Dalca’s eyes dart between his three opponents. Ragno steps back, and his two underlings dart forward.
Dalca takes one down with precision, hooking a leg under her knee and dropping her to the floor, so that her head and shoulders fall outside the circle. She’s out.
In a single motion, Dalca rolls away from the second underling’s attack—and right into Ragno’s path. He and Ragno spar in quick movements. I don’t know enough about hand-to-hand combat tounderstand the nuances; all I can tell is that Ragno gets pushed back just as often as Dalca does, and that neither gets a moment to catch his breath.
The remaining fighter in black grabs Dalca from behind, and Ragno lands a blow.
Dalca falls. I bite down on my cheek, my fingers like claws on the stone railing. I tamp down the wave of concern that rises in me. I don’t care who wins. Both of them are Pa’s enemies.Myenemies.
Ragno throws his arms wide, basking in the appreciation that rains down on him from the Regia’s Guard—and a good number of the Wardana, as well.
Dalca jumps to his feet, grinning with blood in his teeth.
The two take turns attacking. Dalca parries them, and though the sweat pours from him as he gives inch after inch of ground, the Wardana go wild for him. Instead of ensuring victory, the two-on-one showcases Dalca’s ability. With Cas, Ragno had spoken of the Illusoras’ weakness. But I see none now.
Dalca’s foot skids back, heel touching the white chalk of the circle. He ducks one punch and blocks another with a thud of armored boot against gauntlet. Dalca trips one of his attackers, but before he can go out of bounds, Ragno pulls him back.
When Ragno knocks Dalca down again, the cheers are far more muted.
The smile slips from Ragno’s face as he understands. He commands the other fighter to leave, and he does.
“Don’t have him leave on my account.” Dalca gets to his feet, planting himself in the sand.
“Let’s make it a fair fight.”
I wouldn’t call itfair. Dalca’s chest heaves with exertion, and sweat leaves tracks in the fine dust that sticks to his face. Ragno, by contrast, looks as fresh as if he were off to lunch.
Dalca lands the first hit. But Ragno beats him down.
Dalca falls.
And rises.
It’s hard to watch. No one cheers. I remember Dalca’s words.Anything can be fixed.Is it just mule-headed determination that drives him?
Cas’s face is ashen.
They fight in silence. Ragno looks up first. The adoration has faded from the faces of the gathered. Unease, disapproval, anger rise in its place.
Ragno drops his staff and places a smile on his face. “Of course, none can defeat our prince.”
His voice is slick as mist-moistened stone—the kind where if you lose your step, you’re likely to break your skull open.
Dalca pants, sweat shining from his throat. No smile of victory—just a furrowing of his brows.
Despite his smile, Ragno’s eyes are pure ice. “In fact, the prince has a grand announcement. He has found the traitor Alcanar Vale. And in six days, the Trials will begin. He is your Trialmaker.”
No.
Dalca doesn’t move as the noise grows deafening.
I drag my gaze up, searching the crowd. A flash of mirror-pale hair, disappearing into the mouth of a hallway. The crowd fights me as I push against bodies covered in red leather, squeezing my way through a gap until I break free.
The hallway is empty, but I sprint down it and catch a glimpse of pale hair turning the corner. Cas. Is he going to Pa?
My footsteps echo, and I slow my pace enough to muffle them. I turn the corner, but Cas is gone. The hallway meets another, and I don’t know whether to turn right or left. I pick left and hurry down, but he’s nowhere to be found.
I retrace my steps and go the other way, frustration heating my cheeks and palms, but I have to admit it: I’ve lost him.