“You saw what they did to the Firebeak,” I said, my voice hoarse and cracking. “Is that what they plan for me?”
“You’re being allowed a fair fight against one champion,” she said, her eyes as steady as her voice. “You have as much chance as any other challenger. Don’t let them see you crying. Face them all like a warrior, whether you are one or not.”
Gathering my will, I pushed up and leaned against the wall as Braka walked away. I wanted to tell her that I didn’t care about honor, but instead I said a prayer to Sud and went back to the doorway, watching as the fighters went from raggedly dressed peasants to men in leather armor with gleaming swords.
The fight that drew the most excitement was between two gifted Frostbloods with no weapons but their hands and their ice. I tried to take in the attacks and parries, hoping it might help me somehow. When one of the Frostblood fighters finally slipped and fell, the other one finished him off with a shard of ice through his throat. I turned away as the champion basked in the crowd’s approval.
“You’re next, Fireblood,” said Braka in a low rumble. “The names have been drawn and you’re to fight Gravnach… one of the most favored champions.”
From the opposite side of the arena, wooden doors opened and out walked a bear of a man. He was dressed in black leather with bright steel armor covering one arm from shoulder to wrist. And here I saw what Doreena had meant about winning the crowd. This man knew how. He walked in wide circles, stopping to raise his arms and roar in a theatrical way. The crowd responded with wild cheers.
“At the sound of the gong, you fight,” Braka said. “Once it begins, it won’t stop until you’re dead. Die with honor, Fireling.”
It didn’t escape me that she no longer claimed I had a chance. I turned to look her in the eye, determined to show strength.
“You mean until Gravnach is dead.”
She smiled, showing a missing tooth, and gave a small dip of her chin before turning away.
I moved into the shadows near the arched entrance to the arena. Every contraction and release of my heart seemed to last a hundred years, the moments stretching into an eternity of agonized anticipation. The gong sounded and the moment snapped into focus.
I stepped into the arena, squinting into the glare. The shouts of adulation turned to a chorus of hoots and jeers. My chest grew tight. I fought a dizzy, overpowering need to run.
As my terrified gaze swept the crowd, the sun caught a bright flash of gold: the king in a raised viewing box bounded by elaborate filigree railings carved of ice. He wore a gold crown set with sapphires. If it weren’t for the searing cold in his dark eyes, I might have thought him beautiful, a warm golden idol sitting among the endless shades of blue. He had an air of lazy expectance, as if ready for some diversion but not sure it was worth his attention.
I lifted my chin. I thought I caught the hint of a mocking grin in return.
Marella stood next to him, her brows drawn together, her jaw tight. As our eyes met, her brows smoothed and she gave a slight smile. She mouthed one word: Win. At least I had one person who believed in me.
A chant started in one corner of the stands and built like a gathering wave that crashed over the crowd, the whole arena throbbing with the pounding beat.
“Gravnach! Gravnach! Gravnach!”
The massive champion had his back to me, as if the presence of a challenger was beneath his notice. The chant beat its way into my skull, sapping my energy. I had to do something, anything to shake off the paralyzed fear that was seizing hold of me. Raising my hands, I sent a blast of fire rolling along the ground. When it reached Gravnach’s feet, he jumped and wheeled around. The crowd hissed and called out, “Kill the Fireblood!”
I expected their hatred, but the intensity of it shocked me.
The crowd faded out of focus as Gravnach pounded toward me in a long-legged run. I waited for him to stop, expecting we would circle each other the way other fighters had. Instead, he kept coming, like a huge fallen tree rolling down a hill, and me no more than a patch of weeds to be crushed in his path. I fought the urge to run.
When he was close enough that I saw the whites of his eyes, I threw myself to the side and swirled a blast of fire at him. He blocked it with two raised forearms and an explosion of cold that stung my face.
Breathless and frustrated, I sent out a series of arrows, aiming for the openings in his defenses. Most of them fell away from him with a sizzle, but a few found their mark, landing on his mask or on his skin with a hiss. He took a step back, and I had a moment of triumph.