Page 221 of Glow of the Everflame

I fought against my instinct to run and held my ground.

The attack vaporized in a flash of light as it crashed against my shield. He was strong—a lot stronger than I remembered from our encounter in Paradise Row. I hadn’t felt a thing when his magic had struck me then, but now, the force of its impact sent me staggering back a step.

A cheer rose from the crowd as they came to the same realization I did: this would be no quick one-shot duel. This was a true war for survival.

Rhon launched another series of dark arrows and began to advance. I tried to meet him step for step, but the pounding of his magic against my shield had me feeling like I was wading through mud.

“You can’t shield forever,” he taunted. “You’ll run dry soon enough.”

“Got a lot of problems with women going dry when you’re around, Rhon?” I shot back.

The crowd roared with laughter. Rhon’s eyes flared in rage.

He shoved out a palm and a swarm of spikes the size of my head raced toward me. I dug my heels into the ground in anticipation of the impact. At the last second, they split into three smaller groups and diverted around me.

I gasped and extended my shield into a dome just in time to keep my back from being turned into a pincushion. The jolt threw me off balance, sending me flying face-first into the sand.

The crowd erupted with more laughter. Rhon threw his hands up and spun around with a gloating smile, encouraging them to cheer him on, and they happily complied.

I was stunned—and more than a little relieved—at how my shield had responded with near-instinctual speed. Encouraged, I held out my hand and tried to conjure a magic-made blade.

My heart sank when nothing happened. My godhood was clearly paying attention, and at leastsomewhatinvested in keeping me alive, but it still refused to fight.

My eyes scanned the arena floor. I had to get out of the open. Though I had a deeper well of power than Rhon, shielding took far more magic than attacking, and I wasn’t ready to gamble on which of us would run out first.

I took advantage of his crowing to pull myself to my feet and dart for the nearest obstacle, a giant boulder nearly as tall as I was. I crouched behind it and peered around the side.

Rhon turned and stilled, realizing I’d disappeared. I felt a thrill of satisfaction as his smug smile dropped away and his shield closed fully around him.

“It seems our new Queen is afraid,” he shouted, and the audience shouted their agreement.

I rolled my eyes and fought the urge to remind him they already thought me a coward for choosing to fight him instead of a more worthy opponent. My focus locked on some small rocks mixed into the sand, and I hurriedly collected a handful.

He turned my direction, and I lunged back to the boulder and out of his line of sight. I held my breath and listened for any sign of him, adrenaline burning like liquid fire in my veins.

His taunts continued, but instead of growing louder, his voice fell softer and more muffled. I took a risk and leaned out—just as expected, he had his back to me as he searched around other obstacles.

I reared my arm back and launched one of the pebbles at the back of his neck. Though I fell back into hiding before I could see it land, I knew I’d hit my mark when a cloud of black barbs scattered across the arena to my left.

The move had won me a crucial observation. The rock had gone through his shield, proving he was only warding against magic-based attacks. A smart choice for someone trying to ration their magic—but an easy opening for an opponent like me.

Rhon’s angry growl moved to my left, so I threw another pebble to a wooden crate on my right. Seconds later, sand and splinters exploded into the air with another round of spikes. I hurled my last rock to the far wall of the arena, and he once again unloaded a barrage of magic in the direction of the noise.

Rhon let out a low chuckle. “Trying to run my magic down? It won’t work. I can keep going all night.”

“That’s not what I heard from your lovers,” I called out.

Laughter rippled through the audience. I used the noise to camouflage my footsteps as I darted from my hiding place to a nearby pile of sandbags and flattened my body against the ground.

Rhon shouted angrily at the crowd’s amusement. Good—good. My plan was working.

An emotional fighter is a sloppy fighter, my father whispered in my ear.Let him focus on seeing you beg at his feet rather than die at his hand.

I grinned at my success, badly wishing I could see the royal box and look into Teller’s eyes. This had always been his favorite strategy when we sparred. I was faster and stronger, but he was smarter. He knew how to use my own temper as a weapon against me, skillfully pushing my buttons until I was blinded by rage.

I channeled my clever little brother as I peeked over the heap of burlap sacks. Rhon wandered a few feet away, hands extended and poised to attack.

He walked toward an overturned cart, putting his back to me. I slowly crawled out from behind my log and crept behind him on silent feet.

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