Chapter 12 · The Victory He Wants

"Put the blade down, Seraphina."

Calian's voice cut across the arena before the fighter's sword could reach my throat.

I twisted aside. Steel scraped over the leather guard at my shoulder, tearing through the outer seam. The crowd shouted, half in fear and half in delight.

The fighter came at me again.

He was bigger, faster, and wrapped in black battle leathers marked with the northern crest. A silver rune burned across his throat. Every time his boots struck the packed sand, the mark flashed beneath his skin.

I ducked his swing and drove my elbow into his ribs.

He grunted but didn't slow down.

"You heard him," the arena master called from the stone platform. "Drop your weapon and kneel."

I backed away from the fighter's blade. My fingers tightened around the short sword Calian had given me that morning.

The hilt was too large for my hand. The edge was too heavy. The weapon had been made for someone who expected enemies to die quickly.

I had no intention of making this easy for them.

"Did you bring me here to fight," I called toward the platform, "or did you just want your people to watch me lose?"