Roses of the Arena | ONGOING

01

"Amburgh has fallen!"

Collective gasps filled the room, and women clutched their children close to their bosoms. Amburgh was merely two days' travel from our home of Bramblewood. The Jadhullians were pressing ever closer to us, slowly pinching us off from the rest of the world. I hung closer to Papa, finding comfort in his presence.

"Gone. Its people are dead, and the buildings have been destroyed. I don't know where they're heading next." The grizzled old farmer trudged forward on trembling legs, eyes darting every which way. His hat was clutched in shaking hands. Sweat beaded on his forehead and ran down his neck. He must have ridden all night to get here. "I barely escaped with my life. We're all doomed!"

Instead of the festive atmosphere I had hoped to be in tonight, the air was pregnant with brooding tension. Where there should have been laughter, braised meat roasting over the fire, and all the usual meaningless festivities of a late autumn commemoration, it was silent.

Overbearingly silent.

The heat from the central fire in the town hall felt blisteringly hot against my face as I stared out across the solemn faces of my fellow townsfolk washed in the pumpkin-orange light. Looming shadows stretched far above our heads and danced on the darkened walls, misshapen and distorted, giving me the impression of some ancient tribal ritual. The stale scent of hot sweat and old ale permeated the very air, seeping into my nostrils with every breath intended to calm my racing heart.

The older man who had called the town meeting, Ferris Thorne, hobbled to the center of the room until the fire silhouetted him. Searing blue eyes scanned our faces, and I angled myself behind Papa's arm to avoid his scrutinizing gaze.

"The Jadhullian Empire grows stronger every day." He licked his thin lips, eyes narrowing toward the rafters. "Soldiers press farther into the Westramore every day. Our leaders fail us. Our armies weaken. We need to do something."

"What would you suggest?" a woman called from the crowd.

Ferris bowed his head. His gnarled, freckled fingers raked through thick white hair. "Long have I served you all as your faithful counselor. Therefore, I hope you will all heed my advice." Clearing his throat, he raised his voice to echo through the chamber. "We should surrender."

The response was immediate. An outraged uproar erupted from the villagers. The noise reverberated through the hall. Men leaped to their feet, shouting their arguments with fire blazing in their eyes. My hands flew to my ears, eyes wide. Surrender? To the Jadhullians? Even I knew that was a terrible idea. Papa's strong arm draped over my shoulders, pulling me securely against his side.

"Don't worry, Lily," he said, looking down with a tight smile. "All will be well."

"I know." I nodded, trying my best to return his smile. My stomach rolled on itself. Pools of sweat formed on my palms. Everything was changing so fast. For so long, the war had been far away. Now it was at our doorsteps and—

"I say we fight!" A single voice rose above the sound of the crowd, and it made my heart sink.

Elon Greycliff.

Turning slowly, I grimaced. He pushed through the crowd of angry men, chin lifted like some arrogant prat. One above, I hated him. Never in my twenty-two years of life had I ever met someone with such a deep-set desire for violence. It had been that way since we were children, and it seemed to worsen with time.

Even the way he looked hinted at his natural-given talent for aggression. Tall, broad shoulders and bulging muscles from years of toiling in his family's fields growing their crop. So many of the young girls fawned over him. I never saw the appeal. His face was angular like a fox's, and his nose was hooked like an eagle's beak, giving him a predatory appearance. His eyes, cold and intense, gleamed with all the cunning of a snake coiling to strike. Yet, despite his appearance, he was a fool.