“I suppose he thinks you’re creative enough to find a way,” Eijeh said softly.
I stuffed the last bite of toast into my mouth and sat back against the wall, my arms folded. We were in one of the polished, glossy cells in the belly of the amphitheater, beneath the stadium seats that were already filling with people hungry to watch me die. I had won the last challenge, but I was running out of strength. This morning walking to the toilet had been a feat.
“How sweet,” I said, spreading my arms wide to display my bruises. “See how my brother loves me?”
“You’re making jokes,” Ryzek said from just outside the cell. I could hear him, muffled, through the glass wall that separated us. “You must be getting desperate.”
“No, desperate is playing this stupid game before you kill me, just to make me look bad,” I said. “Are you that afraid that the people of Shotet will rally behind me? How pathetic.”
“Try to get to your feet, and we’ll all see ‘pathetic,’” Ryzek said. “Come on. Time to go.”
“Are you at least going to tell me who I’m facing today?” I said. I placed my hands on the bed frame, gritted my teeth, and pushed myself up.
It took all my strength to swallow the cry of pain that swelled in my throat. But I did it.
“You’ll see,” Ryzek said. “I am eager—and I’m sure you agree—to end this at last. So I have arranged for a special contest this morning.”
He was dressed in synthetic armor today—it was matte black, and more flexible than the traditional Shotet variety—and polished black boots that made him appear even taller than he was. His shirt, collared and white, was buttoned up to his throat, showing over the vest of armor. It was almost the same outfit he had worn to our mother’s funeral. Fitting, since he intended for me to die today.
“It’s a shame your beloved couldn’t be here to watch,” Ryzek said. “I’m sure he would have enjoyed it.”
I replayed it all the time now, what Zosita, Teka’s mother, had told me before she walked to her execution. I had asked her if it was worth it to lose her life challenging Ryzek, and she had told me yes. I wished I could tell her that I understood now.
I tipped my chin up. “You know, I’m having trouble figuring out how much of you is actually my brother these days.” When I walked past Ryzek on my way out of the cell, I leaned closer and said, “But you would be in a much better mood if your little plan to steal Eijeh’s currentgift had worked.”
For a moment I was sure I could see Ryzek’s focus falter. His eyes touched Eijeh’s.
“I see,” I said. “Whatever you tried to do didn’t work. You still didn’t get his gift.”
“Take her away,” Ryzek said to Eijeh. “She has some dying to do.”
Eijeh prodded me forward. He was wearing thick gloves, like he was training a bird of prey.
If I focused, I could walk in a straight line, but it was difficult, with all the throbbing in my head and throat. A trickle of blood—well, I hoped it was blood, anyway—ran over my collarbone.
Eijeh pushed me through the door to the arena floor, and I stumbled out. The light outside was blinding, the sky cloudless and pale around the sun. The amphitheater was packed with observers, all of them shouting and cheering, but I couldn’t make out what any of them were saying.
Across from me waited Vas Kuzar. He smiled at me, then bit his chapped lips. He would make himself bleed if he kept that up.
“Vas Kuzar!” Ryzek announced, his voice amplified by the tiny devices that hovered over the arena. Just above the lip of the amphitheater wall, I could see the buildings of Voa, stone patched over with metal and glass, winking in the sun. One, outfitted with a blue glass spire, almost blended into the sky. Covering the arena was a force field that protected the place from harsh weather—and escape. The Shotet didn’t like our war games to be interrupted by storms and cold and runaway prisoners.
“You have challenged the traitor Cyra Noavek to fight with currentblades to the death!” As if on cue, everyone roared at the words traitor Cyra Noavek, and I rolled my eyes, though my heart was beating fast. “This is in reaction to her betrayal of the people of Shotet. Are you ready to proceed?”
“I am,” Vas said in his usual monotone.
“Your weapon, Cyra,” Ryzek said. He drew a currentblade from the sheath at his back, and flipped it in his hand so I could take the handle. His sleeve was rolled up.
I approached him, willing the currentshadows to build within me, beckoning the pain that came along with them. My skin was dusted with dark lines. I moved like I was going to take the knife’s handle, but instead, I clamped my hand around Ryzek’s arm.
I wanted to show these people who he really was. And pain always did that, took the insides out.
Ryzek screamed into his teeth, and thrashed, trying to throw me off. With all the others, I had simply let my currentgift go where it wanted to, and it always wanted to be shared. With Akos, I had pulled it back, almost ending my own life in the process. But with Ryzek, I pressed it toward him with all the force I could muster.
It was a shame, really, that Eijeh was there so soon, grabbing me and dragging me away.
Still, the damage was done. Everyone in this arena had heard my brother scream at my touch. They were quiet, watching.
Eijeh held me back as Ryzek gathered himself, straightening and sheathing the knife. He set a hand on Vas’s shoulder, and said, only loud enough so Eijeh, Vas, and I could hear: “Kill her.”