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“Tricks will not save you, little one.”
But luck might. Dahvid heard it a second before it happened. The square under the giant’s feet gave way. He saw shock in those red-laced eyes. Then that massive body was swallowed by gravity. Into the darkness. Dahvid thought he’d won, but a single hand lashed upward.
The tips of the man’s fingers caught the edge of the stone. He was hanging there—mere inches from falling to his death. Dahvid attacked. He swung with his sword first but forgot the blade wouldn’t pierce the skin. Next, he went with his boots. Stomping as hard as he could.
His enemy roared back in defiance, feeling none of the pain. Dahvid was helpless as he watched the man patiently swing his other arm up. Those fingertips caught the edge as well. He began to pull himself out of the shadows.
There were more rumbles all around him—and Dahvid knew more squares were threatening to fall. He fled back to the safety of the arena center. His opponent was already halfway out of the hole. The power of his berserking spell was still pulsing.
Just one more minute. Survive one more minute.
His opponent was back on his feet, much to the delight of the audience. Dahvid could not spare glances at their reactions, but he did not doubt that a battle between two image-bearers would be talked about for years to come. It had likely never happened in Ravinia’s history.
He considered another flight into the labyrinth but worried about what might happen if he was caught in the tighter spaces there. Better to make his final stand here in the open. He squared up—and dodged the first bull rush. He swept through trained stances, all with perfect footwork, but he was no match. The power of the berserking spell had reached its peak. He’d never seen someone move with such speed or strike with such strength.
When the other image-bearer finally landed a blow, it punched all the air from Dahvid’s lungs. A second shot hit his shoulder with so much force that it nearly popped out of the socket. Dahvid tried to run, but the man seized him by the neck of his armor. He was pulled back with force, his legs taken out from beneath him. And as he fell backward, the man brought an absolutely crushing fist down on his nose.
Everything shattered.
Dahvid was on the ground. Blood was everywhere. He’d been hoping to save his other tattoos for the next fights, but Cath had already told him the truth about hope, hadn’t she?
It’s the brightest bird in the sky, and thus the easiest to kill.
Before the image-bearer could strike again, Dahvid swiped desperately at his shoulder. His fingertips grazed the golden rings there. A golden circle inside a golden circle inside a golden circle. And Dahvid inside all of them. The protective spell shoved his opponent back, strong enough to have him skidding over the sand. A translucent, gold-tinged sphere formed around Dahvid. There was a slight pop as all the sound muted. He could not hear the crowd. The grunts of his opponent went silent. For a time, he was completely alone.
Dahvid sat. His chest was heaving. He did his best to dab at the blood running from his nose. It was still too painful to touch. Definitely broken, but that was fine. For the next thirty seconds, no harm would come to him. He sat there, counting each breath, and knew it would be just enough time.
His opponent’s face contorted with rage. He battered into the sides of the sphere with great, furious blows. The magic shivered slightly, but it would not give way, and that made the man even angrier. As his fury grew, he burned even faster through the berserking magic. It was only a matter of time.
Dahvid had a spare moment to look over. Cath was seated there, still half a ghost. She looked like she wanted to leap over the barrier and run to him. Explain everything. He nodded once before turning back. The other image-bearer was still trying to break through the barrier. Dahvid took his feet. He adjusted his grip on the handle of his sword.
It was subtle, but he saw the power waning. A tiring in his enemy’s arms. That bloodshot red in his eyes slowly retreating. Dahvid took a deep breath, settled into his stance, and when the golden light vanished, he drove his sword upward with perfect precision.
The strike was true.
It cut through the other image-bearer’s chest. Right through his heart. Dahvid slid the blade back out, ducked a final swing, and shoved the helpless creature to the ground. His enemy collapsed in the sand. Dahvid very deliberately retreated to his usual spot. He sat down in the dust.
When he looked up, Darling was staring hungrily down at him. Dahvid knew how he must look. Bruised and beaten and weak. After a few seconds of holding the stare, he reached for his elixir tattoo. With great concentration, he channeled the magic into the places that felt the worst. The nearly broken rib. The bloodied nose. The gouge in his back. It was not a fix-all healing spell, but it could treat minor wounds easily. When the magic had run its course, he blinked at the adrenaline it offered him. He felt brand-new.
Dahvid looked back up at Darling—nearly as fresh as he’d been for his first fight.
“Bring your fourth!” he called.
And the crowd roared.
30 REN MONROE
Ren never thought she’d write a letter to Landwin Brood.
She penned each word carefully. The same way she might have approached a question on an exam. Thinking about who her professor was, what kind of answers they preferred, and how she might use the knowledge she had to best fit their standards. It was not a dissimilar process.
I have come around to your position, but I feel we are still not settled on the terms of our arrangement.…
She knew she needed to be both appealing and appalling. Luring him in with the promise of what he wanted, while simultaneously enraging him with the size of her request. A delicate balance had to be struck.
If you are inclined, I would meet you at the Brood estate. Let us discuss these matters in private and come to an agreement that would suit us both.…
Vega cooed from a corner of the room as Ren signed her name. She sealed the letter with dripping wax, pressing the borrowed emblem of House Brood down as hard as she could. On the desk, there was also a note from Seminar Shiverian. A weekly review of Ren’s spellmaking work. It praised certain projects and critiqued others. Ren’s eyes traced over the words once more. The review was a glimpse into the world that could have belonged to her—if only she’d chosen it.
