all that time, they’d refused to put a sword in her hand. She was beginning to worry that they weren’t going to give her one at all and throw her into the arena with nothing to defend herself. Something leapt in her chest at the idea of holding a sword again.
She was going to get to fight.
She couldn’t help from enjoying the rush of anticipation that filled her veins, her muscles craving the weight of a sword again.
Who would she be facing?
Ambrose turned around and closed the bed chamber door behind her.
Once back inside, she got a good look at the clothing he brought her.
The leather pants slid up her legs like they’d been crafted to perfectly fit her.
Tough—but soft. They allowed movement while giving no lag.
The shirt was a simple white material, but on closer inspection, she saw it was made from arachne silk, the strongest fibers in the kingdoms. She cinched the leather of her corset around her body in expert timing and finished by lacing the shoes on, tying them up her calves.
Forcing a few deep breaths, she straightened, and walked back out to Akadian.
As she emerged, he looked as though he wanted to say something, assessing eyes moving over her, mouth slightly open, before he closed it and decided against whatever it was.
Instead, he said nothing and led her from his chambers, out of his secret garden, and into the heart of the palace.
They continued in that silence until they reached one of the fighter training yards, which was already full of warriors paired off and challenging one another.
One man had his opponent trapped underneath him as he brought his club down over and over until the fighter’s face was unrecognizable.
The fact that the man was dead didn’t deter him from continuing to crush his skull in.
He either didn’t notice or didn’t care. Another set faced each other, blades crossed.
One of them held their sword in one hand while he tried to hold in the contents of his abdomen with the other, a large gash carved into his stomach as blood poured from his mouth.
The other brought his sword down in one finishing sweep and removed his head in one strike.
Paired off, each couple was surrounded by a group of onlookers who placed bets and exchanged silver and bronze crowns between hands as winners claimed their prize.
Many cheered and shouted as they eagerly waited for their turn to step over the next dead body and face the victor.
The deadliest fighters in the five kingdoms gathered in a brutal, bloody display.
“I’ve never seen fighting like this in my life.” Ambrose stared, horrified. Bodies lined against the wall had started to pile up as servants removed the fallen warriors.
“These are the rest of the Trial Champions,” Akadian explained.
So immersed in the sight around the courtyard, Ambrose jumped at the sound of his voice.
“They’re…” She tried to find the word.
“Monsters.” He finished for her.
“Terrifying.”
The air between them went as stale as the air in the lungs of the bodies piling up along the wall.
The nervousness she’d been feeling that morning turned to full-blown terror.
It was no secret the tournament would unveil monsters beyond one’s worst nightmares, things only the darkest of minds could conjure.
Looking around it wouldn’t matter much, she wouldn’t make it far enough to see one anyway.
She’d be dead as soon as it started. “I’m fighting one of them? Today ?”
“Yes.”
“Who?” She scanned the crowd for her would-be opponent.
Across from her, back against the wall, two women faced each other in a deadly dance.
One could barely stand, though she stood defiant against death, while the other brandished a sword with a curved blade in each hand and a winning grin on her face.
She moved quickly and destructively, slicing the woman, again, and again.
Cutting with deadly precision until the other fell to her knees and quit moving entirely.
Ambrose shot an involuntary silent prayer to Zyros, the God of Mercy, that she wouldn’t be facing her on the other end of a blade.
Akadian lifted a finger and pointed into the crowd. “Him.”
The gathering blocked the fight from view, but by the sounds coming from the other side of the spectators, it was a gruesome one. Ambrose pushed her way through the onlookers, edging her way closer to the center with each breath and step. Her heart thundered as she reached the front of the circle.
What she saw made her blood run cold in her veins.
She found herself unable to move as though she’d frozen right where she stood. Her mind screamed at her to run, but her muscles refused to obey.
Rowland .
Is he insane ? Ambrose whipped around to peek at Akadian who stood expressionless over the heads of the crowd who watched her. She managed to catch his eye as she stood on her tiptoes and threw him an obscene gesture with her finger.
Rowland had noticed and was staring at her, mouth curved down into a quiet growl, hands bloodied from the battles already won that morning.
The intensity with which he glared at her made her fight the chills that crawled across her skin.
Ambrose pushed the fear from her mind. She couldn’t run.
Not with Akadian right there, he could catch her without breaking a sweat.
She was going to have to fight.
Facing Rowland wasn’t entirely ideal, but it was better than having to face the prince. She tried to find solace in the fact that none of Rowland’s opponents lasted more than a minute, so her death would probably be quick. Easy. Maybe even painless if she was lucky.
Ambrose pushed forward, shoulders brushing hers as the others stepped out of her way.
She’d never seen Rowland up this close, only heard rumors of his accomplishments as a warrior.
A man who appeared one day without a word at the gates of the city covered in blood that wasn’t his.
No one knew which kingdom he came from, but when he arrived, he walked right into the Grand Arena and faced anyone who challenged him.
Hundreds stepped forward to test their strength and he murdered every one of them indiscriminately.
He never spoke, and as far as she knew the only words he’d said since he arrived were the ones required for the pledge.
Now, the legend stood opposite her, almost double her height, making her look like a child’s plaything.
Someone tossed a sword at her feet, and as it hit the ground the metal sang the song of her death.
A snarl escaped Rowland’s lips as she picked it up.
Avoiding any sudden movements that would signify the beginning of the match, Ambrose quickly analyzed everything she could from him.
Though he carried no weapons, only a fool would think Rowland defenseless.
She ran through every fight she’d seen him in and how he’d won.
Not once had he used a blade to defeat an opponent and relied on his strength to finish it. He was fast. She’d have to be faster.
Pulling her sword around to the front of her body, she raised it and lowered herself into the familiar stance she’d trained in for years.
The last few weeks, Magnus had been working with her on control and for the first time since she’d woken in that cell, Ambrose had relative command over the raging current inside her.
It almost felt as natural again as it had before that day.
She called her magick and squeezed the hilt of her sword.
Damn she felt good holding a sword again.
Her eyes shifted over her rival. Focusing on the twitch of his muscles and where he seemed to rely on his strength. Finding the patterns that would hopefully save her life—or at the very least—put on a great final show.