Page 56 of Loreblood

Kemini’s face.

Chapter 18

Rirth was taken next, along with another slave in a different cage. My anxiety jumped to new heights with Rirth’s life on the line. The smaller man walked past my cage with a determined clench to his face.

I had not known Kemini outside the ring. We had fought twice and split matches—a feat no one in the Firehold thought I could achieve.

But Rirth? He had started as an enemy, become a rival, and ended up, dare I say . . . a friend. We had trained together. I taught him sword techniques Lukain showed me, he helped me with my footwork to become a faster, nimbler brawler.

I didn’t want him to die.Imagine all the heartbreak the women of the Firehold will feel if they learn their charming warrior died in such a senseless manner.

Garroway could either see my nervousness or sense it. “Worrying about yourself, not others, would be prudent right now, lass.”

I glanced over at him.

He shrugged. “Seems we are to fight each other, after all.”

My pulse quickened.Shit. He’s right. There’s no one left in this jail besides us.

“I don’t expect you to go easy on me,” he said with a humorless chuckle.

“Mego easy onyou?”

“Aye. Your name has made its way through the circles. The ‘Grimson Bitch-Queen’ and ‘Lukain’s temptress.’”

I blinked at him, confounded.I like one of those nicknames more than the other.“You are associated with the Grimsons? To be part of this circle of rumors?”

“I am associated with everyone and no one, little honey badger.”

My head reeled. “Why do you call me that?”

He gave me a crooked smile. “Fearless. Tough. Ferocious. Those are some of the words I’ve heard tossed around your name—same as honey badgers.” He laughed at himself. “Not afraid to go against a much larger opponent, either.”

I set my hands on my hips. “You’re not so much bigger than me, Garroway. Taller, maybe. Broader? I have you beat there.”

His smile became daring, wider. He wrapped his hands around the bars to study me closer. “An exchange I’ll take all day.” There was something heated in his red eyes—either lust or a playful challenge.

The sound of blades striking together forced my attention away from Garroway and snapped my neck to peer upward through the slats.

Rirth and his opponent went at it hard and fast. My friend grunted as he danced in his quick way. It was so frustrating not being able to see every minute detail of their bout, yet I knew it was for my own benefit.

The heartache would be less if I didn’t have toseeRirth’s death.

“Come on, you short fucking king,” I growled through clenched teeth. “Take him down.”

Garroway laughed at that, sounding entirely uncaring about the situation. He said nothing, and we both watched.

I could hardly keep track of Rirth’s movements on the slats. He worked on the balls of his feet, dashing left and right, often out of my line of vision.

A flurry of crashing steel rang out in rapid succession. Grunts and bellowing cries from the combatants joined the sounds. I was certain someone had been injured.

The baited breath of the audience let go, becoming a low murmur of cheers. The fight was nearing its end—

And then a quick gurgle and spray of blood across the floor—seeping down into the cages—brought the room above into complete silence.

The same light applause as before followed.

I couldn’t see whose body lay on the ground. My frustration mounted. I balled my hands into fists. “Who fucking won?!” I shouted. Unlike in the Firehold, Lukain did not announce a victor. No one did.