Ellsworth became aware that the crowd was cheering. Why were they cheering? When had they turned against him?
No, he realized, they were not cheering. They were silent. The shouts and screams he heard were his own.
Hold it back, hold it back, he told himself. Hold it—
Knife.
He screamed.
His mind was swimming. At some point it had detached. How long had he been here? He tried to form a picture of where here was. He saw sand, saw faces, but none of it felt real. He was not sure he was real. The only thing real was the pain, and more pain, a spiral of pain. It blocked everything else out.
He tried to focus. He had been in positions like this before, hadn’t he? He knew what he had to do.
Move, he told himself. You have to move.
No, wait, that voice wasn’t his.
Move, Rian thought to him again. Move! You have to move!
Rian. The face of his tether flashed behind his eyelids, then was swept away in a violent stream. Something compelled Ellsworth to go after it, a primal instinct. He leaped, clung to it, felt it begin to slip through his fingers again, and clung harder. Told himself he would not let go.
There was another flash of awareness.
He saw others. In the stands, beyond the pit—what was he doing in the pit?—he saw the people of Aonenbridge. His people. They were no longer silent. They were yelling, their screams tuned with his own. He saw faces. He knew some of those faces, he realized. There was the [Blacksmith] who had crafted his first dagger, the [Innkeeper] of the Boggy Bastion who never charged him for the third jug of wine, the [Baker] who had sold him and Rian frosted cakes for half-price ever since they were five years old. He saw the aged man make an uncharacteristically heroic jump for the boundary separating the stands from the pit, saw others follow. A [Guardsman] swung a blunt weapon, and the [Baker] collapsed.
No, Ellsworth tried to say. Leave him alone. He has a family.
Move! Move, goddammit!
Family. The Apex swam in front of his eyes. He’d been sitting next to Finn, he seemed to recall. Finn, his cousin. Lord Finric. Little lord, Ellsworth called him. But he was not a little lord anymore. He was a man full-grown now, over the last year. A spitting image of Zendar.
Zendar.
I will follow you into hell, my brother.
Ellsworth had said the words, said the words but hadn’t followed him.
Zendar. The closest thing to a brother he’d ever had.
The leather cuff around Ellsworth’s wrist seemed to tighten. His hand began to feel numb until he felt sure it wasn’t there, that it had fallen off. The cuff was all there was. The cuff, the chain.
And the howling wind of Ortomalle.
The terror was the same after all these years. As a boy, the memory of the Ortomallean hordes had wrenched him from sleep, his screams waking up half of Aonen Keep. Now, as a man, it was the cold sweats that kept him awake. Zendar had known, had always been able to sense. No matter how hard Ellsworth tried to hide it, Zendar could always tell. Many long days were spent in the flooded fields of Aonenbridge in an attempt to exhaust himself. And Zendar had stayed with him. Many long nights in taverns, until copious amounts of drink finally eased him into dreamless sleep. And Zendar had stayed with him.
“Ortomalle is behind us,” Zendar would say. “We’re never going back. Their deaths weren’t your fault.”
We’re never going back. But Zendar was back. He’d been abducted, taken. He was in Ortomalle, alone.
I will follow you into hell, my brother.
He hadn’t followed him. Hadn’t even tried.
And now he’d never get the chance.
“Don’t die on me yet, we’re just getting started. Perhaps I got a little carried away. Let your tether help you out. I’ll give you a moment. How does five seconds sound? Five, four—”
Knife.
“Whoops,” the same voice came again. “I lied.”
A leering face swam up in front of him again. He didn’t want to see it. The face, the eyes, the smile. He shut his own eyes, but the face was still there, scorched behind his eyelids. Capulet.
The Crimson King.
He felt his mind recoil. He found himself reaching, latching on to the first image he could find—Capulet’s own brother, who had suffered a lifetime under the thumb of this madman. Tethered to his own brother. A brother not chosen, but born with.
However—Ellsworth found himself thinking with puzzling clarity—such arrangements were not uncommon. To give a person a chance at life, families sometimes made an impossible choice. Sacrificed another.
Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
He’d seen it done before, much closer to home.
Knife.
Ellsworth, the voice in his mind came, pleading now. You have to move. Look.
ELLSWORTH
[Tethered]
[Warrior]
[Level 12]
[Anchor Points]: 1
[Skills]: 4
METERS
[Lifeblood]: 90 / 230
[Chaos]: 120 / 230
…
[Lifeblood]: 80 / 230
…
[Lifeblood]: 70 / 230
You have to move, the voice repeated, sounding strained, almost cracking. You have to move.
What was he being shown? What were these numbers? He tried to attach meaning to them, but they slipped away. All he saw was dirt. He was lying in dirt, he realized. There was a weight on top of him. Capulet. Reaching, knifing. Playing. Knife. There was pandemonium around him. Knife. The [Guardsmen] were trying to stop people from jumping into the arena after him. Knife.
This madness ends with you, Lord Yoquin had said.
He knew he had to get up. He knew what would happen if he didn’t. But he couldn’t. He felt so weak.
I won’t lose, he had said. Another lie.
I’ve lost, he thought, with finality.
He felt a sudden, cozy warmth...
No—
An ebb and flow...
Stop—
He would finally be able to sleep, he realized. It suddenly seemed the easiest thing in the world. If he closed his eyes, kept them closed, he could shut it all out… He could sleep. A sleep everlasting. There would be no more pain, no more screaming. No more guilt.
I’m sorry, my brother.
