He barks out a laugh, and I can barely control my anger at the sound of it. My hands shake as I ball them into fists at my sides, nails cutting into my palms. Words fall out of my mouth before I can stop them. “You killed her.”
He huffs as if this amuses him. “Who, your little friend?” His eyes flash, betraying the anger he’s kept buried. “No. You killed her. I warned you about the Trials. I warned you to stay away from my sons. You’ve made my kingdom look weak. You’ve made my heirs look weak.” He spits out the word, disgusted with his own flesh and blood. “You had Kai helping you in the Trials, running after you during a ball. You had the future king wrapped around your finger, spilling every secret and bit of information you needed. You are the murderer, Paedyn.” He takes a step towards me, and I’m rooted to the spot, shaking my head. “You forget what you are, Slummer. An Ordinary doomed to die. You are nothing.”
“Then why didn’t you kill me?” I yell. “If you knew what I was then why not kill me like you have with every other Ordinary?”
“Because I needed you alive,” he says simply. “But now you are of no use to me, and since the Trials didn’t kill you, I get the pleasure of doing that myself.” He pauses and a sneer twists his lips. “Can you read what I’m going to do next with that Psychic ability of yours?”
A sudden flash of silver blends in with the rain.
A sword is swinging at me.
Chapter Sixty-Four
Kai
A knee connects with my spine. Well, someone has a death wish.
I spin, easily burying the knife I nicked off the last man I killed into this one’s chest, pushing through the tough leather encasing him. I feel the familiar spray of blood splattering my clothes, my face. I’m covered in it. I yank out the blade, letting the man fall to the ground with a thud.
They all have a death wish.
The arena is utter chaos. Imperials and Resistance members clash, one in white, one in leather. Ordinaries, Elites, and Fatals fight side by side.
It’s bizarre.
It’s also the only reason this fight isn’t over yet. If it weren’t for the Fatals and Elites joined with the Resistance, this would have been a bloodbath. But they are still significantly outnumbered against all the Imperials that now fill the Bowl.
A black-masked figure comes charging toward me, leather armor soaked with both blood and the rain pelting down on us. I plant my feet on the slick concrete, letting him come to me. The hardest part of this fight is not knowing whether you’ll be facing an Ordinary, an Elite, or a Fatal. I barely have enough time to reach out with my power before he’s on me.
I feel nothing. Ordinary.
But not to be underestimated.
He flashes two knives at me, deadly sharp and skillfully swung. His daggers slash with quick movements, forcing me back. I duck under a swipe that was intended to slice my neck and send a quick jab to his open abdomen. He grunts, but the leather covering his chest and stomach helps to absorb my hit. I sift through the powers that surround me, feeling dozens buzzing under my skin.
Why does it feel wrong to fight an Ordinary in an extraordinary way? So far, I’ve used only my own strength to kill them, avoiding the use of an ability. It feels like cheating for some reason, and I like to win my fights fairly. I haven’t even touched any of the Fatals’ powers, though I feel them, potent and powerful. To use one of their abilities correctly could take years of training, so I stick to what I know, killing with my hands and the familiar abilities around me.
He stabs his knife towards my chest.
Predictable.
I catch his wrist and twist, vaguely hearing his cry of pain as the other dagger plunges upwards, aiming for my heart. I turn, barely missing the fatal stab, and instead earn a shallow slice along my ribs.
Still holding his twisted arm, I bend the blade back towards him while grabbing his shoulder. Then I yank him forward. His own knife buries deep into his chest, his eyes widening as he stares down at the hilt in his hand and the blade now buried in his chest.
Staggering, he falls towards the concrete path, but I’ve turned away before his body hits the ground. Pressing an already bloody hand to the new gash across my ribs, I scan the throng. My gaze lands on Kitt, watching as he douses those around him in flames.
Something isn’t right.
I’ve never seen my brother like this before. So bloodthirsty, so brutal. Usually, those words are reserved for me, the future Enforcer, and not Kitt, the kind and caring future king. But right now, he looks enraged, feral in a way I’ve never seen before.
I continue fighting through the crowd, trying to get a glimpse of Father and Mother. I’m both relieved and worried when I don’t, hoping that Imperials got to them first and escorted them back to the castle.
It’s only then that I notice how much the crowd has dwindled. My eyes dart to a figure running out of a tunnel and beyond the Bowl. Another follows, clad in leather and masked in black.
They are trying to escape.
And I intend to follow.
Chapter Sixty-Five
Paedyn
Sharp steel slices deep across my forearm. I had jumped out of the blade’s way, though I still earned a searing slash across my arm for my efforts. I bite back a cry of pain and crouch low, pulling my dagger from my boot and gripping it in my sweaty palm.
The king laughs, taking another swipe at me with his sword, forcing me to dance around and avoid being sliced into ribbons. It’s clear he has the advantage with his longer weapon to accompany his Brawny ability. But despite that, he’s unsteady on his feet thanks to the wound at his temple.
So I do exactly what he mockingly suggested: I read him.
He sways with each swing, having to steady himself slightly before trying to land another blow. His right foot steps with each swipe of the sword, followed by a small half step from his left. He’s holding the sword with his right hand, but he has two sheaths at his side, telling me he had another weapon at one point and can fight left-handed as well.
He swipes again, high this time, forcing me to duck and roll to the right. We circle each other, his twisted smile visible even through the steady stream of rain.
I need to get close to him. I need to distract him.
Because I am not leaving here until I murder this murderer.
Maybe that makes me no better than him.
“You killed him! You killed my father!” I shout over the thunder rolling above us.
I step closer, and his sword swings down in a wide arc that would have cleaved me in half if I hadn’t dodged in time. He sways like I knew he would after a strike like that, and I use the opportunity to send my dagger sweeping across his chest. It carves a line through his shirt, his skin, leaving blood blooming in its wake.
Something hard meets my temple and my vision bursts with spots. I stumble back, blinking. Through my blurry gaze, I see the king’s bloody chest and the sword he’s holding, the handle still outstretched after sending it slamming into my skull.
He laughs. But I hear the tremor in it. He’s worried. He hates that I—a Slummer, an Ordinary, a no one—just left my mark on him.