Cho looked across the arena at the archway opposite mine. “And now, introducing the king of Morta, His Royal Majesty Maximus Mercer Morland Morricone!”
For a moment, nothing happened, and I didn’t see anyone lurking in the shadows. Then a figure strode forward.
Maximus was also dressed in fighting leathers—a sleeveless shirt, a knee-length kilt, and sandals—all done in a midnight-purple that was so dark it almost looked black. He was holding a sword that seemed to be made of pure gold, given how the weapon gleamed in the noon sun. He wasn’t carrying a shield, and his face hadn’t been painted like mine, but his glorious mane of golden hair was perfectly brushed and styled and gleamed almost as brightly as his sword did.
The crowd surged to its feet and roared, and Maximus held his arms out wide, just like Mercer had, further inviting the people to cheer, yell, scream, clap, and whistle. The applause went on and on and on, with Maximus smiling the whole time.
Finally, the Mortan king stepped into the ring in the center of the arena. The wood was painted a dull, flat black, signaling that this fight would be to the death.
The crowd slowly quieted, although tension and excitement filled the air.
“And now,” Cho’s voice boomed out again, “introducing the queen of Bellona, Her Royal Majesty Everleigh Saffira Winter Blair!”
I drew in a breath and let it out, knowing that this was perhaps the last—and most important—fight of my life. So I squared my shoulders, lifted my chin, and plastered a smile on my face. Then I stepped out of the tunnel and strode forward.
Showtime.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The second I appeared, the crowd erupted into cheers, yells, claps, screams, and whistles again. The atmosphere for a black-ring match at the Black Swan arena had been loud and raucous, but the noise here was deafening, and the overwhelming sound felt like a wave pushing against my body, trying to shove me back into the archway.
Unlike Maximus, I didn’t preen, hold my arms out, and play to the crowd. I didn’t need their applause. I only needed him bloody, broken, and dead at my feet. That would be satisfaction enough for me.
I crossed the arena floor and stepped into the black ring. The crowd continued to cheer, and Cho held up his hands, calling for quiet, although most people kept right on screaming. While he got the crowd under control, I looked up at the royal terrace.
Eon, Ruri, Cisco, Heinrich, Zariza. All the other kings and queens were gathered there, surrounded by their regular entourages, along with scores of guards. The other royals weren’t taking any chances with their own safety. Good.
My friends were up there as well. Sullivan, Paloma, Serilda, Xenia, Auster. They cheered and clapped, letting me know once again how much they believed in me.
Leonidas was also on the terrace, still sandwiched in between some of the Bellonan guards. The boy looked even paler and more worried than before, and he kept glancing around the terrace, as though he was searching for someone.
Slowly, the cheers subsided, and everyone took their seats again, although not before another round of clink-clink-clinks rang out, as people placed one final round of wagers. No doubt most folks were betting on Maximus to kill me, but that didn’t bother me. More than one person had underestimated me over the past year. Most of them were dead, but I was still here.
Cho held up his arms again, and the clink-clink-clinks of coins faded away. A tense, heavy silence fell over the arena, and the only sound was the royal flags snapping back and forth in the breeze at the very top of the structure.
“Lords and ladies, high and low,” Cho repeated in a much more serious voice. “We are here to witness a royal challenge between the king of Morta and the queen of Bellona. This is a black-ring match—to the death. Are you both agreed?”
He looked at Maximus, who nodded, then at me. I nodded and tightened my grip on my sword.
Cho glanced back and forth between the two of us, his hands still raised high. This might be a fight to the death, but Cho was still a showman, and he was going to draw the moment out for as long as possible.
“Begin!” he yelled, dropping his hands and scrambling back.
Maximus didn’t hesitate. With a loud roar, the Mortan king lifted his sword and charged forward.
I let out an equally loud scream, raised my own weapon, and rushed forward to meet my enemy.
* * *
Our swords clashed together in the middle of the arena, the concussive boom seeming even louder than the crowd’s screams.
