I must have fallen asleep, for my next memory is of the early morning sunlight streaming through the narrow window of Khalim’s room. My neck ached from sleeping upright, and my tongue was dry in my mouth. Someone was walking quietly around the common room, careful not to disturb those who still slept.
I pulled myself to my feet and turned to Khalim. His eyes remained closed, though his breathing had grown uneven, and I could not tell whether he had awoken. Had the medicine Garvesh had mixed for him done its work? There was no way for me to tell; I had no skill for medicine.
Whoever you are, I prayed to Khalim’s god, though I knew not if he could hear me, you must not let him die.
If he did not wake, then I would have to continue keeping vigil until he did. This was the sixth day of the festival, when the duels would be fought as well as the matches against the great beasts that had been brought from distant lands. There would be a second round of oration between them, and one of magic in the evening. Our team would suffer without Khalim, and even more without me to participate in the combats, but I would not leave his side. I had lost all sight of the Sword of Heaven or the winner’s purse, and my commitment to the miners’ rebellion was quickly fading from my mind.
I placed a hand on Khalim’s shoulder and called his name. His eyes fluttered open, unfocused, and closed again.
“Khalim,” I said again. “You have to wake up.”
He took a sharp, ragged breath. His mouth opened and shut again without a sound.
If there was any offering I could have made to ensure his safety—food, wealth, blood—I would have given it, but the only god in that room spoke only to Khalim, and not to me.
I found his hand among the bedclothes and his torn clothing, and took it in both of mine. His long fingers curled over my palm, and his eyes opened again.
This time, he could see me. “Eske?”
“I’m here.”
His chest rose with another shaky breath. “It hurts.”
“I know,” I said. “You need to heal yourself. Can you do it?”
He closed his eyes again, and I thought he had lost consciousness once more, but the room filled briefly with golden light. The glow flickered twice and faded, like a candle going out.
For a moment I feared the worst, but he was still breathing, his face contorted with pain. It was a terrible and potent poison the Serpents wielded. Nothing that grew among the scrub grasses of the North or the things that crawled under them could begin to match it. I was as powerless as I had been in the face of the long winter.
Khalim’s slender hand gripped mine like a vise. His sudden strength surprised me. Once more, the room filled with light, and though it dimmed and wavered for what felt like hours, when it went out, he opened his eyes and looked around the room.
He let go of my hand and pushed himself upright, turning so that his feet touched the floor. I took a step back to give him space.
“What happened?” he asked. “How long was I out?”
“Only for the night,” I said.
His clothing was encrusted with blood, and he put his fingers into the jagged tear the Serpent’s dagger had cut into his tunic. Underneath was a livid pink line of new skin, wider than the wound had been when I had first seen it. Had the poison worked like a corrosive, eating away at the skin? I could only guess.
“I remember the Serpents,” Khalim said, “and then…nothing. I felt pain. I might have been dreaming.”
“Are you well?”
He nodded, looking up at me, and his eyes caught the amber light from the window. “I heard you calling me, in the dark,” he said. “This is the second time you’ve carried me safely to my bed. I should thank you, and I should apologize again. I’m sorry to have been so much trouble.”
“You haven’t,” I said. “Not to me.”
He was alive. I could have wept with relief at hearing his voice again. It was all I could do to keep myself composed, and I did not entirely succeed. I crossed the short distance between us, took his face in my hands, and kissed him.
I knew then and I certainly know now that it was foolish of me to do, but even today I do not regret it. I remember clearly how his face softened and lit up with a hopeful smile, brighter than the glow of his magic. For that smile, I would have done battle with any manner of god or beast. Reva was right, I thought, to choose Khalim as her figurehead. I would have followed him to the end of the world.
A knock sounded on the door, and I stepped back from him reluctantly.
“Is everyone still alive in here?” asked Aysulu, pushing open the door. She saw Khalim and asked, “Good to see you awake. How do you feel?”
He looked down at the floor, his face flushed. “I am well, thank you.” He flexed his fingers, feeling for lingering pain.
“It’s early yet,” Aysulu said. “We can withdraw you from the contest of magic if you’re not feeling strong enough.”
He stood. “No, I will be fine. You’ll need me for the fights in the morning, anyway.”
Khalim put on his old clothing. What was given to him at the beginning of the tournament was now ruined, torn and stained with old blood. With that done, our team ate a somber meal with the Dragon Disciples around the fire in the common room. Even though Khalim was with us again, the festival had taken on a shadow of fear. The Ascended’s own agents were after us and our allies, and the rules of the tournament were no longer protecting us. We had little idea what to expect from the events that day.
