For the second time, Kiva set aside her fear and lunged forward, water and sand flying off her as she sprinted toward her friend. But no matter how fast she ran, she was still a few strides away when the freckled warrior managed to wrap her chain around Naari’s boot, giving it a vicious tug, while at the same time, her mace came down in an overhead swing.
Kiva’s heart stopped as Naari stumbled and barely managed to raise her arm in time, her prosthetic hand taking the brunt of the spiked weapon’s attack. Another tug of the chain and, unbalanced, she was forced down to her knees, leaving her in a dangerous position — one that, while her sole focus was on protecting herself from the freckled woman’s follow-up blow, meant she was wide open for the golden warrior to slash her sword straight toward her unguarded back.
It was a lethal strike.
But it never made contact, because Kiva arrived just in time to intercept the attack, blocking the woman’s blade. Acting on instinct, she thrust her dagger upward, intending to force the warrior back in order to give Naari a chance to regain her feet and take over again.
But the golden warrior misinterpreted Kiva’s move and dashed forward rather than away, twisting to the wrong side —
And causing the upward trajectory of Kiva’s dagger to plunge straight into her chest.
The warrior’s crystal blue eyes widened with shock, mirroring Kiva’s own horrified gaze, the two of them looking slowly down together to see the blade protruding from her torso.
Time stopped, and then the woman was falling, her blood spilling onto the sand to pool beneath where her body came to rest.
A choked sound left Kiva as she gaped down at the golden warrior, her now-blank eyes staring into nothing.
Kiva was no stranger to death. Whether from illness, injury, or undue violence, she’d witnessed far more than her share of people fading into the everworld, especially during her time at Zalindov. But causing someone’s death?
Kiva had never killed anyone before.
Slick, warm blood covered her hands. They weren’t trembling now — they were frozen. She was frozen.
Peripherally, she was aware of the roaring crowd, of Naari still fighting the freckled woman, of Ashlyn and Cresta pushing forward in their magical battle, with the wind anomaly downed and only the ginger-haired anomaly and her flames remaining. But try as she might, Kiva couldn’t take her eyes off the blood-soaked sand and the warrior with a dagger buried in her chest — Kiva’s dagger.
Everything that happened next was a blur. Naari finally dispatched her opponent and hurried over with dread in her eyes, before she patted Kiva down and realized the blood didn’t belong to her.
Shock, Kiva realized — she was in shock.
Naari soon figured out the same and gave Kiva a rough shake that did little good.
But then Cresta was there, with her and Ashlyn having succeeded against the fire anomaly, their final opponent. The ex-quarrier didn’t hesitate to repeat her action from earlier and slap Kiva across the face.
“Snap out of it,” she ordered. “You’ve seen worse than this, a thousand times over.”
Kiva had.
But she’d never been responsible for it.
“Cresta,” Ashlyn barked when the ex-quarrier raised her hand to slap Kiva again. “Leave her.”
Naari was standing close enough that Kiva could hear her labored breaths. She was also swaying slightly, and that was what finally pulled Kiva’s gaze away from the golden warrior. Seeing all the wounds Naari had sustained, Kiva unconsciously reached out to heal her, but the guard saw what she intended and scrambled backwards.
For one second, Kiva was blinded by hurt. She’d just killed someone to save Naari, and still the guard hated her enough to reject her touch. But then Kiva pushed through the haze of her shock and remembered Naari’s warning — that if the kings witnessed her magic, they’d never allow her to leave.
Quickly, Kiva fisted her hands, burying the power she’d instinctively begun to summon. Naari would have to wait to be healed — as would Ashlyn and Cresta, both of whom were covered in burns and minor lacerations, along with raw grazes from wind-whipped sand.
They were hurt, but alive.
All of them.
Kiva didn’t let her eyes drop to the ground, where the six warrior-women lay.
Kill or be killed, Naari had said.
They’d done what was needed to survive.
But even so, Kiva couldn’t ignore the guilt she felt — nor could she forget the stunned look of horror on the golden warrior’s face as the life had drained from her.
Bile burned the back of Kiva’s throat, but she swallowed it down, knowing she couldn’t reveal what she was feeling — not here, with thousands of people watching. She had to remain strong, just for a few more minutes.
And then, when she was alone, she could let the floodgates open.
On the dais, the kings stood from their thrones and raised their hands in the air, quieting the screaming crowd.
“Dukkar, dukkar!” Thembi declared in his native language. “Tuk ekaan Arzavaar du ventek unt Evalon!”
Another roar from the audience, before the king spoke in the common tongue directly to Kiva, Ashlyn, Cresta, and Naari: “Congratulations to our Evalonian friends for triumphing over the Arzavaar! You have proved your worth as warriors — now come and receive your reward!”
At his words, the fire ring — no longer a flaming python — extinguished, leaving behind scorched earth and a clear pathway out of the arena. Two groups of beige-armored guards appeared, one set heading toward Kiva and her friends, the rest bearing canvas stretchers to carry away the fallen.
Kiva didn’t watch the second group, especially the pair of guards who approached the golden warrior. She just kept her eyes on her feet and followed her friends as they were led from the arena.
Given Thembi’s invitation, Kiva had assumed they would be delivered straight to the raised dais, but the guards didn’t head into the stands. The screams of the crowd faded as they stepped through a narrow, shaded walkway dissecting the arena walls, and then exited out into the blistering sunshine once more. After that, it was only a short stroll across to the palace, where they were taken to what was apparently to be their guest quarters for the rest of their stay.
Kiva’s gaze had remained lowered for the duration of their walk, the change of location passing in a blur. A numb feeling had enveloped her somewhere between the arena and the palace, as she’d tried and failed to justify what had happened — what she’d done. But then all the guards except one backed out the door, and Kiva finally looked up, her dazed vision noting that she stood in a bright, circular room with large white cushions dotting the floor in front of a fireplace, along with a balcony looking not out at the arena — thankfully — but toward the opposite side of the city.
“Their Majesties have declared that there will be a feast tonight in your honor,” the remaining guard said, lingering in the doorway. His accent was so thick that it took Kiva a moment to comprehend his words, and once she did, she looked desperately toward Ashlyn.
The princess’s frustrated expression told Kiva that they wouldn’t just be able to take the ring and be on their way. They would have to play the courteous political game first.
“Bathe and rest, and an escort shall return to deliver you to the banquet hall,” the guard continued. “You’ll find evening attire in your rooms.” He pointed to the closed doors that Kiva had missed in her quick perusal of the suite. Only one was ajar, revealing the edge of a ginormous bathtub in the corner.