Today, I will either die or I will become what they’ve always hoped I would.
This is a show I must perform.
They cannot know she is my weakness.
They cannot know that I would burn this very community to the ground to protect her, or they would use her against me in the worst possible ways. Even Mavros couldn’t protect me from that horrible fate.
“Coward.” The hushed word floats through the room like a whisper on the wind.
“Betrayer.”
The priestess ignores the whispers rising up from the waiting crowd and watches my slow approach. The men are openly eager, praying for my blood to spill. I am not a favorite among our men. Though Maddox and Ronan have learned to appreciate me, they are the minority.
“You cannot defeat me, Haze. Don’t give up your lifeblood for pride.”
He puffs his chest out and smiles with a sense of joy that crawls under my skin. I’ve never been strong enough to defeat him before. Why would today be any different?
But for her, I must try.
“You challenge him?” the younger priestess asks. For the first time, concern drips into her tone. “You are willing to challenge your own squad leader, a Nihilian Drak: Ivar of the Island of Venine, son of the Rifelin?”
I too have an impressive bloodline. My father was powerful. I should be too. Yet, I have always lived as a disappointment to him, my potential, and even the Drak’yn in general.
Ivar is eager for blood, as all warriors must be. He tests my resolve at every possible turn.
I am technically not even a warrior.
“Yes,” I say, voice emotionless, my eyes steady on his.
The Nihil priestess steps forward slowly with unnaturally smooth movements. Her eyes shine as she peers into mine. “I have long waited for you to rise, Haze, son of the great Monteran. You, who was chosen by Mavros, our eldest fighting drakai. Your potential has been theorized but has never come into fruition. I did not expect a half-dead human girl to be what raises your fighting spirit.” She flicks a brow. Is that annoyance or curiosity?
Ivar grins. “This is how the legend’s line will die.”
The crowd of warriors chuckles behind me. They will cheer for Ivar. They will pray for my downfall.
A challenge does not need to end in death, but if given the chance, Ivar will ensure I do not walk out of here today.
“A line may die,” the younger priestess says softly. “Or a mighty shift in power may shake these halls.”
“Doubtful,” Blythe says, voice dim. “If Haze loses… I do not like the presumption that we could lose such a promising young warrior. Will Mavros even take another companion? We could lose him too.”
She is right. It’s unlikely my drakai will accept another rider. He spent a decade alone before he chose me at my culling. He could just as easily waste another decade refusing all of his options.
“He has challenged me,” Ivar spits. “I will not back down.”
She sighs but finally laments. “The choice is yours, then, Haze. Do you truly intend to enter in a battle you cannot win?”
“I will not lose.” Even I don’t believe my lie.
“You challenge your own commander. Should you win, you will take his place. Are you ready for that responsibility?”
“I will not back down.”
“Then, today, you die.” Ivar bows low and dramatic before black claws fly at my face.
16
Haze