Whispers followed us to the arena. The story had spread overnight, and the people of Phyreios seemed relieved to see Khalim alive and well. A few offered him tokens, single blossoms in vibrant colors, and I watched each of them for any sign of a threat, my axe ready on my shoulder. Khalim took the flowers gratefully, last night’s attack having done nothing to decrease his guileless trust in the people.
There were no hidden blades or poisoned blooms that I could see, and we made it to the colosseum without incident. The Dragon Disciples went to their places, and the rest of my team to our waiting area below the stands, and I lined up with the other contestants for the duels. Heishiro nodded to me as he found his place in line.
A ring had been drawn into the arena sands, marked out by stakes strung with ropes to separate out a square twice as long on a side as a man’s height. My first match was against Rolan of House Kaburh. He shattered his wooden training sword over my shoulder, leaving a red mark that quickly turned a vivid purple. After a struggle that strained every muscle in my body, I managed to pin him, and the match was mine.
Beremund of the Tribe of the Lion and Wolf lost to Ashoka of the Divine Champions. It was a brief fight, perhaps too brief—had the Lion and Wolf struck a deal with the Ascended’s representatives? After what had already transpired, it was certainly possible.
Jin won against Gaius of the merchants’ guild, and Heishiro fought a long and difficult match against Ashoka’s teammate, a man by the name of Solon, and finally achieved a close victory. Artyom of House Kaburh disarmed Roshani Darela’s bodyguard, Meryem, and the latter reluctantly yielded.
The last duel of the first round was between Jahan of House Darela and Alaric, the leader of the Lion and Wolf. They both wielded wooden staves, that cracked against each other and echoed through the arena as they attacked and parried. Splinters flew into the air around them.
Waiting behind the barrier, some distance from where the fight was taking place, I thought I saw the glint of metal in the sunlight at the end of Alaric’s staff. He drew back and then lunged, his pole lancing out like a spear.
Jahan cried out in pain. Blood ran from his thigh, where a terrible wound had opened. There was also blood on Alaric’s staff—the end had broken off, revealing a sharp metal point that had been affixed there and concealed by a wooden cap. A gasp of shock and outrage rippled through the stands.
A blue-clad arbiter separated the combatants, and one attendant examined Jahan’s wound while another took the weapon from Alaric, who gave it up willingly, an arrogant smirk on his wind-weathered face. When two more attendants arrived to escort him from the ring, he went without protest.
One of the Lion and the Wolf’s two contestants had quickly lost, and the other was now disqualified from the event. This could not have been a coincidence. I could not imagine that reavers such as they would give up on the duels so easily, unless they had been offered something more attractive to their greedy eyes than the sword and the winner’s purse.
As I was considering the implications of an alliance between the Lion and Wolf and the Ascended, another murmur went up from the crowd. I looked out across the arena and saw Khalim making his way over the sand. He had slipped out past the barrier without Aysulu or Garvesh noticing him, and they were quite some distance behind, calling for him to come back.
I was somewhat closer, standing among the other competitors for the duel and waiting for something to be decided about Jahan and the next round to begin. I shouldered my way through the others, pressed against the barrier with their eyes on the ring, and went out to intercept Khalim. I crossed his path and he stopped with a look of surprise.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“I’m going to help Jahan,” he said. “He’s hurt.”
“Yes, I saw.” My instinct was to tell him no, to send him back to the others where he would be safe, but I could not deny him. Jahan was an ally—if all went as planned, he would eventually take the throne of Phyreios and lead it in its new age of freedom. And after nearly losing Khalim, I was torn between a desire to protect him and one to let him do whatever he wished.
I waved to Aysulu and Garvesh and turned toward the ring, and I walked by Khalim’s side to where Jahan was being tended to. After a moment, and another noise from the stands, Jahan was back on his feet, though he could no longer compete. The arbiter explained that he had lost, even if it had been because of blatant deception and defiance of the rules of the contest, and he would be disqualified along with Alaric.
Jahan’s face was hard as the mountain stone as he carefully shifted his weight from one leg to the other. “Thank you,” he said. “I have heard of what you do, but I did not think I would experience it firsthand. I shall live to fight this afternoon.” To me, he added, “May fortune be with you. I don’t need to tell you to be careful.”
I saw Khalim safely back to the others. When he healed the bruise on my shoulder, his hand lingered there for a moment after the light had faded. “Good luck,” he said with another smile.
The horn sounded, and I returned to my place to wait for the next round.
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