And I almost lost the match—and my life—right from the start.
Maximus was much, much stronger than I had expected, and he almost knocked my sword out of my hand with that first blow. His enormous strength made me drop to one knee. I gritted my teeth, my muscles burning and my arm already shaking from the effort of keeping him from cutting through my defenses and killing me.
Maximus leaned forward, his shadow falling over me. “What’s the matter, Everleigh? Am I too powerful for you?”
I gritted my teeth again, still pushing back against his weapon. I didn’t have the strength to answer him—not if I wanted to keep my head attached to my shoulders.
“You stupid bitch,” he hissed. “Did you really think that releasing my strixes and my caladrius would cut off my supply of magic?”
For the first time, I noticed the hot, caustic stench of magic wafting off him—more magic than I had ever sensed from him before, even after he had drunk the strix blood during the kronekling tournament. Maximus was practically dripping with power, and the aroma was so strong that it scalded my nose, like I was breathing in fire instead of air.
“What . . . did you . . . do?” I rasped.
“I drank more strix blood.” A cruel smile split his face. “But not just one little bird and one little cup. No, I drank the blood of the strixes that my guards and I flew here on.”
Surprise spiked through me. I hadn’t considered that he might kill the larger strixes too, especially since they didn’t have nearly as much magic as the smaller ones that I’d freed. I had assumed he would keep the older creatures alive in case he needed them to launch an attack, but I should have known better. Nothing mattered to Maximus more than amassing power.
“How . . . many of them . . . did you . . . kill?”
His smile widened, and a bright, fanatical light gleamed in his eyes. “All of them.”
All of them?
Horror filled me, along with more than a little fear. The Mortans had had dozens of strixes. Maximus had slaughtered them all? Every last one? So that’s why he was suddenly so strong. The older strixes might not have had very much individual magic, but their combined power would have been more than enough to augment his own, especially if he had added his tearstone powder to the mix.
Maximus smiled again and drew back his sword for another, harder blow. I wouldn’t be able to absorb and stop this one, so I ducked down, threw myself forward, and rolled past him. Maximus’s sword slammed into the dirt where my body had been, hard enough to open up a wide, jagged crack in the ground.
I got to my feet, whirled around, and snapped my sword up again. Maximus also whirled around. He let out a low, angry growl, lifted his sword, and charged forward. I stepped up to meet him.
And then we fought.
Back and forth we battled in the black ring. Well, it was more like Maximus battled. He was so strong that I didn’t dare risk crossing my sword with his, lest he knock my weapon away. Instead, I lifted my shield and let it absorb his hard, brutal blows, although every single one of them still rattled my body and threatened to rip the disk off my forearm.
Maximus launched into a series of frenzied attacks, beating his sword against my shield over and over again. Not because he thought he could cut through the tearstone shield, but just because he wanted everyone to see how strong he was.
I couldn’t defeat him.
At least not like this. Serilda had spent much of the last year training me how to be a gladiator, but Maximus
was by far the physically strongest opponent I had ever faced. I wasn’t going to best him in raw strength, and he was hitting me so fast and furiously that I couldn’t even swipe out at him with my own sword.
But I had to do something, or he was going to pound my shield into the ground and me right along with it. He might not be able to break through the shield, but he could certainly crush me to death with it. My mind raced, even as I huddled under the protective dome. I couldn’t beat him with my fighting skills. Not when he had so much magic.
But I could fix that.
My nose twitched, and I drew in a breath and tasted the air. Maximus still reeked of magic, but the aroma wasn’t quite as hot and caustic as before. He might have more power than me, but he was being reckless and burning through it quickly. I didn’t know if my immunity was strong enough to counter all that stolen magic running through his veins, but I couldn’t take much more of this beating.
So the next time he lifted his sword, I surged forward and shoved my shield straight into his chest. The move surprised Maximus, and he actually staggered back and lowered his blade.
