Page 141 of A Pact of Blood

As far as I know, she’s never revealed her suspicious about my possible dalliances to Marclinus either. Is it possible… I can actually trust this woman?

That’s a question for later. Because thanks in part to her, I now have to face an even more perilous battle than I expected.

Chapter Forty-Five

Aurelia

Cleric Turentan pitches his voice toward the stands again. “Her Imperial Highness fears that her opponent is unwell and would not make for a fair fight worthy of Sabrelle’s approval! We will bring out another of the Lavirian traitors for her to prove her mettle against.”

Murmurs pass through the audience along with scattered applause. As the soldiers lead the drugged woman away, Cleric Turentan guides me down the steps and across the long stretch of sand-strewn earth to the swath of scarlet fabric.

He turns to me, and his weathered face tightens. I can’t tell whether he’s disapproving of my choice or simply concerned for how I’ll fare.

He bobs his head. “May you do my godlen honor.”

Then he walks back to the staircase, and I’m left alone with a mob of thousands staring down at me.

The arena feels even more immense now that I’m standing in the middle of it. The stone walls loom far off and yet still unnervingly high. I’m no mightier than a pebble thrown into the middle of the ocean.

Is this how we mortals always appear to the gods who watch over us?

I flex my fingers around the grip of the sword, getting more familiar with its weight. The sun glares from the east, so I step around the fighting ground until it’s burning into my back instead of my eyes.

My fine leather slippers, meant for strolling around the palace rather than combat, slide on the silky cloth. Marclinus wore boots.

After a moment’s debate, I slip the slippers off and kick them over onto the packed dirt behind me. My bare feet will give me better traction.

I suspect I’m going to need every advantage I can get.

The dry heat seeps down my throat and into my lungs. By the time the soldiers reappear by the doorway they’ve been using, my mouth is utterly parched.

The four of them are shoving along one of the male prisoners. Before they’ve even gotten close, I can tell he’s at least a few inches taller than me and plenty bulkier.

His dark eyes sear into me with fury from his pale, dirt-smudged face.

My pulse thumps faster, but I hold myself still and unyielding. Those eyes are alert; his steps are steady. This prisoner hasn’t been drugged for my benefit.

I can let one of the rebels who fought for their country’s freedom go free himself. As long as I survive the battle with him.

Will the soldiers intervene if he gets the upper hand, like they would have for Marclinus? I don’t know what orders they’ve been given.

Perhaps my husband would rather see me fall than return to his side beaten before the godlen he himself is dedicated to. For all I know, every citizen and soldier in my audience would approve of that decision.

As the escort reaches the edge of the fabric, I brush my fingers down my front in recognition of the gods and brace myself.

As with Marclinus’s opponent, one of the soldiers tosses a mace onto the cloth as the rebel’s weapon. They release him from his bonds and retreat a short distance, but their solemn expressions don’t give me much hope of their protection.

I asked for this battle. I promised I’d serve the principle of peace rather than violence, cleverness rather than stark brutality.

But gods help me, I wish there didn’t need to be so much violence to reach even a shred of that peace.

The man snatches up the mace and then studies me. A ragged but mocking laugh tumbles from his lips. Apparently he’s sized me up as an easy target.

He strides across the red fabric toward me, raising his mace.

With his first swing and my swipe at him as I dodge to the side, I realize the full extent of my trouble. This rebel’s head is those few inches higher than the woman’s would have been; his reach is longer.

He isn’t going to offer me the kind of openings Raul would have when I simply needed to practice my positioning. The sword I trained with was longer than this one besides.

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