Piper Cross, an undercover spy, must relive her past as a child gladiator in order to bring the underground arena to justice.
*****
Growing up gladiator is brutal. The cells are cramped...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Apparently Wardon meant it when he said our work was sloppy, because the moment we stepped foot in the King's Favour, he divested us of our weapons and barked for us to fall into line, much to the alarm of the hybrid children. They swarmed around the intruder much like they had with me.
Isaac waved them off, but fire continued to flicker in Jedda's palm. When I shook my head slightly, she tamped it with a frown and fell back to a quiet corner of the hall, where she sat so still she almost blended in with the wallpaper.
Marcus left and came back with his sketchbook, leaning against the bar as he, too, joined the vigil. For once I felt grateful for his dark, intense gaze and the whispery scratch of graphite on parchment. Wardon may have survived a thousand years on this earth and countless more enemies, but it was nice to know he might spend the next millennium looking out of a cheap Kmart picture frame.
"I'll give these back when you deserve them," Wardon said, tossing my knives and Isaac's bident onto the pool table. His tone was infuriatingly even, as perfectly measured as the rest of his demeanor. "For now, back to basics. Take up your positions."
Isaac and I had spent so long taking orders from Corinne Cross that obeying came naturally. I let my limbs go loose and bent my knees slightly, ready to prance in any direction. There was a lesson to be learned, and this was the one subject in which I'd known what it felt like to be a good student.
Then my eyes locked with Isaac's, and my steady breathing quickened. My heart raced traitorously, pounding painfully through the vein in my neck. The last time we fought, something had quickened in my blood, and now it was doing it again.
Wardon's eyes narrowed a fraction. "What lies between the two of you?"
Isaac smiled faintly. "Sleeping dogs."
Wardon's black eyes flicked between us. "If you want to survive, you'll put them down."
To my baffling relief, Isaac shook his head. "The new arena is rigged according to popularity. Our romance is a major advantage when it comes to sponsors; it needs to be convincing."
That only earned him another flat stare. I loathed and admired the Irephang's stubborn composure; Wardon only ever moved when he absolutely needed to, conserving every last scrap of energy like a lizard in the cold months. The same was true of his words. I could only imagine the riveting conversations he must have had with Chance Nightshade on his way here; a brick wall talking to a concrete slab.
I'd almost forgotten the question by the time he deigned to answer. "An act is one thing, but believing it is another. If you do not already know the dangers of a romantic distraction, my intervention is too late. You are already dead."
I bristled at that. "We know what we're doing."
Wardon didn't even blink. "Yes, I heard them singing your praises, Deathstalker. A pretty name, but you should know that my son earned his title just as you earned yours. He rebelled against an empire to regain his freedom and has fought for it many times since. He has centuries of blood on his hands; he will not hesitate over spilling yours."