There is another way, Rian’s voice came. Ellsworth saw what his tether saw… He saw what his tether saw…
He saw what Rian saw.
Ellsworth’s mind cleared as if by a bolt of lightning.
Don’t even think about it, he told his tether.
Rian remained quiet.
I’m serious, Ellsworth thought to him. I will not risk you. This is a price I refuse to pay.
He’d learned this technique years ago. They’d learned it. It was customary for most [Warriors] and their tethers to study it. Few mastered it. Ellsworth had, and had vowed to never use it.
Rian, don’t do it, Ellsworth said again.
There was a pause. I’ll do what I must, his tether said.
Then, he felt it. Activated. It began to rush over him, a heat in the cold. Rian hadn’t even given him time to argue, time to shut him out. [Rend and Renew].
[Lifeblood]: 50 / 230
[Chaos]: 120 / 230
…
[Lifeblood]: 80 / 230
[Chaos]: 90 / 230
…
[Lifeblood]: 110 / 230
[Chaos]: 60 / 230
…
[Lifeblood]: 140 / 230
[Chaos]: 30 / 230
Ellsworth screamed, but not from physical pain. An inward pain, unlike any he’d ever felt.
Rian!
For an agonizing second, he thought his tether was no longer there. But then he felt him, distant, as a pale light. You were the brother I chose, Rian whispered, as if from far away. I would have followed you into hell. Again and again. Goodbye, my brother.
RIAN!
***
“My turn,” Finn heard Capulet say. Then he’d seen the Crimson King extend his hand and strike, reaching inside Ellsworth’s shoulder. He’d never forget the way his cousin screamed that night. Capulet removed his fingers, Ellsworth’s shoulder began to heal, then Capulet struck again. The screams. Oh, the screams.
We have to stop this, Finn thought to Omri. Then, out loud, “Lord Yoquin. We have to stop this.”
Ellsworth had tripped, had fallen. Capulet was above him, clawing slowly, methodically choosing his strikes. Maximum pain, minimum damage. An artisan. He wanted this to go on for as long as possible. Finn saw his cousin faint, saw his eyes roll back, close, jolt open. Shut by pain, awakened by pain. His blade lay forgotten at his side.
“Don’t die on me yet, we’re just getting started,” Finn heard Capulet say. “Perhaps I got a little carried away.” Capulet leaned back, languid, as if he was straddling a horse. “Let your tether help you out. I’ll give you a moment.” Capulet spotted Ellsworth’s blade lying beside them, reached for it. “How does five seconds sound? Five, four—”
He stabbed Ellsworth with his own blade.
“Whoops,” Capulet said. “I lied.” Then, with a [chaos]-fueled motion, he bent the blade until it snapped and broke into shards. He tossed them aside disdainfully.
“Lord Yoquin,” Finn said again.
“Back to where we started,” Yoquin whispered, speaking to himself. His face was red. At his side, Lucien looked uneasy. “Worse off than before. I told him.”
“Lord Yoquin.”
Lord Yoquin seemed to break out of his reverie. He met Finn’s eyes for an instant, then turned to face Lucien. “Lucien,” he said. “We have to get the Illd’Orians out of the arena. Round them up. As many as you can. Quickly.”
“What?” Finn said.
Lucien stood. “As you command, my lord.”
“The enchantments?” Yoquin asked.
Lucien nodded. “They will hold, my lord. We will be waiting with the carriages.”
“Don’t wait,” Yoquin said. “I can handle myself. Watch the enchantments closely, increase the intensity if you need to. You should be safe once you get to the Fork, but don’t slow until you’re on the boats. Get my people to safety, Lucien.”
“What are you doing?” Finn asked.
“As you command,” Lucien repeated. He turned—his shoulders tensing as another scream pierced the air—and exited the Apex.
“Lord Yoquin,” Finn repeated. He heard a growl, realized it was coming from him.
Yoquin finally turned to Finn. His face was pitying. “I’m sorry, Finn,” he said, “but I’m afraid your cousin is lost. I must focus on my own people. Ellsworth was right. The Aonens will go after them. And that will… start something.”
“But… but Ellsworth might still…”
Yoquin shook his head. “I don’t think so,” he said.
Finn heard a crash. He turned to the stands. The [Guardsmen] had formed a line in front of the boundary of the pit and were breaking up scuffles. He recognized the local [Baker], saw him trying to jump into the pit, then get shoved away by a [Guardsman]. He saw an [Innkeeper] go after the same [Guardsman], land a punch, then get struck with the hilt of a sword and collapse.
“You should focus on your people, Finn,” Lord Yoquin said. He shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. “This should not have happened. Our history… Aonenbridge and Illd’Or… too raw… tonight was a mistake.” He looked ready to go, to follow Lucien, but something held him back. He struggled with his words for a moment. “Your people… they… they will listen to you,” he said.
Will they? Finn found himself thinking.
But he had to do something, he realized. No Arabella, no Zendar, no Yoquin, no Ellsworth. Finn had to do something.
He took in a deep breath.
And Lord Finric stood.
Wait, Omri thought.
Finn paused, saw Yoquin freeze. An awareness washed over him, iced his blood. The arena had gone silent.
He did not want to look. He feared what he would see.
Through Omri’s eyes, through a disorientating haze of double vision, Finn caught a glimpse of something. He inhaled sharply. His head snapped in the direction of the pits.
Capulet had taken a step away from Ellsworth. His hands were bloody, already beginning to clot. He took another step back, tripped. There was an expression of utter disbelief on his face.
Ellsworth’s eyes were open. They were lucid.