Before he could recover, I whirled around the other way and lashed out with my own weapon. He jerked back, but he wasn’t quite quick enough, and my sword sliced across his cheek, drawing a thin line of blood.
The crowd roared in response. They had grown tired of him hammering his sword against my shield. Yeah, me too.
Maximus clapped his hand to his cheek. Then he held his palm out and stared down at it, as though surprised to see his own crimson blood glistening on his fingertips.
“You’re going to pay for that!” he hissed.
I could barely hear him over the crowd’s yells and screams, so I grinned and crooked my finger, daring the bastard to come at me again.
Maximus let out a loud roar and charged forward, but I spun away from him as coolly as I had before, doing a pretty twirl, as though I were on a dance floor. And I suddenly realized that I was on a dance floor. Somehow, despite all of Serilda’s and Xenia’s training, I had forgotten that. Whether it was in the arena or the throne room, dancing around my enemies was the thing that I did best, and it was going to help me win this battle, just like I’d won all the others so far.
I had been thinking about the fight all wrong. This was a long game, just like any other, and I didn’t have to immediately kill Maximus with one blow. I just had to wear him down and make him bleed, one small slice at a time. The more he bled, the more magic he would lose. That would level the playing field. After that, all I had to do was wait for him to get angry and impatient enough to make a mistake. And then I could finally kill the bastard.
That phantom music started playing in my mind, even louder than the crowd’s cheers, and I tuned out everything else. The people on the bleachers, my friends watching from the terrace, even Maximus spewing curses at me. Instead, I listened to that quick, steady beat, and I let it carry me away.
The king charged at me, and I spun to the side again. This time, I aimed lower and opened up a shallow slice above his right elbow. He howled and charged at me again, and I turned the other way, going lower still, and nicking the top of his left thigh.
Maximus growled and came at me yet again. This time, I threw my shield at him. He stopped, twisting to the side, although the shield bounced harmlessly off his chest and fluttered to the ground. But I was right behind it, slashing out with my sword and opening up a much deeper gash on his right thigh.
And then I went on the attack.
Spinning, turning, whirling, twirling. I danced quicker, better, and faster than I had ever danced in my entire life, even when I had performed the Tanzen Freund and the Tanzen Falter. And every time I moved, every time I whirled or twirled in close to Maximus, I cut the bastard, until thin lines of blood covered his skin like stripes of red paint.
Eventually, Maximus realized what I was doing, and he backed away and moved over to the edge of the black ring. “Do you really think all those little cuts are going to be enough to kill me?” he growled.
No, I didn’t. I hadn’t even come close to seriously wounding him. But I had made him bleed, which was far more important right now.
“I’m not trying to kill you,” I snarled back. “Can’t you feel what I’m doing? Can’t you feel all that stolen magic leaking out of your body with every drop of blood? With every beat of your heart? Because I certainly can, you arrogant bastard.”
Maximus frowned and stared down at the blood dripping off his fingertips. Plop-plop-plop. For a moment, I could have sworn I could hear all those precious drops hitting the dirt beneath our feet, each one taking a little bit more of his stolen magic along with it.
Now it was time to make him really bleed.
I lifted my sword and moved in for another strike, but Maximus was quicker, and he snapped up his hand. Only this time, he didn’t attack me with his sword.
No, this time, he unleashed his lightning.
I should have been expecting the sneak attack, especially since Mercer had done the same thing to Paloma during the tournament. But the move took me by surprise, and the cold lightning slammed straight into my chest and knocked me away from him. In an instant I was flat on my back on the arena floor. My sword flew out of my hand, and I didn’t see where it had landed.
All I could see was the lightning.
The bright, eerie purple lightning danced over my body much the same way that I had danced around Maximus. I screamed and pushed back with my own immunity, using my power to snuff out all that cold, crackling magic.
Slowly, much too slowly, the lightning dissolved in a shower of purple sparks. Just as slowly, I rolled over onto my knees and staggered back up and onto my feet. My skin was blue and numb, my hair was caked with frost, and my fighting leathers were stiff and frozen, but I faced Maximus again.
