“Bettings to be placed on the next five matches...” I tune out Sir Handsomlot as he goes over the places to put bets. He goes through a list of names, and I turn my ears back in time to hear my pairing. “We’ve got Sir Royale against Lord Jenson. Then comes the waited trial of Sir Ri against the mountainous Sir Xonier. Start your bets and imagine gold beyond your wildest dreams! Just hope you pick right.”

I squeeze in between the masses, being patted on the shoulders and wished luck on my way. I tuck my head and wish to be ignored. The Spark doesn’t respond. It doesn’t even twitch. Which is good, but can I not just get through life without fame? I keep getting patted on the head like a dog. Ran snickers behind me.

I mentally roll my eyes at my bond and keep pushing through the crowd of wellwishers with Ran a few steps behind me.

A sudden burst of emotion almost drives me to my knees and I gag at the stabbing pain in my head. My chest fills until I feel I will burst into tears or laugh hysterically when the many indistinguishable emotions around me filter into my soul. But, thankfully, my Gift retreats as soon as it peaks out its dreaded head.

“Hey whelp, it’s almost be time for ya match. What ya doin' consorting with your fans at a time like this?” Sir Robin plucks me from the crowd with his huge arms. I feel like a fox in her den mom's mouth as he carries me to the underground entrance for the challengers.

Ran yelps behind me as the masses close in around her since I’m gone. Some little girl shouts about a pretty pony. A smirk overtakes my face. Suits her right.

Sir Robin hands me a blue flag to go on my arm, a smaller version of the one I wore at the opening ceremony. I shake my head in wonder as I see the Timber Wolf with the ring of Phoenix feathers.

Sir Robin deposits me on the ground. “Thanks. I needed rescuing,” I say, coughing when my voice ends a little too high and I rub the lingering ache from my temples.

“Ya can repay me later, kid," Sir Robin replies.

I hardly notice as Sir Robin leads me through the underground and bypasses many other royals and nobles preparing to fight. Most are consumed with checking last-minute details, checking straps and polishing blades. One man was brushing his hair.

I trail my hands along the warm white stone, the uneven rock like sandpaper beneath my fingers. Above us is a concave ceiling, and warm waterlights in sconces along the walls highlight the mirrors along the edges, making the small passageway with plain brown benches and tables seem larger, even if it can only hold five or six men across. Many passageways branch off from this section, leading to larger areas I imagine once held animals of all kinds, possibly even dragons. Now I hear the snorts of horses and know we're close to the underground stables where I left Ran yesterday.

We reach steps leading up, and Sir Robin shoves open the door.

"Now, get out there and beat the snot out of Sir Xonier. Watch out for that broadswing. It’ll take your head off if it hits ya, but he tends to overextend.” With that bit of helpful advice, he shoves me forward.

I stumble out into the sandy arena.

I blink as the massive amount of people in the arena turn their eyes on me. Before me, nurses in white and blue are helping a limping man out of the area. He’s got a bandage on his head that is soaked through with a big red spot on the pristine white, and a compression wrap is around both his arm and leg.

I wince.

The winner is waving to the people, to their utter delight. He grins and tosses his sword into the air. It twirls and he catches it behind his back with a flourish. I roll my eyes, but the crowd goes ecstatic. The winner soaks up the attention like a sponge in water.

“Folks, we have quite the wonder here. Both a winner with a sword and the ladies! Shall he win it all? We shall see. We shall see.”

The winner finally ducks back down into the underground with help from a few officials. He throws kisses to the crowd as they take him from the arena over the shoulder of a guard. The audience laughs him out of the arena.

“Without further ado, let us welcome the next competitors. The young man who stole our hearts,” he says. I wince... my deception is not sitting right, but I’m without choice in the matter. “Will face a giant of a man with a sword as long as our beloved Sir Ri is tall.” I wince again as laughter shakes the arena. “Give it up for the mountain, the dreaded, the bold, Sirrrrr Xonier!” The crowd breaks out into thunderous applause as Sir Xonier ascends into the arena. He ignores the crowd, instead focusing intent grey eyes on me. I gulp.

I can’t help it! He’s MASSIVE. As in giant seven feet tall massive with arms like oak trees. He makes Wolfsbane look small. Since I’m so tiny... I definitely drew the short sword on this one. I just hope he’s slow.

They did this on purpose. Theatrics seem to be the name of the games.

“And so, shall our current Gollywagot defeat another Giant?” Since I’m watching my contender, I see the same wince on his face that crosses mine. We appraise each other anew. Perhaps he’s not too bad if he’s as disgruntled about all the political games as I am. Sir Handsomlot continues, “Shall he once again triumph? Give it up for Sir “Golly” Ri!” The smattering of both laughter, cheers, and scoffs from the crowd adds to my sense of impending doom.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

I walk out, pretending more confidence than I have. We stop at the lines in the dirt and draw our swords. I have to cran my neck in order to look into his eyes.

“He’s huge,” I whisper. I jump as the announcer with his jingly bells sticks the voice thingy in my face.

“What was that, little warrior?”

“Uhhh. Just that he is a... mighty opponent.”

The crowd roars its approval as the announcer smiles.

“So he is. And once again, our humble giant slayer shows his courage, if not his eloquence.”

