“We’re in the lead.”
The crowd roared, dragging Mia’s attention away from the points. The Phillipi team had adopted an aggressive early strategy, neglecting the prisoners and quickly engaging instead. Their archer was firing at Bryn and Byern, black-feathered shafts whistling through the air. Byern protected his sister behind his shield as she put a shot into one of the last prisoners, and spinning on her heel, she returned fire, forcing the Phillipi archer back into cover. Meanwhile, the Lions of Leonides were trading shots with the Wolves of Tacitus, the crowd thrilling as Armando landed a clever shot into the Wolf archer’s thigh.
“First blood to the Lions of Leonides!” cried the editorii.
Trumpets sounded.
Eight laps to go.
Four coronae were randomly flung onto the track, the silver wreaths gleaming in the dust. They were worth a single point, but with only a few points between first and last place, every one would count. Bryn loosed three shots at the Phillipi archer as her brother leaned out of their chariot, scooping up one coronae. The Swords took the second, the Lions another. The riders thundered about the track, arrows cut the air, Mia and her fellows watching on, cheering with the rest of the mob.
Six laps to go.
More coronae fell. Trumpets rang, the ground rumbled as the sands split apart. Wooden barricades rose out of the sands along the track, set with vicious tangles of razorvine. As if the risk of collision weren’t enough, the barricades simultaneously burst into flame. The sagmae were now forced to focus more on steering their chariots and less on protecting their partners, and with the pace lessened, it was easier to close distance. The arrows flew thick and fast, Mia cursing as Bryn was grazed by a shot that Byern failed to deflect in time. And as the crowd thrilled, the Wolves of Tacitus managed to score a hit on Stonekiller, a white-feathered arrow sinking deep into his shin.
Stonekiller staggered, sinking to his knees and lowering his shield as their chariot skidded wildly. The Wolf archer fired again, the crowd howling as Armando was struck in the shoulder. With the skill that had made them champions, Stonekiller brought the chariot back under control, Armando tearing the arrows from his arm, his sagmae’s leg. But the blood was flowing thick, and the Wolves used the time to scoop up another three coronae, putting them in the lead.
Mia shook her head, watching Bryn and Byern falling further behind.
Four laps to go.
More wreaths were showered onto the track—half a dozen this time. The Wolves held first place, the Falcons and Lions tied for second. Bryn was like a woman possessed, firing shot after shot at her foes. The Swords were coming last in the tally, their situation desperate. In his haste to scoop up a coronae, the Sword sagmae ran their chariot too close to a barricade, their wheel clipping the burning razorvine with a hail of sparks. Off-balance, the sagmae fell to his knee, and Bryn loosed a stunning shot, her red-feathered arrow swishing right through the driver’s throat.
The man gurgled, a second shot thudding into his chest. The horses clipped another barricade, snapping the crossbar clean, and the chariot flipped over and crashed into a tangled ruin.
“First kill for the Falcons!” the editorii crowed. “Sanguii e Gloria!”
Bryn raised a fist in triumph and Byern scooped up another coronae, Mia and her fellows hollering. With those five points, the Remus Collegium was back in first place. Victory in sight.
“Two laps remain!” came the call.
Smoke from the burning barricades drifted over the track, the sands red with blood. With the foes that had dogged them all match now dead, Byern whipped his mares into a burst of speed, closing in on the Lions from behind. Armando was pressed low behind Stonekiller’s shield, the pair bleeding heavily. The crowd howled, wondering if the beloved Lions were being set up for the kill, but Mia’s eyes were narrowed. Armando and Stonekiller were no fools, and a big cat is never more dangerous than when wounded.
“Be careful!” she shouted as the Falcons wheeled past their cell window.
Bryn raised her bow and took aim, the Wolves’ archer did the same from their lead. The crowd was on their feet, thinking Stonekiller and Armando were about to fall in the crossfire. But with astonishing skill, Stonekiller seized one wheel with his bare hands, locking it tight. The drag whipped the chariot sideways, their enemies’ shots going wide. Armando rose up from cover and loosed a shot at the Wolves, the arrow whispering right past the surprised sagmae’s shield and into her archer’s neck. The mob howled, the archer staggered, topping into the dirt.
“Third kill, Lions!” came the cry.
The Wolf chariot clipped a barricade, rocking it sideways. As three of Bryn’s shots thudded into Stonekiller’s shield, Armando fired again, striking the Wolf driver in the knee and chest. She collapsed, her leg catching as she fell from the chariot, dragged for a few hundred feet before she was torn loose.
“Lions, Fourth kill! Sanguii e Gloria!”
The mob bellowed, drunk on the carnage. Byern scooped up another coronae, Briar and Rose both drenched in sweat. Stonekiller whipped his stallions, trying to keep distance from the Falcons. With their two kill shots against the Wolves, the Lions were now in the lead—all they needed to do was maintain distance and keep pace with the Falcons in scooping up wreaths, and victory would be theirs.
“Final lap!”
The entire arena was on its feet, the noise crawling on Mia’s skin and down her spine. Sidonius was muttering beneath his breath, urging the twins on, Bladesinger quietly praying, Wavewaker silent as stone. Horses frothing, crowd baying, flames crackling, Mister Kindly swelled in Mia’s shadow as fear tried to take root in her belly, her jaw clenched tight. She watched Byern whipping his horses hard, trying to close distance so his sister could score a kill shot. Desperation on their faces. Blood on their skin. Death in the air.
Watching the crowd, Mia felt sick to her stomach. The euphoria, the red glaze in their eyes. Four people were out there on the sands, fighting for their lives. But the crowd didn’t see men and women with hopes and dreams and fears.