He grinned and unleashed another round of magic, this time shooting purple hailstones out of his fingertips. I snapped up my hands and held them out in front of me, using my immunity just like I had used my gladiator shield before. The hailstones slammed into the invisible barrier of my immunity and broke apart into brittle chunks. Maximus growled and went back to his cold lightning, but I stopped that as well.
The two of us stood there in the center of the ring, with him shooting hailstones and bolts of cold lightning at me over and over again, and me blocking them all with my immunity.
Finally, Maximus grew tired of throwing his power at me. He lowered his hand, and his lips curled back as though the mere sight of me made him sick to his stomach.
“The legends really are true,” he said. “You’re immune to magic. Just like Bryn Blair was. Just like so many Winter queens are.”
I staggered back, trying to catch my breath. Legends? What legends? Mortan legends?
Maximus started circling me. “I thought they were just bedtime stories, tales to scare me away from my ambitions. Who would ever want to destroy magic? Much less actually be able to do it? But my grandfather always said that the Blairs and their accursed ability needed to be eliminated above all else. He was absolutely right. What a freak of nature you are, Everleigh.” His voice dripped with disgust, and his lips curled back even more.
Me? A freak? He was the one who ingested crushed tearstone and amethyst-eye poison. He was the one who killed strixes, the symbol of his own kingdom. He was the one who drank blood like some undead monster. Maximus needed to look in a fucking mirror.
“I’m so glad you’re the last of your kind, Everleigh.” He actually shuddered a bit, as if I was some horror he just couldn’t bear to contemplate. “Once I kill you, the Blairs and the Winter queen line will be forever dead. Then I can finally conquer your cursed kingdom, and Bellona and all its resources will be mine.”
The thought of him invading my kingdom and killing my people filled me with disgust, along with almost paralyzing fear and horror, but I pushed my emotions aside. The only thing that mattered was ending him here and now.
I had put the first pa
rt of my plan into motion. I had made Maximus bleed and shed some of his stolen magic. I was just hoping that I had wounded him enough, and that I could use my immunity to destroy the rest of his power.
I expected Maximus to keep crowing about what a freak I was, but instead he charged at me. Before I could spin away, Maximus surged forward, locked his hand around my throat, and hoisted me up into the air.
Gasps rang out through the arena, but I didn’t bother to kick or flail or fight back. Instead, I reached for my immunity. Nothing else mattered right now. Because if I didn’t do this, then I was dead.
“I should have realized why Maeven was having such a hard time killing you,” Maximus said. “Why you managed to slip out of every single trap she set. It’s your immunity. It lets you sense magic, all kinds of magic, doesn’t it?”
I ignored his question. Instead, I kept focusing on my immunity, pulling it up, up, up out of my body and then pouring the invisible strength of it out onto my hands, until it felt like gauntlets covering my fingers. I’d only get one shot at this, and I had to make it count.
Maximus must have realized that I wasn’t paying attention to his words, because he gave me a vicious little shake. “Stay awake, Everleigh. I want you alive for as long as possible to witness my greatest triumph.”
I still didn’t respond, and a sly light flared in his eyes. Maximus hoisted me a little higher into the air, then lunged forward, dropped to one knee, and slammed me down onto the dirt.
He put a considerable amount of strength into the blow, and pain shot through my back, along with the rest of my body, but I forced it aside, just as I had done with my fear and horror.
“Did that get your attention? Are you finally ready to beg for your life, Everleigh?”
He loosened his grip on my throat, just a bit, and I sucked down a breath, readying myself. “Well?” he demanded. “Start begging. I might let you go on for a minute or two before I finally kill you.”
“Never,” I hissed. “But it’s going to be so fucking sweet to hear you beg for yours.”
He frowned, not understanding what I meant, but I didn’t care. Instead, I shoved my hand forward, forcing my fingers through one of the openings I’d sliced in the front of his fancy leather tunic.
Crush the King Page 35