I blush as the crowd laughs. “It’s so easy to embarrass our warrior. Good luck out there to both our competitors annnd...” He pauses for affect, “May the best protect our future!” The crowd shouts the last with gusto in a sort of mantra.

I’m left reeling. This is a type of environment I have never fought in. I’ve hidden in the shadows and made peace with darkness. Coming into the light, even as Sir Ri, is as scary as facing a dozen angry momma dragons. Actually... I’d prefer the dragons.

Before I’m able to get into my zone, the bell sounds. We bow, and my opponent is charging. I’m standing here like a fainting goat at the sight. Only reflex saves my dignity and perhaps my life.

I sidestep. A measly thing, but it works. The giant sweeps past me. His back was wide open and I took zero advantage. I just watched him go by like a boat up a stream with no paddle. He turns around with another appraising glare, perhaps finally seeing me as beneath him. Without my mind in the game, I have zero chance.

Focus, Aria. FOCUS! I can't tell if that was my voice or the voice of my bond.

I dart in and dance around this bear of a man. He deflects and parries like a man half his size, moving quicker than a rabbit on fermented Eldertree sap.

He pricks my arm when I can barely deflect a mighty swing that would’ve sliced me in half. With a hiss, I kick out at his shin, barely glancing it. He snaps back quick as a snake, and I roll to the side, popping back on my feet and barely deflecting another slash. He gets me on my heels and I backpedal, using everything in me to keep the blade from hitting home.

But I see a weakness. Left side opens when he swings his sword for a sure shot at my neck and barely misses. Since someone had warned me, I’d been watching for the weighty swing. If not for Sir Robin, it’s likely I would've had a severe case of head loss.

I step into his space, my sword resting on the hollow of his neck. I grin, but when I meet his eyes, his own grinning triumph confuses me.

Then I feel the sharp prick at my ribs, and look down to find a dagger in his left hand. The bastard had a hidden weapon.

He leans back, away from my blade, using his dagger to knock my blade away and aims a kick at my thigh as I move back and twist to miss the kick. But he still catches just beneath my knee with a glancing blow, making it bend, stretching ligaments not meant to be stretched.

I step back, my lips turned in a scowl and trying not to growl at the burning sensation of hot needles poking beneath the skin. My leg throbs in time to my heartbeat, but I already feel a glowing thread like a warm, calming waterlight trailing from my chest to my knee, coiling around the injury like a snake to ease the pain and heal the strain. So that’s how I heal so quickly. My subconscious takes note, but I turn my attention back to the fight, aware my wondering thoughts could get me killed.

I appraise Sir Xonier anew and stay on my toes, getting ready for the next round. He circles slowly, lips turned down in concentration as his large eyebrows lower over keen grey eyes, cataloguing my every move. Much like I'm doing to him.

My breathing comes hard and fast and sweat dribbles from my brow, the late night catching up to me. My limbs tremble… but the fight must go on.

He twists the dagger so the flat is along his elbow with the sharp end pointed out.

I dart in, aiming a feint at his head, then twist around to get at his knee with my second blade. He blocks the first, steps back so I miss his leg entirely, and slashes at my neck with his dagger. I lean back, my hand grazing the ground for balance, kicking out and knocking the blade away with my boot. It makes him overextend, and I step inside his reach to take advantage. But my knee gives and makes me stumble. I lose sight of him as I regain my balance. Cold steel kisses my throat, the flat of the blade declaring his victory.

This feels like Wolfsbane all over again, and I loathe the politics pulling the strings that led me here, all for the amusement of the masses.

But the opposite side of me says I need to get better if I'm truly going to try and protect the prince from an assassin, but I wanna just put the blame on the royals. It's easier that way.

I back up with a disgruntled sigh, sheathing my swords and wincing. “Thought I had you,” I say.

“You mighty warrior for one so small. I honored to fight you this day.” He bows his head, the stern set of his lips morphing into a grin, showing jagged teeth and a large gap between the top two. His stilted speech is light and joyful, not a wit out of breath.

I give a wry grin in return, rubbing the back of my neck. “You mighty warrior for one so big.”

His booming laughter makes it to the stands even without the help of a speaker. He sheathes both sword and dagger, reaching out a hand that totally swallows my own.

“Worthy warrior of Man-Prince. Xonier hope to face again.” With that, he gives another bow of his head before turning and leaving the crowd as silent as crickets.

“Well.” The announcer can’t seem to find his voice... for once. “There you have it, folks.” He shakes his head. “I was expecting to see blood and bone. They moved so quickly it was as if they were wind and we could only feel the effects. Both gave a fine display worthy of our crown, but Sir Xonier takes the day!”

The crowd gives a mixture of disgruntled boos and polite applause. My heart plummets to my toes. Some even glare my direction as if it’s my fault I lost. Which... it is... but they sure are fickle with their approval.

I turn and leave before I’m asked to answer any further questions, limping from the arena and back to the underground tunnels, where Sir Robin still waits.

“Sorry, champ. For what it’s worth, that was quite the fight,” Sir Robin says, patting my back hard enough to leave a bruise.

Somehow I dredge up a semblance of a smile for Sir Robin. “Thanks,” I mumble.

He slaps me on the back, almost knocking me over. “At least it’s double elimination. You still have a chance.”

He waves and walks off, leaving me to my own thoughts. A chance. A chance is all I need. Tonight I meet with Wolfsbane... and somehow I doubt that will go any better than my fight today.