Page 29 of Warlord's Plaything

"If I let her whisper, it is because I like watching her delude herself into thinking she has a chance."

I pause behind Valis, pressing a hand against his chair.

"And when I finally bring her to her knees…"

I lean down, lips just a breath from his ear.

"She will never rise again."

There’s only one way this ends.

Only one way it’s ever ended.

With one of us breaking.

And neither of us are willing to be the first.

11

HIRA

The air in the pits is different tonight.

Thicker. Heavier.

Like the stench of blood and sweat has sunk into the walls, into the stone, into the very marrow of this place. Like it knows something is coming.

Or maybe—I do.

I roll my shoulders, keeping my breath steady as I watch the gladiators circle in the dim torchlight.

They’re waiting.

Not for a fight.

For me.

Dagen leans against the stone wall, arms crossed, jaw tight.

Sella crouches on the ground beside him, sharpening a stolen blade, her fingers sure and practiced.

The others shift, restless, hungry for something they can’t name yet.

The rebellion is more than just whispers now.

It’s a heartbeat, a pulse, a fucking war drum waiting to be struck.

And I’m the one holding the stick.

"It has to be tonight."

Sella’s voice is quiet, but the weight behind it is solid.

She doesn’t look at me when she speaks, just keeps dragging the whetstone along the blade. Sshhkk. Sshhkk.

I exhale through my nose, nodding once.

"We hit the supply lines. Take what we need. Disrupt what we can."My voice is low, measured."No killing unless absolutely necessary. We make them bleed, but we don’t let them drown us in our own fucking mess."

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