Page 143 of A Pact of Blood

“I’m sorry,” I say, keeping my voice soft so no one in the distant stands will hear it. “It shouldn’t have been like this. You shouldn’t have been treated this way.”

The rebel slows with a sputter of an exhalation. “What shit are you talking? You and your fucking empire brought me here.”

I hold his gaze, willing all the sympathy I can summon into my eyes. It isn’t hard, because I do feel awful for him. I feel awful for what I’m doing to him, even if it’s better than murder.

“Whatever people you hurt or crimes you committed, you were trying to help someone, weren’t you? You must have been thinking of your family and your friends, wanting them to have better lives.”

The rebel stares at me. His lips pull back in a snarl. “You don’t know anything about any of it.”

I offer him a tentative smile. “I know that no one fights this hard without believing it’s the right thing to do. Youcared so much about so many people. There’s something admirable about that.”

His jaw falls slack before he snaps it shut again. He shakes his head. “You’re not making any sense. Shut up!”

The aggression in his stance has faltered with his confusion. He closes his eyes for a second, perhaps to collect himself, and that’s all the opening I need.

I spring forward with all the strength and speed I have left and slice my sword tip across his forehead.

As I heave myself backward at the rebel’s furious groan, blood gushes down over his face just as Raul promised it would. He rams his mace into my shoulder, one of the spikes digging through the chainmail sleeve, but it can’t cut through my elation.

I back up, parrying my opponent’s wild blows as well as I can. I only need to dodge a little when he can barely see where he’s striking, but I want to look as if I’m still engaged in the fight.

The audience has woken up again with a wave of cheers. A booming of stomping feet reverberates through the arena.

The eager voices wash over me, flipping my stomach. They’re baying for more of this man’s blood.

And I have to look as if I’m giving it to them.

I note the first moment he starts to stagger. His body sways to the side not much differently from how his drugged associate looked.

I have to move now, before his declined state becomes obvious to anyone else.

With my jaw clenched against the wounds searing at my limbs, I heave myself to the side. Then I ram into him, scraping my blade along his upper torso.

The cutting edge rips through his tunic and pierces his flesh. I feel it jar against his ribs with a flicker of relief.

The sedative and my assault knock the rebel off his feet.He topples backward and slumps on the ground. His head lolls from side to side as if he’s trying and failing to clear his head.

I stand over him, restraining a wince, and slam my sword into his side one more time.

A small grunt huffs out of him at the shallow wound. After a moment, his face drifts to one side so his cheek rests against the earth. His body stills.

If I checked his neck and waited long enough, I should still pick up a faint, sporadic heartbeat. But I’m hoping the soldiers who cart his body away won’t bother searching for a pulse when he looks so very dead.

Exhaustion rolls over me along with the din of the crowd’s excitement. Part of me wants to collapse too, but I know I have to squeeze every bit of significance I can out of this moment.

Through a sharper flare of pain, I raise my sword into the air above my head in a pose of triumph. The cheers fade with an air of anticipation.

I raise my voice as loud as I can, hoping at least the lowest tiers of the stands will hear me. “For every one of our gods and the All-Giver! For Dariu and all this empire’s people! We can conquer everything that would destroy us!”

I happen to believe it’s men like Marclinus causing most of the destruction, but I don’t have to mention that detail.

Another roar of applause sweeps over me. I lift my chin high.

Elox, I did all I could here. I still stand for peace and healing, no matter what else I do.

As if in answer, a cloud drifts past the sun. The arena ground briefly darkens—except for a single beam of light that flares straight onto me like a divine caress.

The sunbeam’s warmth flows over me, and my throattightens. The renewed surge of the crowd’s furor sounds even more distant while I’m draped in the approval of my godlen.

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